Far away in the depths of my spirit tonight
Rolls a melody sweeter than psalm;
In celestial strains it unceasingly falls
O’er my soul like an infinite calm.

The words of an old hymn written in the late 1800’s, called Wonderful Peace.  It’s what came on when I started up my computer this morning.  It’s the words I could relate to this morning.  And words that I have been able to relate to so many times in my life.  A desperately needed peace that is completely indescribable.   An incredible peace that makes no sense amidst a scary or difficult situation.  It is not logical, but it is one of the most “real” and undeniable things I have every experienced.

The first time that I can really remember such a peace was fifteen years ago when my son went into pulmonary arrest after open heart surgery.  I so clearly remember fervent, nearly violent prayers all around me begging for Jesus to save him, to heal him.  I had been one of those hysterical, desperate pray-ers just seconds before.  But moments before Mitchell left us, I had a “blanket of peace” experience.  The warmest sense of just knowing God’s presence and love in a very physical and emotional way.   Amid the grief and wrenching heartache of letting him go, there was the deepest calm of knowing that he was in Jesus’ arms now, a place where he would be fully healed, fully loved, fully alive.

A heart at rest.  It sounds so trite and pat.  But that is exactly what I felt that day.  A heart not panicking or fighting or striving, but just resting.  A heart that finally grasps a fragment of the understanding that anything that happens here on this earth is temporary.  A heart that comes to know that anything we experience or go through, no matter how grueling, comes with a promise of purpose.  A heart who has reached out it’s hand to be held by the One who carries every situation and event we may encounter.

Literally, within moments of being wrapped in this blanket of peace, the doctor came in, crying, telling us that Mitchell was gone.  But I already knew. I knew exactly where he’d left us to go. And I knew exactly Who was holding him.  I knew peace.

This morning as I was getting up to get my daughter off to work, I heard a horrible thumping sound.  A sound all too familiar.  I went into her room to find her on the floor in the throws of yet another grand mal seizure.  Bleeding, convulsing, eyes rolled back in her head, horrible noises coming from her throat, choking.  This was not the first time I have seen this, and it probably won’t be the last.  But for some reason, today it evoked emotions in me that rocked me to my core.  Things I haven’t felt for fifteen years.  Fear, grief, pain, the deepest sadness.  I sobbed uncontrollably.  Crying out to God for comfort, for reassurance, for answers.  For peace.

And He gave it.  He wrapped me up once again, let me crawl in his lap, took me in His arms and rocked me back and forth, singing songs of such a peace over me.  He saw my need.  A need I couldn’t even find the words to describe.  And He met it.  And as I held her and rubbed her back and stroked her hair waiting for her to wake up from the aftermath of what her body had just been through, that crazy, indescribable peace melted all over me and onto her.  As I was holding her, He was holding both of us.   And that is a place where I can rest….

John 14:27  “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”