My best friend is an artist. One of the most true things about her creativity is her ability to see the beauty that can be found in the midst of the mess that is our life. Like peace.
Peace. Not the cheap kind of peace found in avoidance, distraction, or momentary pleasure. Not the fake kind of peace found in the absence of conflict, struggle, or pain. Not peace disguised as security and certainty. But real peace. The deep, abiding, I’ll-never- leave-you-or-forsake-you kind of peace that refuses to leave us behind, stares life right in the eye and doesn’t look away, and always comes dressed for the weather. That kind of peace.
A few months ago we hung a medallion, made by my friend, on a pine tree branch at the top of the logging road we hike every week. It is a simple, round, creamy-white disc with the word peace etched in black. Every time we hike to the top we are curious to see if it’ still there. This past week we had a doozy of a windstorm. Trees toppled, limbs broke, and branches were strewn helter-skelter. Heading up there on a cold, clear morning after the storm, we wouldn’t have been surprised to find it gone, and were shocked instead to find that it wasn’t. It was right there waiting for us, reminding us that real peace can be buffeted this way and that by the storm but not blown away, having learned how to ride the wind. That kind of peace.
If that’s the peace we’re looking for, the best place to find it is right in the midst of the beautiful mess that is our life. The stronger the gale, the wilder the ride, the more durable the peace. That kind of peace.
