The Echoes of His Peace

'And now I hear Thy mighty "Peace, be still,"
And wind and wave are calm- their fury, froth.
Could wind or wave cause Thee to break Thy troth?
They are but servants to Thy Sovereign will;
Within me all is still.'(Amy Carmichael) :

Those are the wondrous moments in life. Not when the water is a happy, playful, breeze-ruffled thing dancing along between myriad sun-glintings, but when the waves rise up in a great grey rage, and strike like walls- when the wind is a roaring beast, and the depths swell, and billow, and crash over with irresistible force- and then, miraculously, are quelled. It must be worth years of storm-tossing to feel that glorious storm-halting once!

The past few weeks have been a hurricane. I just felt driven helter-skelter before an icy blast of inadequacy, and hurt, and betrayal, and, anger, and rebellion. I didn't know the world could really be such an absolute howling wilderness, and that one could keep smiling, and studying, and chattering away as though nothing were the matter.
Pride was in a fury, and idealism was struck to the heart. Was it possible that I could really be SUCH a miserable failure as this? Were people really so corrupt and untrustworthy? Would I ever have the grace to love them as unselfishly as I wanted to? Did I really WANT to love them at all? Was there any point even in trying? I was writhing in the grip of absolutely poisonous emotions- and I hated the feeling- and I couldn't stop it, or see more than a few inches beyond pain.

It simply went on like that, until I was teetering at the breaking point. Life was a seemingly endless round of dully staring into space, of crying, of lacking the emotional fervour to cry, of praying listlessly in circles- knowing I was stung only by a hundred 'little things', and suffering as though they had been great and terrible ones. It's awful to feel oneself grieved beyond logic and reason- no one watching from the outside can sympathise or comprehend it.

And then, one night, kneeling through the crashing wonder of a thunderstorm, I talked and sobbed it all out with God in rain drenched hopelessness at the Altar Place. And I woke up the next morning, and it was... gone. I hardly recognized myself. I had been frozen before- often unable to feel at all, but this was not freezing or numbness- this was PEACE! Pulling the blankets closer around me, I curled up beside the window and looked out. The tawny-grey lace of branches and twigs on the nearest tree- just beginning to be touched with green at the tips (it is a tree that steps cautiously into Spring) were jeweled with with dangling rows of diamond droplets. The bark of the farther tree was black with rain- the asphalt was shining with it- puddles were flashing at me here and there. A wild panorama of green began to rush past- lush, joyous emerald grass- a great canopy of treetops rising in the near horizon- a silvery cascade of paler green falling over the closest maple. And the sky was soft, gentle, awash with clear grey light- the whole scene singing exquisite morning-ness! I was so glad! I think I learned all over again what gladness is!
Beautiful God! Beautiful morning! As though the Maker of all THIS could be at a loss to guide me, and the people he'd placed about me! I was laughing- happy, childish, unsarcastic laughter, and it was unspeakably good. It has been good ever since- transcending final projects and impending finals- stress, worry, and discouragement. Peace is such a glowing thing- and suddenly, all the love that I couldn't manage at all is overflowing almost effortlessly in generous fountains of grace.

It sounds so strange- is such a miracle, to me! I've felt gradual change before, but never a sudden, utter transformation like this. I only know that a faith which was completely impossible to me when I went to bed was mine in abundance when I woke up- has stayed, like a weight of brightness on my heart all week. At first, I only began to know, as an accomplished fact, that joy was a thing entirely independent of happiness- and then I found that happiness follows on the heels of joy! Every truth in the world was suddenly new-minted. Circumstances are unchanged, but life is far, far, better than alright! And He is glorious!

A few months ago, at the rocky beginning of the semester, I jotted this verse down (during math class, of course.)

He laid a hand upon my inner gale.
One sighing splash denotes collapsing waves,
Then all is still.
And silenced is the clamour of my soul-
Its plunging- frenzied, wild,
Rests calm within the chambers of His will,
Is chambered in the circle of His calm.
No other sound intrudes upon us, save
The waters, breathing like a drowsing child,
And rocking in the echo of His "Peace!"

I'm still a little bit dazed by the stillness. It came so suddenly, and stayed so completely. But since the echo of Christ's "Peace, be still!" is still throbbing here along clear, rainbow lines of light- like the sun bursting through rain-slicked glass- why, what can I do but radiate peace as well?

A Small Beauty

The sanctuary- which does double duty as our pastor's house- was hushed. Skirts rustled. A shoe scraped. Two throats were cleared. It was the 'prayer' part of the service, where we share concerns, and then take some time for everyone to pray as/if they feel moved. We were all waiting, in the throes of an awkward pause, for SOMEONE to feel moved- begging the silence to break. Then Mr. King stood up in the back of the room. He said:

"We thank You, Lord, for this 'small beauty' we live in. We thank You for showing us a small beauty, so that we can conceive of a bigger one. We thank You for Your promise that one day, there will be no more 'small beauty', or pieces of beauty, but only Your great Beauty transforming all."

I love that thought, and that wording. It's true- we live in 'a small beauty'. Sometimes, I just feel so drained and weighed down by the ugliness surrounding me- by the ugliness WITHIN me, for that matter, that I forget there is ANY beauty in the world! At other times, (and it happens often in Spring!) I'm so carried away into ecstacy by the beauty burgeoning and blossoming everywhere that I can hardly conceive of anything superior, nor feel strongly enough my need of it.

But we live in 'a small beauty'. Not a complete one. Beauty in patches. And it would be as terrible to not see it at all as it would be to see nothing else. Only the recollection that fractions of an infinite beauty are the most- and least- that we are able to see can guard us from either extreme.

So I just content myself with writing poetry about it in math class... :-)


I watched the rippling fires
Of rumpled grass; flame tumbling over flame.
The wind blows up a silver blaze, whirls higher,
Extinguishes in green; begins the game
A second time; goes dancing through the trees
And meadow, painting with a silvery sheen
The ruffled leaves, then swiftly as it came
Is leaping back; advances and retires
And spreads the fields in sighing green again.

The breeze falls slack-
Drifts in shaded hollows of the wood.
The sun begins to shine in earnest- heats
The meadows with a flood-
Of heavily rippling warmth- a skylark sings
Above the panting field; a lone bird beats
A path into the glaring sky, its wings
A whir of silence. She and I, we stood
Welded to noon-stillness of sluggish blood
Limp fingers linked in drowsy wondering
At Summer burning through a veil of Spring.

The Moon Is Round!

I was skimming through Jim Elliot's journals last night, and found, under the entry for Dec 26 these cryptic words: "The Moon Is Round!"
An explanatory note in the margins, written by Jim's wife, Elisabeth, explained:

"This refers to an experience which Jim told me about years later. He had been depressed, doubting the sovereignty of God. The moon seemed to show him that there is wholeness, that all things are complete in Christ, even when they appear to be partially shadowed."

How often things 'appear to be partially shadowed'!

And yet, even when I look at the dark sky, and see only a dim white sliver of the light and beauty I hoped for; even when I look at my life, and see only a miserable thread of the glory or satisfaction that 'ought to be' present (or nothing at all!) it should not be a cause for despair.
The wholeness, the fullness, the glory of the moon are not lost or extinguished. Only 'partially shadowed'. And shadows cannot alter the reality of the things that are.
When we gaze grief-stricken on a world where 'nothing makes sense', where 'everything goes wrong', where 'everything under the sun is meaningless', we must keep in mind that we are looking at vast shadows, and seeing only wee snatches of realities. "The Moon Is Round!" Darkness may seem to halve it, or obliterate it entirely, but it is still there, unchanged, as round and massive as ever.

My favorite song at Chinese fellowship (partly because it is one of the only ones accompanied by an English translation) is 'The Sun Above The Clouds.' The gist of the song is: 'I walk about sometimes and see the sun shining brightly, and at others cannot see it at all. But this does not mean that there is no sun, only that clouds are getting in the way. I will still be joyful because I know the sun is there, whether I can see it or not.' And then, the chorus basically says: 'No matter what the clouds do, the sun does not change. Ah! It stays the same!'

The sun, the moon, the Son, His power and love- they stay the same. No matter if our view is sometimes limited.

So, if you're feeling overwhelmed by shadows, or lost in clouds, remember: The sun above the clouds is still shining, untouched by the lower things. And, 'The Moon Is Round!'