Category Archives: Peace

Praying Through a Tunnel

Posted on by under Inner Healing, Peace, Emotions

Journal 2019

I learned some disturbing news last night, and I immediately tried to push it out of my mind and not dwell on it. Does this mean I am letting it go, or am I trying to suppress it? I do care, but I can’t carry the weight on my shoulders for this person.

I see my friend entering a long, dark tunnel. I want to slap police tape across the entrance and yell, “No, no, don’t do it!” Reluctantly, I agree to go into that tunnel with her.

It’s spacious but dark and sloppy wet in here. I inch along the sides, terrified I’ll fall into the center where the train tracks run. I see her ahead of me, running toward the light. She seems to be okay, but I am not. Cold, wet, and miserable, I get the sense that this place of fear is familiar. I don’t have to stay here; I can see the light as well. I have a choice to make, but I feel paralyzed. There are handholds on the wall, and I’m grateful there’s a guard rail on the tracks side so I won’t fall in. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of now—maybe bats?

The tunnel is a metaphor for when I felt miserable. Yes, I lived through it, but I guess I need to acknowledge it, not bury it. I watch my step and keep walking. Suddenly I hear the roar of rushing water crashing toward me. A flash flood. I can do nothing but hold on and float. I lose my grip and fly backward toward the entrance of the tunnel. I’m shaken up, but unharmed. Now what?

I thought the water would make the tunnel pure and spotless clean, but the most it’s done is swept out the years of mud and sludge in the bottom. The rails are rusty, and the concrete walls are rough and old and pitted. Much repair is needed. This tunnel needs to be torn down and rebuilt with slick steel sides that release grime like Teflon.

And so I watch as a large work crew enters the scene to demolish the old and erect the new. It’s not perfect, but then neither am I. We are all a work in progress.

It’s easier to get through the tunnel now, and Jesus is with me, but I still have questions. This feels like a metaphor for life with birth on one end and heaven on the one. The old tunnel is the old man and the new one a rebirth. The restrictions of time and space while here on earth can be clean or dirty. Our vessels need to be honorable and pure to be conduits of His love. Living water passing through will restore, not harm me.

On Rest

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace, Scripture

Journal 2019

Many years ago, at a former church, our brave choir director decided to lead our ragtag group in Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. Unfortunately, some were following the sheet music instead of watching the conductor, so when he miscounted the hallelujah repeats at the end, several in the choir failed to follow his lead. Those who were watching our leader stopped on cue, withholding the last required note before the pause. What ensued was not a grand and glorious waiting of our collective breaths before the final crescendo, but a weak, disruptive, frown-producing squeak by the few who weren’t watching. I could see the pain on the director’s face as he later berated us for not keeping our eyes on him and following his lead. I don’t think he ever realized he was at fault for miscounting, but the choir was at fault for not watching him. Thus, the piece was marred and flawed. It lost its breathless anticipation before the grand and glorious conclusion.

Rest is not about doing nothing. It’s recovery. It’s anticipation. It’s the silent beat before the final hallelujah. It reminds me of the passage in Revelation 8:1 (Net). “Now when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.”

Sometimes resting is harder to do than acting.

Lord, in the coming year, teach me to keep my eyes on You, my conductor. I want to follow You no matter what I see written in front of me. If You change things up, then I trust You. I want to remain in step with Your baton and make beautiful music together for the Kingdom.

Further thoughts

As I started to brainstorm the topic of rest, I came up with this list.

  • There are rest notes in music.
  • Rest is needed after an injury.
  • One must rest after a race, exertion, or a battle.
  • We’ll receive final spiritual rest in heaven.
  • Rest means a mental break after concentration and before the next activity.
  • In physics, it refers to an object being stationary relative to a particular frame of reference.
  • The Hebrew word for rest is nuach. It means “to rest, to be quiet, to cease.” (e.g. Shabbat)
  • In Greek, the word is anapausis, which means “cessation or refreshment.”

Webster defines the verb to rest as:

  1. To cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength. Ease up, slow down, unbend, unwind, recharge.
  2. To be placed or supported so as to stay in a specified position. For example, her elbow was resting on the arm of the sofa. “A still point of peace.”

Hymn: Jesus, I am resting, resting

Sunlit bedroom with open window, garden view, armchair, towels, and white bedding
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To Do or To Be?

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2019

It’s either feast or famine it seems. While I’m out of town visiting my daughter who just gave birth by C-section, I’m at a forced standstill with my to-do list. When I return home, it will be a marathon of catch-up work, racing the clock. I’m a little antsy, and I realize I’m doing my typical Enneagram One dance.

I said to my daughter, “Give me your list of things to do while I’m here.” (i.e. That’s why I came—to help you do stuff you’re not supposed to do yet—housework, laundry, driving, etc.) “I’m a doer,” I said.

And she replied, “But I’m a be-er, and the way you help me the most is by keeping me company.”

This scenario reminds me of when she was little, and I told her to clean her room. She wanted me to sit with her while she sorted, but even then, her style of cleaning looked like this: “Oh, here’s a paper that reminds me of this, and here’s the story behind it.” And half an hour later, she’d moved one more piece of paper.

So, what is this inner drive in me that wakes up with a to-do list in my head and believes I’m wasting time if I don’t accomplish my goals within a set time frame? Home from boarding school on vacation one year, I set a goal of climbing 100 different trees, and I did it! Another time I decided to do 1000 sit ups in a row. I paid for it with a raw tailbone.

My word for this year is rest, but I’m not sure how well I’ve followed through. Even here with my daughter I’m not resting by choice but by default. I can feel this antsy-ness in my chest—this pull, drive, compunction to get up and do. It’s not a bad thing; it gets things accomplished, but it’s certainly not peace.

I feel like a racehorse at the starting gate, nervous energy growing inside me. I am created to run but required to stand still. If there’s no race, then I don’t need the nervous energy to shoot me out of the gate. That leaves me to leisurely chat with the other horses.

Three days later

I feel a little lost at sea, a little disoriented. The stars are gone, and it’s cloudy, so I can’t navigate by the heavens. My mind tells me, “Just look at the compass—Jesus is True North.” But I’m spinning and tossed about, and I can’t get the rudder to work. I’m too tired to navigate. Easier to just drift for a few days before getting back into the saddle—now there’s another metaphor! I’m saddle-sore and need to stay put by the campfire and rest a while. Did I mention that I’m tired!?

Saddled racehorse standing beside numbered starting gates at dawn

It’s Not My Closet

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2019

I realized today that I’m taking on someone else’s angst. This will never do. I have my own busy schedule today with complications and double bookings and close friends who are struggling. I see the Ping-Pong-in-the-closet syndrome, my rising panic on my friend’s behalf.

I open the closet door and let all the balls spill out onto the floor, hundreds of little white balls bouncing and settling into corners. I’m not sure where to begin, where to step. “Overwhelmed,” is how my friend described it. Of course, I’ve been there, done that: I freeze or go into a frenetic pace to get everything done in time. I haven’t felt this angst in a very long time.

I want to help, but it’s not my closet this time or my Ping Pong balls. My friend is a master planner and organizer. She’ll figure it out. She just needs help getting all these balls picked up and into the right boxes.

Orange and white play balls spilling from an open storage closet

So what is keeping my anxious feeling at the forefront?

I see birds flying around inside my heart castle. If I try to catch them, they fly away, leaving poop everywhere. They’ve got to go.

I open a few windows, fling some bird seed outdoors, and shine a light in that direction. One bird’s name is Panic, but there’s another one whose name is Doubt. This one is harder to capture and release. Doubting what?

Doubt splats against the glass of a closed window. I clap a cardboard box over it and hand the box to Jesus, who delivers it to an angel waiting at the door.

I feel calmer now, ready to be a steady rock for my friend.

The Angst of Making Decisions

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

Making quick decisions is not my strength—whether it be buying Christmas presents or choosing what to pack for a long trip. I like to take my time to analyze all my options, compare the differences, think through the consequences, and then decide what to do. Making a quick decision leaves me feeling paralyzed unless I have all the facts. What if I choose incorrectly? What if I have to live with regret? Who else might be impacted by my choice?

Visual. I stand in the center of a circular room with closed doors. It’s “The Lady or the Tiger” (short story by Frank Stockton) times 5. Behind each door are different adventures and consequences. I want Jesus to decide which door to open first because I trust Him to know what’s best, but He says I get to choose. No matter which door I step through, it’ll be an adventure because He’ll be with me, and we’ll notice different things along the way.

That feels better. The kiddy ride or the biggest roller coaster? They’ll teach me different things, and we’ll do it together. That takes the angst away that I didn’t even realize was there.

Person standing in circular room with five wooden doors

Later: No longer feeling like a life-or-death situation, I was able to make two very quick decisions about big purchases that previously would have sent me into a tizzy.

A 2026 Update. I can still annoy others while I pause to compare grocery prices or stop to examine each article of clothing at Goodwill before making a purchase. “Why are you annoyed?” I want to ask. But that’s their issue, not mine.

Processing Dreams

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

I dreamt last night that my daughter was dating a Black boy who had a chip on his shoulder because he thought I was prejudiced. I felt defensive that anyone would think I was racist. I woke from my dream as I was lecturing him about how color blind I was and how I was more interested in how he treated my daughter.

What concerns me is that I’m afraid I do struggle with prejudice or prejudgment because of where I grew up. The prevailing colonial superiority in Nigeria at the time and my mother’s response to the people we worked with set the tone for pride in my little heart. I could tell you many little incidents. I have long since repented of my attitude, but if I have a dream like this, I suspect something still lingers there.

Visual. I see a baby lying supine in a box. Curious, I start to pick her up and discover her entire backside is open, raw, oozing, bleeding. Horrified, I quickly release her and disinfect my hands, repulsed by the baby’s condition.

I am powerless to fix this baby. When I ask Jesus about it, I get the impression that this baby represents some wounded part of my heart. I think of the verse “The heart is deceitful” (Jeremiah 17:9) and realize I’ve been fooling myself about not being prejudiced. I DO judge.

“So, Lord, what are You going to do with this child? She’s grotesque.”

“I’ve already died for her,” He replies. “She’s already whole and healed.”

Sure doesn’t look like that to me. I feel disgusted.

“Pick her up,” He commands.

I’m loathe to do so, and I’m not even sure how to do it. All her insides will fall out if I move her. It’s like my stacked cookie cutters. If I try to lift one out, the rest get left behind. The irony of the metaphor is not lost on me, however. Humans are not cookie cutters. Or maybe we are all cookie cutters made in the image of God, but individual as snowflakes. Some are small, others large, but we all are used for the same dough, and the cookie tastes the same no matter the shape or size.

Somehow that image is what I need, for as I gently lift the baby, the blood on her backside washes away and skin begins to grow, leaving scars in its wake. Embarrassed, I’m tempted to conceal her in a blanket, but I refrain. I try to embrace her, but she’s stiff, like she’s been burned. I looked to Jesus. “Help her,” I plead, And He does. Her body begins to soften, and my heart begins to melt.

“Thank you, Lord, for creative dreams that propel me toward healing.”

Note: I’ve discovered the key to processing negative dreams is to focus on the presenting emotion. Usually there’s a memory attached to that emotion that contains some unresolved pain.

Balancing work and rest

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2018

I find it a constant battle to still my jiggling foot, slow down inside, and be still. I’ve always been a goal setter: schedule a task, get it done, move on to the next. Without a looming task or goal, I get antsy. I feel unproductive, for there’s no measurable outcome, nothing tangible to check off my list. That hurry-sickness drive propels me forward to accomplish things, but it leaves tension in my neck, back, and shoulders.

When I do manage to achieve inner stillness, I experience growth and restoration akin to the sleep cycle of my day. Somehow, I need to find a balance between work and rest.

Resting is sitting on a snow sled at the top of a hill, anticipating the ride of my life, then whizzing down the slope until I come to a full stop. Exhilarating! Rest, pause, let the rush wash over me, then collect my sled, hat, and scarf and trudge back up the hill to repeat the cycle. Rest is that pause between reaching my goal and preparing for the next one. I don’t ride all the time, I don’t climb all the time, and I don’t stay in the rest phase all the time.

A 2026 Update. I watch my adult girls and the frenetic pace they keep trying to balance children, work, and home chores, and I remember the angst of that season of my life. I’m still a list-maker, but I’m in the sweet spot where I can still climb the mountain and still enjoy the ride down. With a few more years behind me, however, my aging body and gained wisdom dictate that I require more rest time at the bottom of the hill!

On Overload

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

So it happened again. Four people today leaned on me for help and support. I love ministering to hurting people, but this was overload with no breaks in between. The hike I took helped—except for the chigger bites which are driving me crazy. I put repellent on my ankles, but I never thought to put it on my waist and elbows. Sigh.

Lord, how did you recover when the crowds became too much? I suspect you were a perfect blend of introvert and extrovert, yet You withdrew alone at night. But how did you function the next day? I need You close today, Lord. I can’t do this on my own.

VISUAL: I am a Kool-Aid container at camp, and the sweaty campers keep lining up to drain me dry. I’m a vessel, created to hold refreshment for others, but I can’t do my job if the container is empty. I know there is an endless supply of Kool-Aid, but I cannot do anything to refill myself. I wish the Kool-Aid filler would hurry up! I can’t control how much He pours in and how much the campers deplete me.

The Lord comes and lifts the container (me) and takes me to the kitchen where I get a good cleaning, inside and out. I’ve been sitting in the sun too long, the sludge starting to accumulate, and I wasn’t providing a safe and cool drink anymore.

I am now resting and drying on the counter, while I recover. I’m not ready to return to work, but I can trust the Father to keep me here till it’s time to return. Meanwhile, He sets a different jug down in my spot. Now the kids won’t get thirsty.

Breathe … Just Breathe

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

For months my brain has been trapped in a hyperdrive carousel, spinning round and round, up and down, speeding then slowing. It’s been fun, but I’m ready to get off. I’m weary and sad and long to return to a place of peace. I need stillness, a sanctuary. If I move to a park bench, I’m afraid someone is going to approach me to engage in conversation or ask me to play frisbee with them.

Lord, I invite You into this picture.

Jesus hits the off switch, and everything stops. Dizzy and disoriented, I collapse, unable to move. When I finally recover, I toss onto that spinning mass my schedule, my to-do list, my shoulds and ought-tos, my needs and commitments. Like little kids, if they don’t hang on, they’ll fly off and get hurt. Not my fault, but while they want me to kiss their boo boos and fetch their band aids, all I want to do is be by myself, not entertaining a passel of kids. I want to be alone with Jesus, away from this noise, clutter, and movement, but there’s nowhere to go in this park.

Jesus says, “I’ll give you a cone of silence.” (Remember the show Get Smart?) I step inside of Jesus (see Acts 17:28), and He closes the door. Suddenly everything is still and quiet. I can still hear muffled sounds, but there’s plenty of room to stretch out. There are even books on a shelf within reach. When He moves, I move, but it’s fluid, not jerky. I don’t have to make decisions.

I hum Chris Tomlin’s song “Where you stay, I’ll stay. When you move, I’ll move.” Only I’m not following Him. I’m in Him. I don’t choose where we go. It just is. I can feel my whole body relaxing. I didn’t realize my protective guardian had been so in charge. In fact, now I see that guardian had been wearing all of his armor. Before I could step into Jesus’ heart room, he had to check everything at the door, clad in just a tunic. There’s no space for all that clunky metal here where it’s soft, pillowy, and safe.

Breathe. Just breathe. Relax. Curl up in a feather bed. Sleep.

AI-generated

Between Worlds

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

I’m in a weird place right now, caught between worlds, not sure where I am, and if I’m coming or going. I’m neither compelled to be with people nor to get tasks done. I’m not in a routine, but I still need to function. “Overwhelmed” keeps coming to mind. I won’t analyze it, but here’s what I see.

Four trips in four months (to sightsee in Israel, to visit relatives in Vancouver, BC, to attend a boarding school reunion in Dallas, TX, and to attend a 100th birthday party in Sebring, FL). The trips look like four steppingstones in a riverbank. I’ve stepped from one to the next till I’m standing on a fifth. I can’t go back in time except in my memory. I can only face forward, but the rushing water feels overwhelming, daunting. I’m frozen here. I don’t know what to do next.

I look up to see Jesus beckoning me to walk toward him. I hesitate. Will this be a step of faith like Indiana Jones, or like Peter stepping out of the boat to walk on water? The water is neither deep nor swift, so I’m not frightened. I’m just hesitant to get my clothes wet should I misstep.

And so I take off my shoes and socks and roll up my pantlegs. I want to look at my steppingstones one last time. I experienced them in haste, without slowing down to savor the scenery, and I missed something in my hurry to get to the last stone. I can’t release this jumble of images yet until I spend time with each one. Is it too late to do that or am I just supposed to move on and let it all go?

I can’t begin to list all the old and new friends I encountered on airplane rides and at each stop. I see strings attached to each person connected to my heart, and I’m overwhelmed with the memories. But I don’t have to hold them all, for I see that Jesus grasps each string. He can hand them back to me one at a time as needed to connect or reconnect. I also have photo albums and journals to contain the memories, but I need to record events as I remember them to offload them from my memory bank before they are lost. That will help.

As I continue to relive the precious memories, the stones begin to sink, including the one I’m standing on. When the water reaches ankle-height, I see a walkway to Jesus just below the surface. I run to Him, and He laughs and shouts, “Let’s dive in!” There’s no stopping now. I plunge into the water after Him. It’s peaceful in this pool, no longer a river. Or maybe it’s a pool between river points. I don’t know. I just know I want to stay here and not move on.

I glance at Jesus and see a look. Surely not worry, just more concern.

“What?”  I query. ” What is it?”

“You know there’s more work to do, don’t you? There’s more river of life to go down. You can’t stay here forever.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I know.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Of course.”

“Will you follow me when it’s time to move on?”

“Of course,” I respond.

“Good. Now let’s enjoy this rest just a little bit longer. And when it’s time, I promise to equip you for the next part of the journey.”