For days frigid winds whip through trees, blowing leaves into whirling cyclones, and we head for cover, blankets, hot cider, snuggles. This morning, a hush covers our neighborhood. All is calm.
I long for this calm, miss it like a faraway friend, because inside these walls I am a spinning circle of fallen things myself. I try to order crunchy leaves in pleasing rows, but the wind churns again, kicks my accomplishments sideways. They’re not really what I want, I suppose.
When Sici was little, she often recounted Bible stories to us, her baby sister, her stuffed animals and dolls, but her favorite to hear — and the one she told more than any other — was Jesus calming the wind and waves.
“Tell ‘Peace, be still,'” she would say. And we would tell the story of Jesus in the boat with his disciples on the turbulent waters and his command that the waves cease churning.
I can see my girl now, head on pillow, face twisting with the effort of releasing, trying to keep gnawing worries at bay, and then acceptance settling in her eyes when we’d say together, “Peace, be still.”
I wonder if she saw the same change in me.
This morning, I look out the window at fall trees in repose, and “Peace, be still” is the command of the One who calms anxieties and all of nature, speaks rest into turbulent seas and human hearts.
And it was.
And it is.
Joining with the Five Minute Friday community at Kate’s and today’s prompt: STILL. For some reason, this little piece took much longer than five to write this morning. And if you could see me right now, helping kids with final outfit adjustments for spirit day as I bark orders, late finishing this piece, late to work…oh, the irony. Oh, the need for peace and still in the midst of this morning. Let it be so.