While I worked last week, I sat with my journal open to this page. It takes a bit more effort to let anxiety rule with all her crazy haste when I have this staring me down.
I’ve been thinking about peace a lot lately, about what it is and what it isn’t. I love what my sweet friend Holley Gerth says about the peace she received after her battle through infertility.
It’s not the pansy, pie-in-the-sky, life-is-perfect peace. No, this is the kind of peace that comes after war. It’s the hard-won, show-you-my-scars, didn’t-think-I’d-live-to-tell-about-it, peace. It’s not gentle—it’s wild, fierce, and I’m not giving it up, not ever, because I paid too high a price to get it.
That’s the kind of peace that sinks down deep into your bones. Sometimes I think I’ve experienced this Jesus peace, but other times I wonder if I’ve stayed too safe in life to even recognize my need for it. I love Holley for so many reasons, but I especially love her for putting this one into words.