By Jenna Deckert
My daughter loves to sing. Most days she wakes up singing. She sings and dances her way through the hours of her days. At 5 years old, her life is one big musical. It is one of my favorite things about her.
She sings herself to sleep at night, listening to a CD of lullabies. One of her favorites is from a Scripture lullaby CD called Hidden in my Heart. She has listened to it so much she has it memorized. The song is called The Peace of God and it's from Philippians 4:6-7.
We could use the peace of God these days.
My daughter was in her room singing and coloring. It was background noise to me for I was quite preoccupied with several concerns weighing on my mind. I suppose “concerns” is putting it lightly as these things that I worry about – things that could happen, things I want to happen that may never, lots of things I can't control – these things keep me up at night. By routine, I go into my daughter's room to tell her it's time to put on her pajamas and brush her teeth and I finally tune into the words my daughter is singing.
It's simple. It's childlike. The faith of a child. I want the kind of relationship my 5 yr old has with God. I stand in her doorway and close my eyes and thank God that He is in our home, in my daughter's heart, and in her song. Entering her room I feel as if I am walking into peace. I want to stay forever. But then the moment is gone and we enter into the normal chaos of bedtime routine.
But the moment stays with me, long after I put her to bed (and then back again after some water, the crisis of a missing favorite stuffed animal, wanting to pick out her outfit for the next day, having to say goodnight (again) to Daddy and brother and the dog and all her dolls, etc., etc.).
His peace stays.
It's me that walks away. It's me that tries to carry the weight of this heavy world all by myself. It's me that takes back, again and again, what I've already given over to Him.
I need only to return.
His peace doesn't necessarily change our circumstances but it changes us. Sometimes we only get moments. But long enough to remind us, to take a deep breath, to invite Him into our concerns, our cares, our circumstances. To confess our need to be in control and how much that brings agitation and stress to our heart and our mind and our body. To reconcile us to Him.
Why is He usually the last I think to go to? Why do I need my 5 year old to remind me? But I do. And I'm so grateful to be walking in His peace with her – not just walking – but singing and dancing our cares away, even if just for this moment.
I hope you will listen and let His Peace wash over you.