Peace, Be Still

Suddenly, a palpable peace that surpassed all human understanding enveloped me like a soft, fleece blanket.  Mind, body, and spirit no longer strained, wrestled, or declared a "draw."  Fears dissipated like fog lifting over the Colorado mountains.  Like a springtime in spirit, reminiscent of cherry pink and apple white cherry trees that grace the District of Columbia (Washington).  Or, white cotton ball flowers festooning trees lined along the Parkway. Or crocuses peeking out from winter blankets in my backyard..  Ahhh!  Peace!

It had been so long since I had experienced any semblance of peace; life as I had known it ended abruptly with the death of my daughter, Courtney.  I no longer measured time in days, hours, or weeks; silent screams became my metaphorical measuring cup, my walking cane.  Words that might describe what was happening eluded me.  I didn't know how or where to seek solace.

 Years ago, I had tried going back to Church after my first-born grandson, Philip, died.  But I couldn't stay for more than twenty minutes.  The Choir's mellifluous voices couldn't lift me from the doldrums. All that happiness exuding from congregants in their Sunday-Go-To-Meeting finery irritated me! To say I was irrational understates the meaning of sanity.

I didn't even think about going to Church after Courtney died.  No way! I didn't want the syrupy solicitude (as I saw it) of worshipers that felt like encroachment, clothed in well-meaning phrases or platitudes.  They hurt.  Everything hurt! And yes, I especially resented anybody whose adult children still lived! How unfair could that be!  I didn't want to feel that way, to hold resentments that didn't belong to others, so I retreated within.

Years earlier, I had read Dr. John Gray's book, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus where he presented contrasts between female and male behaviors.  Men deal with conflict by going into their caves and staying there until  they resolve an issue.  Women talk their way to resolution.  Decidedly female; nevertheless, I retreated to a cavern, rarely peeking out at the world.  I lived a disjointed life.  When sporadic spasms of happiness surprised me, I didn't know what to do with them.  Surely, they would go away and leave me as bereft as before.

Where did this peace come floating from? I couldn't trace it to any event, cause, or even  a prayer prayed.  Actually, I hadn't even tried, helplessness and hopelessness mocked me. I trusted nothing and no one. Unbidden, however, these lyrics spewed forth:

"I am tired and weary, but I must toil on, Till the Lord comes to call me away, Where the morning is bright and the Lamb is the light, and the night is as fair as the day.  There'll be peace in the valley for me some day.  There'll be peace in the valley for me.  I pray no more sorrow and sadness or trouble will be, There'll be peace in the valley for me."  Ahhh!  Peace!

Where did that come from? Could a song from my childhood have sprung from where it had lain dormant for so long, for such a moment as this? I don't know, but what I do know is, there's nothing too hard for God.  Who else could it be?