Peace like a river.
But rivers aren’t always tranquil. They smash, slam, and swirl too. And in their tumult, they rush into the ocean.
Peace can sound like a stone dropping into murky depths. The ripples move you, but you stay whole.
Peace can look like standing in a hospital bathroom in silence as breakers crash on the other side of the door, drowning out the beeps, whirs, and whooshes of machines keeping your loved one alive.
Peace can feel like a staid thrum when the fighting in your house explodes into the sea.
Peace pours itself out like water. Feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace don’t stand still. They make waves.
Peace is an anchor. It knows all is right when everything is all wrong.
Last Sunday ignited the second light of Advent, the Candle of Peace, and I’ve thought about peace every day since then. The second candle is also called the Bethlehem candle, so the story is not only about peace but about place.
O Little Town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
Maybe, like the song says, the small village was calm that night. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, the Water of Life crashed into the world there, churning, washing, refreshing, and sweeping us all away.
Peace like a river.
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.