When I was in my teenage years, I used to take a short hike up into the red hills where I grew up.  It was only a short hike, but if you got to the bottom of the mesa, you were able to slip between some rocks and climb up on top of the mesa.  From there, you could see the entire town cradled in the arms of a green valley and watched over by the majestic mountains on the other side.  I used to sit up there and listen to the sound of the wind blowing and appreciate God’s beautiful creation, then, I would feel the peace wash over me as if an invisible river had broken from beneath the red rock and gushed forth like a river.

As I have aged, peace seems more elusive than it was back then.  Now, I have to make an effort to achieve peace.  There is no longer a mesa to hike up to, and the incessant droning of the television keeps my peace at bay far too often.  Even so, once in a while, I find that restful peace flow over me and it fills me up again.

Part of the reason that it is elusive is because I don’t make the time for it like I used to, but I have learned a little something about peace.  Peace is a form of acceptance and I have a harder time accepting things these days.  I always think that I can push through and make things happen, and about fifty percent of the time I can, but the rest of the time I am simply trying to break down a locked door when all the while there is someone inside the room who could easily open it for me.  If only I would ask.

Interestingly, my personal peace has everything to do with relationships. It has everything to do with how I respond to those around me. Peace brings patience, patience brings compassion, compassion brings love.  When I have peace, people sense it and come to me for it.  They look to me like I am a roadsign pointing to the place where one can get a refill, and I do my best to be that roadsign and to point them in God’s direction.  Even so, it is still elusive to some because they don’t want to climb up to the mesa.  I can understand that because it’s hard for me sometimes, too.  I think that if I fully understood what the stakes were, I would be up on the mesa everyday drinking in the blissful peace and pointing my roadsign to tell all who would listen, but I haven’t a clue.

This weekend, I climbed up to the mesa again in my imagination.  I heard the sound of the voice that whispers in the wind and felt the warmth of His love radiate around me.  I stood up on the mesa and asked God if He was still there, still listening, still loving me.  He was, and that is peace–beautiful, gentle, peace.