Little Pockets of Peace

I open the cabinet door and find one clean bowl. I am thankful.

My child asks for a drink before bed and there’s a bottle of water available for him. I am thankful.

I pay rent early this month. I am thankful.

My daughter prepares toast for her brother while I’m just waking up. I am thankful.

On my drive I hear a song my husband loves. I am thankful.

I am thankful in the little things. I have to be. I must notice these little pockets of peace when they present themselves. I intentionally acknowledge them, and sometimes I seek them because so many of my moments are covered with the cloudiness of turmoil in this life.

In the last three years, both my extended and immediate family have encountered so much heartache, loss, and struggle that it seems unimaginable. We have fought to beat multiple cancers and suffered multiple near-death car accidents. We fell to our knees to save a marriage, and when that failed we rushed back to those knees for restoration in the aftermath. We pushed ourselves beyond the limits of sacrifice to restore financial freedom. We witnessed a traumatic brain injury and watched as someone fought his way back from death, all the while with broken hearts. We are grieving for the loss of a person we knew, shifting to who he is since the injury.

The Bible says to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). I cried more tears and prayed more prayers in this season than any other. Moments to rejoice over would be quickly squelched, and then it was back to weeping.

Enter the little pockets of peace—when the cuts wounded so deeply that I could scarcely see through the tears they caused, when the burden laid so heavy on my chest that I fought for breath, and when the weight of all these struggles bore down so heavily I begged for them to be lifted.

In the angst, I found bits of hope. Glimpses of light. I discovered that in moments slowed by pause and thankfulness, a little joy came. The touch of a warm coffee mug in my palms: a pocket of peace. The contagious laugh of my toddler: a glimpse of light. My husband’s hand to hold at night: a bit of hope. Those pieces did not change the circumstances, but it made the unbearable more bearable. It gave my family moments we could rejoice in together.

I open the cabinet door and find one clean bowl, and yes, I am thankful. In the middle of the melancholy, I find joy. I am grateful for all the small victories and little steps of progress.

When joy is hard to see, I find a light that pushes me toward hope in little pockets of peace.

Stephanee Howell spends her days mostly as caregiver, teacher, and referee to her three children. She writes for her own personal therapy and for the love of writing. Her  favorite hobby is crocheting with friends. Her mission is to point them to a relationship with God, as well as to know and make him known. Her fuel comes from the Holy Spirit, a deep love of family, and numerous cups of coffee a day. Reminding herself that stress is not a fruit of the spirit, she depends on positive perspective, patience, and enjoying the moment.

Photograph © Erica Tan, used with permission