For a long time, I thought peace was something that happened when the problem went away. Your world straightens from chaos and disorder, and you exhale.
Peace.
But I don't think that's peace anymore. That's relief.
Peace has to be possible before everything gets fixed.
Otherwise we're all just waiting for circumstances to give us permission to rest.
I've done enough waiting. And there are plenty of things I still don't know.
I don't know what the next twenty-three years look like. I don't know what my health will look like. I don't know if there are more surprises coming.
I just don't know.
For most of my life, those words have bothered me.
I like understanding things. Because understanding feels like control.
If I know why, I can prepare.
If I know what's next, I can plan.
If I can explain something, maybe I can contain it.
Faith doesn't always work that way.
Sometimes faith looks more like:
I don't understand this.
I don't know what's next.
I can't control the outcome.
And I trust God anyway.
That's rest.
And I'm realizing rest is a choice.
It's not something that has to be thrust upon me.
I don't have to wait until everything is okay.
I can choose to rest now.
That doesn't mean I always do.
Some days I still want certainty more than peace.
Some days the questions are louder.
Some days I still want my old normal back.
Some days I still close my eyes. Put my hands out. Palms forward. And count.
But I'm trying not to spend every good day preparing myself for a bad one.
I'm trying to notice what is here.
Kara, London, Iylee, Shep.
Work I care about.
Friends.
A normal day.
Today.
Twenty-three years ago, I was given more life.
For a long time, I think I viewed that as one big second chance.
I'm not sure I do anymore.
Maybe second chances happen all the time.
Maybe waking up is one.
The story isn't finished.
I'm still here.
Still a husband, a dad.
Still working.
Still praying and living.
And when I close my eyes tonight, I don't want it to only be because I'm wondering what my hands are going to do.
I want to close them because I'm choosing to rest.