Sitting by the window, I watch the birds. The robins have arrived, feeding from the crabapple like ants on sugar. The mourning doves are here too, resting together in that same tree—each branch holding a small life of its own. They feed on the tart fruit, quiet and unhurried against the pewter winter sky.
It seems they carry no worry about tomorrow. No
anxious thoughts about what has been or what might be. Just presence. Just
trust.
I should feel that same peace. I am blessed. Now
that I am retired, time rests gently in my hands, inviting me to sit and
contemplate the quiet mercies that speak so clearly to my heart.
And yet, I cannot say I have that surrendered
peace—the kind that steadies the spirit and loosens fear. I am not entirely
free of the longings and quiet anxieties that keep me bound.
Perhaps peace is not the absence of longing.
Perhaps it is learning, slowly, to rest even while the heart still trembles.
“The Lord will keep in perfect peace those
whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in Him.” — Isaiah 26:3
Maybe peace, like the birds, comes one branch at a time.
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