Peace

My family is small. But we are loud. When we talk on the phone, we yell as if our voices had to cross the ocean. When someone begins to talk, and we have something more pertinent to say, we talk louder and louder and LOUDER. Until we crescendo into shouting. We argue about the best food. We debate about what "blueberry" is in Hungarian.

My immediate family does not necessarily live life in such a high decibel. We might occasionally yell out of frustration. But me: I rarely do. In fact, the louder I talk, the less sense I make, so I have learned to shut up. Or at least mutter when I'm really mad.

This house is open. Every room opens to the next, and the rooms are big with high ceilings that carry sound quickly into all the rooms in the house. Even as I sit writing, I can hear the conversation clearly from across the house. Not even the bathroom is entirely private.

For an introvert who loves people, I enjoy the openness; the loudness is a nice change of pace. But there are days when I'm just ready to escape completely. In the summer I can run outside and sit on the porch steps. But now, in the bleakness of winter... I have no quiet place. Though I love people, I need quiet in order to process. In order to ponder, to resolve, to pray. And for someone who operates off of reflection (meaning reflection is a springboard for action), this can become a draining environment for me.

Yesterday, there was only a drop of extrovertedness left in me, and it threatened to drip and leave me dry and enraged at every little thing. My peace was robbed. My joy was gone.

And then. A timely sermon. Peace. What does it look like to have peace?

It doesn't mean the shouting around you stops. It doesn't mean the chaos slows. It doesn't mean that suddenly everyone has the same mindset.

It means that deep inside I don't feel the urge to snap at everyone. To throw oranges at people that frustrate me. It means I breathe.... inhale instead of exhale grumpy, evil words.

It means that I lay my burdens down, and rest. Without my mind racing. Without memories chasing each other through the darkened hallways of the past. Without dwelling on my failures.

And where did this peace come? In my new favorite spot: the storage room.
where the heat is turned off
where the extra cartons of juice are stacked waiting for free space in the fridge
where there are old purses and coats that no one uses
where my grandpa's handwriting covers boxes detailing the mysterious contents inside
where extra shoes are stored in a mirrored cabinet
where the shelves reach the ceiling, holding artifacts from various travels
where it smells of fur, leather, and wood.

Here my burdens slipped away, and peace flooded me.