guardian

I have a very distinct memory of my family sitting in our tiny kitchen in Sheboygan, WI (circa 1989) memorizing Philippians 4:4-9. We (my parents, me-age 8, my brother-age 6, my sister-age 4) regularly chanted, traipsing cheerfully over the meter and rhythm of the words rather than contemplating their meaning (at least, that's what I was doing):

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!
Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything,
by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble,
whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—
if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—
put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

Fast-forward to high school, standing on my porch with my then-boyfriend, pondering together the slightly mindblowing concept that something like God's peace might actually be able to "transcend all [read: our know-it-all] understanding." Whoa. (And, yes, all we were doing was pondering...)

Then in the last year or so, those words memorized 10 years ago came back as I regularly prayed for people that they might experience that peace of God "that doesn't make any sense" in the midst of death, cancer, shame, confusion, etc. A very powerful prayer, indeed. Because such unexplainable peace might actually cause more confusion when it shows up. But in the end it's peace. Something that does, indeed, transcend understanding.

Most recently, however, my mind has wandered to the rest of the sentence and a new prayer has formed in my mind and heart. As if transcending all understanding isn't amazing enough, it's this peace that is the guardian of my heart. It's the filter through which all emotion must travel, the keeper of my response to future possibilities. Peace, in the form of a dove hanging over my table. Peace, in the form of cranes that I will make for every day my brother is in Afghanistan. Protection, recognized with amazement when pondering something that didn't go the way I thought it would. Security in the midst of worry, solace in the midst of economic chaos. Peace. A deep breath. Guardian.