It’s funny, isn’t it, that in a year in which I’m supposed to be learning about peace, pursuing peace, so far there has been very little of it.
(there has been, in a way – I am ever the procrastinator, so instead of tackling my lengthy to-do list, there has been a lot of tv watching and reading and napping occurring.)
but a large amount of my time has been spent worrying. worrying about how I’m going to get everything done (ever the productive one), worrying about raising money for Africa, worrying about spending five months – five months – living in another country. worrying about traveling to Africa, worrying about come back. worrying about senior year and graduation and let’s not even start on what the heck I’m going to be doing after graduation (hint: I’m worrying about it.)
I’m trying to keep a list of gifts, blessings, thanks, to teach myself contentment with all that I have already. Most nights I sit there and stare at the page, suddenly realizing that I’m not sure what I’m thankful for. Some nights I don’t even bother to reach for the notebook.
I open my journal and sit on my bed, crosslegged with the pages splayed open in my lap. I pick up my pen, write the date, and usually little else. The words don’t come. Words of pain, frustration, joy, seeking, it doesn’t matter. Whatever is in my heart refuses to leave, refuses to let itself be brought into the harsh light of pen and paper and scribbled handwriting.
Peace, as it turns out, is a lot more complicated than it seems.
Peace means trust and faith. Peace means contentment and thankfulness. Peace means surrender. Peace means living life with an open hand, ready to give whatever is asked and receive whatever is given. Peace means obedience and willingness to follow.
I think it’s less about chasing peace and more about letting go, handing my life over, and waiting for peace to find me.