Today, I give thanks for peace.
Not peace in the sense of wars and cease fires, disarmament or global resolution – though that would be nice. Nor am I talking about that deep and abiding sense of inner peace – that all-encompassing knowledge that all is as it should be in one’s world and the path forward can be visualized if not actually seen. My world, my daily life, is far from that predictable!
The peace of which I speak is simpler, more fleeting.
It’s the lingering minutes of quiet after my son has fallen asleep on the sofa while my husband is sleeping before he goes to work. That rare window when the cats are asleep and the only sound I hear in the house is the gentle trickle of water from their fountain. Or the subtle creaks and groans of the windows as the wind picks up outside.
The peace of knowing I can drink a cup of tea while it’s still hot. Or go to the bathroom without a visit from my son – or one of the cats.
I give thanks for the peace which settles into my body– no matter for how short a time – as it relaxes, relieved of its state of constant vigil. A reprieve from the coiled tension required to spring into action to keep my son out of harm’s way due to his utter lack of a sense of danger. Peace even to my ears – respite from the perseverative demands of “go car mama” or “pretend doctor.” The constant refrains of songs from Mary Poppins, She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain, or the days of the week songs in all their various renditions available on YouTube.
Those rare moments of quiet, when the tension drains from my body and my mind slows from its constant whirl. Those infrequent times when I can put aside the constant worries about my son’s fragile health, about his uncertain future. About our finances and our future plans. When I can shut out the world for just long enough to really catch my breath.
In those rare moments, I find I can breathe more fully, more consciously.
Deep breaths in… Slow, cleansing breaths out.
In so doing, I gently refill that well within me which, far too often, is on the verge of running dry.
In the quiet, I breathe in peace.
Blessed, blessed peace.