My Peace I Give You

I sometimes wonder how long it would take for people to realize I was dead.

Pretty dark, right? But it’s true. I honestly don’t have that one person who would notice or be alarmed if I didn’t pick up my phone, answer a text right away or even come home late. It would probably take 13-15 hours for someone in my immediate community to realize something was amiss (Anne would eventually send out an amber alert). And by that time it’d probably be too late.

Which then catapultes my thinking into who would come to my funeral, what they’d say to my parents or if they’d remember our last conversation. I wonder if they would’ve taken the chance to ask me out for coffee or looked me dead in the eye and told me I was important to them if they knew our time was limited.

And then I consider what I would do if roles were reversed.

We’re so quick to put things off.

The little stuff: calling your sister later, rescheduling your lunch date to next Wednesday, cleaning the cookie sheet in the morning. To the big ticket items: shelving ideas, dreams, impulses, chances. Because somehow we believe tomorrow we’ll find more time or have the courage. Next week we’ll have it better figured out or be in the right headspace. Next month we can finally breathe or be focused again.

I’m so tired of that. Giving myself deadlines, boxing myself into “tomorrow's.” I say, no more. I say, I’m going to be better. I say, it’s time to find peace.

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I haven’t dealt with my emotional rollercoaster healthily. I told myself I’d stop using this as an example but when you go to 5 weddings alone, it begins to mess with you. I’ve been reckless and neglectful of my heart, body and mind.

I’m my toughest critic, I know. So that means I easily convince myself I’m worth nothing, that no one really wants to be my friend (there’s so many polite people in the world), that the only one who will get me through this rocky valley is me, myself and I (God and my army of angels are laughing really hard at this one).

Don’t get the wrong impression here, I’m mentally aware of all of this. I can see my anxiety spike, coming at me miles away. And I’ve learned how to temper it, how to keep it at bay. But sometimes the clouds too quickly set in and I’m lost at sea.

I stop exercising. I stop caring what I eat. I’m frustrated at everyone, at everything. I sleep a lot, but don’t sleep well. I lash out at the closest people in my life (sorry Meg). I lose all motivation to step up and do the next right thing. I compare myself to other people’s perfect lives, silently wishing I was different. And I ugly cry. Like on the bathroom floor with the shower running, where I think no one can hear me (pretty sure the neighbors think I have major problems).

Few things pull me out of this horrible place. It’s hard and it takes time, prayer (mostly from other people), a kick in the pants from myself (sometimes from others) to get up and (often quite literally) run.

It takes a whole lot of convincing that I’m deserving of some grace. Just like outrunning an aggressive thunderstorm, you grow tired of trying to get ahead. There’s no choice but to surrender to the rain and allow yourself to be washed clean, free of whatever kept you away from presently, actively, wholly living in Love (I speak from experience).

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Discover peace. In road trips where deep secrets and long conversations are exchanged with your close buddy and you both scream-sing to Kesha’s “Praying” at the top of your lungs with the windows down and the wind whips your flyaways bringing your hair to life.

Seek peace. In Reconciliation. A conversation with a humble, forgiving, generous priest who hears you with tears streaming down your face, no judgement or criticism for what you’ve done and a gentle penance to pray for another woman struggling in her faith.

Embrace peace. In the limited days you have to share an iced coffee “lunch” with your spiritual mom as you grasp to explain and understand the mess on your heart in just 20 minutes and she looks back at you with only deep compassion and words of wisdom.

Accept peace. In finally giving yourself a break. Acknowledging you’ve been through a lot this past year and that you’re still processing what’s around the corner.

Find peace. In Jesus’ beautiful parting words to his disciples, to us: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you.