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.

strange

Totally out of the blue I have been invited to consider making a major change. What's weird is that I'm not currently discontent. This causes me to find myself without some of the usual mechanisms for making a big decision: does this new thing fill a gap or meet a need? (well, not if there are not gaps or needs) does it inject excitement into my life? (well, not if I'm not bored)

Is it possible that this should therefore be a less stressful decision? Would it simply be a lateral move from good to good? Strange...

abundance

By entering through faith into what God has always wanted to do for us—set us right with him, make us fit for him—we have it all together with God because of our Master Jesus. And that's not all: We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand—out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.

There's more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we're hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we're never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can't round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!

~Romans 5:1-5 (The Message)