Peace walked in at five o’clock sharp, sat down in comfy chair, sat fireside. And chatted like the days that never were before. Under a roof, and in a house, this one. All shiny penny new. There was a grown sound in the belly of the boy about to be a man. And he had caught Peace like you catch a cold. It just covers you up and you need boxes of Kleenex and some tender love from a momma. But here you need all eyes open wide to see that Peace has come and it was not caught, it was prayed for and waited on, and there are bits and pieces of the Prodigal all over this like one walks through the woods and picks up beggar lice. Its grace. But we’re not picking any of this off. No a momma thanks and praises and tells others like she did the other day. She told the momma with tears in here eyes, you stand on the edge of the cliff in that waiting. You stand hanging by the thread of hope, all worn and weary and dangling, and you never give up. You hold tight and hold fast and you pray hard and you claim and cling. And when the Peace stays longer than you thought you finally breathe and you exhale and you pinch your own skin and say it is not a dream. It is a walking miracle sitting by the fire and talking all grown-up man. A language so new and beautifully different, as foreign. And if they ever tell you otherwise, those who lose their hope and lost their hope all along the way, you say yes yes it comes, the peace. The journey walkers do walk in one day and drop their peace on a home. And the bag is full to overflowing with letters dipped in grace. Unwrap and open each one slowly. There is beauty there. Always cling hard, you momma warriors to the knowing that the one day peace will come. And maybe even at five o’clock sharp, as promised. But this time the promise kept, and the heart filled with peace and a new fullness of maturity and ripeness for the picking. With the tender fingers of the momma’s heart she picks up the pieces of the peace, holds them to her bosom. As longed for, waited for, peace settles on the home and sits by that crackling dancing fiery flame of warmth. She re-reads each letter sent straight with piercing to the heart. A bullseye to her soul. Savors the words spoken, written on her momma heart. They are good. And they warm more than any flickering orange flame from the brick laid hearth every could or would. Peace walked in at five o’clock sharp. I hope she’ll stay awhile. She warms the once cold places as she settles in and makes herself at home. I close the door and bolt it shut. While making up the guest bed, I pray Peace will stay a good long while.
joining Laura today at Laura Boggess dot com and with Jen at Finding Heaven Today and Heather for Just Write.
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8 thoughts on “When Peace Walks In And Takes A Seat”
Beautiful story intertwined into ‘deeper’ stories. Love your amazing gift.
Sharon, hope your Thanksgiving was perfection. Thankful for you and your heart. Hope all is very very well in your world.
Oh, my, Elizabeth. As a mamma of two young boys–not knowing the paths they might choose in the coming days–I’m holding these words close to my heart. Trying desperately to trust and not bolt that door before they even step outside. Beautiful.
This is my heart for these sons of ours, that we trust and pray and long and wait and our rejoicing will come. The world pulls hard at these to be men. We need each other, we mamma warriors, we need each other. And we are strengthened by community. They grow and they grow up. And the prayer of my heart its into the men God would have them be.Thank you for kind words.
Oh friend, how did I miss this one? This. I am trembling with joy at your gift of peace. There is so much hope here. So, so much. I will keep praying..for you, for your son, for me, for my sons…This was beauty.
Mamma warriors need each other. We need to hold fast and cling in community together. Oh the days and years of the longing and the fretting and the waiting…. always waiting…. holding fast to hope and a longing for God’s highest and best. Yes these sons need prayer the size of oceans and all the heavens.
Oh, Elizabeth. Your love for your son here. So beautiful, friend. That line about grown sounds in the belly of a boy on his way to being a man…oh my goodness. Thankful for your prayers. For your heart. Thankful for the Giver of all peace and hope. The One who warms up the cold places. Yes.
Ashley he will be 18 on Saturday. What a bitter sweet time in our lives. And so many decisions. Thanks for hearing my heart here. You always do. Yes without this Warmer of the Cold Places, our Heavenly Father, how cold and alone we would feel.