Peace isn’t want we think it is. It’s not the environmental condition releasing us from its grips. It’s not sedation washing over you.
I suspect neither of these best describe what I now experience.
Is there a description of it?
I suppose it’s waking up sober. Grabbing my son and kissing him good morning.
I suppose it’s watching him smile at me and giggle as I try to dress him.
I suppose it’s a quick pang in my chest when I realize I’m the only one here. That I can’t ask you to watch the baby as I pack our bags for the day.
It’s a deep ragged bone shaking breath at the emptiness in my house. When did my home go to a house? When did the warmth leave?
As I pack my son in the car and breathe in, I feel the weight of what the day holds and quickly let the fear settle.
Peace I believe is the absence of debility.
The ability to continue despite the begging respite.
Some may define this as resilience. Some as courage.
Peace with the environment. Peace within myself. I don’t have to carry the weight of the responsibility. God does.
If He started it, He will finish it.