Peace

You've seen those pictures that we are told depict real peace - you know, the ones with the mother bird sheltering her babies in a nest high up the craggy mountain, in the middle of a violent wind storm with hail and snow and flying branches. You cannot know real peace unless you experience it in the midst of chaos, they tell you.

I am not so sure that you can only know peace by comparison with chaos. Yesterday I scooted home after work to collect my choir music and check on Drew before heading off to choir rehearsal. It had been a busy, productive day - not hectic because the school is on break. A nice breather to get done those things that constantly fall to the bottom of your priority list.

As I headed out the door, it was suddenly as if someone had pulled my plug. Energy fled. Tiredness overtook - once again I found myself working just to breathe. Drat and doggone. I have an hour and a half rehearsal to conduct, with music we haven't looked at much because of the focus on the Easter cantata. Besides, my accompanist will not be there, so I get to play piano as well - demanding under the best of conditions. Now what?

I drive slowly to the church in the spitting rain. Streets are wet and glistening. Trees are dripping. Street lights reflect in the puddles. I have turned the heat up as high as it will go, trying to warm up in hopes that will somehow return some strength. I reach the church parking lot. It is filled with the cars of people who have come for the dinner. Must be spaghetti night.

I am too tired to eat, too tired to move. I sit in the car, wrapped in my wool shawl, my coat buttoned tightly about me, my gloves covering my hands. I lean back and close my eyes. In less than twenty minutes I must find the strength to get out of the car, energize, and lead the choir. They too will be tired from a long day of work, and if I don't bring energy with me, we will both spiral into a terrible rehearsal.

I take a deep breath, searching for the peace of God, for His touch, His strength. I hear the rain gently pattering on the roof of the car. A few hundred yards in front of me, I hear cars whizzing by on Buffalo Road like so many ducks in a shooting gallery at some weird carnival. Somewhere in the distance a train whistles mournfully into the rain laden air and trails away into nothingness. The carillon at Peace rings out the three quarter hour. Time is flying by.

I wriggle in the car seat, scrunching down into the soft fabric. I watch the rain polka dot the windshield. It comes in gentle waves, now a bit heavier, now almost nothing. The light drumming on the roof reminds me of summer camp (wouldn't it be nice if it were summer?). I spent many weeks at summer camps of various sorts over the years. Sometimes we resided in a real cabin, sometimes in an open log cabin structure, some with screened-in porches, other times in a tent.

This rain sounds most like the year we tented near Camp Pinnacle with our whole youth group. We bunked down as a family (you get to do that when your Dad's the pastor) in a pukey colored tent of the army variety - the kind that's not so waterproof, and if you touch the canvas, the rain decides that's an open invitation to trickle in and dampen your spirits along with your bedding.

It was a great week, even if there were bumps along the way. I loved the sandy paths, the pond, the big old tabernacle where we had meetings. It was fun to 'cookout' (who doesn't love burnt hotdogs and bug juice?) and wander by flashlight after dark as we made our way from the roaring campfire where we sang and heard stories back to our dark tents. We had a great cinder block bathhouse for brushing teeth en mass and crafts up the wazoo. It was a good summer. I smiled at the memories that came flooding back, even of when one of my best friends slapped me hard upside the face.

I remember clearly an afternoon when it was raining and we were all stretched out on our cots in the tent, glum at missing out on fun and games. Mom had suggested we write letters or read. Some kids slept. I just watched the rain make shadows on the tent top, the small droplets rolling together into large clumps that finally rolled down the side of the tent into the little trench we had dug below. You could hear the rustle of the green leaves flopping about in the rain. Mosquitoes hummed, frogs croaked here and there, crows cawed overhead, joyous for the unexpected bath. It was lazy and peaceful and soothing.

Just like the sound of the rain on my car roof. The patter was beginning to slow, and my spirits felt refreshed. My tiredness was lifting. Not gone by any stretch of the imagination, but endurable. I knew I had a reprieve that would last me hopefully through the rehearsal. Sometimes a moment of quietness and waiting brings good results. Thank you Lord for Your peace - not in the midst of a violent storm, but in the midst of life's weariness.