The eldest is preparing for a third appointment with the dentist in as many weeks. He's not actually had anything done yet, and though he's fairly happy-go-lucky about the "baby root canal" that's coming his way, the multiple delays and anticipation of the unknown have caused his sensitive heart a bit of anxiety. That's how he puts it: I'm a bit anxious, he says.
Of course he is. There's a doctor and a shot and a drill (though we haven't exactly divulged that last point to him) and there's plenty of things that can cause him to lay awake in bed at night and be just a bit anxious.
Matt was gone over the weekend so our peace experiment was more like a peace mirage that hazily drifted before us on the horizon, a mere glimpse of something sweet.
Yes, we had our occasional moments of togetherness and calming prayers, but it was hard to put into practice the idea of intentional peace when the little people outnumbered this one supposed adult. So the one thing we've managed to do (most nights) is read Jesus Calling together. I read it in the mornings and then we do the kids version at night.
And this book oozes peace.
After we read, as I pray over them and touch their shiny hair and beg God for good dreams instead of bad, I tell them: He's right here, you know. He is in this room and He guards you day and night.
As all 10 years and 9 months of Jack look at me with a crinkled eye, saying, "I'm a bit anxious," we remember tonight's words: Let My Spirit give you words of grace as you live in the Light of My Peace.
We are living in the Light of His Peace, I say, even in the anxious moments, the hard moments, the wild moments where two out of three of them are running circles around this house and the hacking coughs and giggling fits of the younger two overshadow the quiet doubts of the eldest.
Peace transcending understanding.
And in that moment, there on Jack's bed as we give thanks, we remember: He is so near; His peace always within reach.
Is something singing to you of peace?