peace is a difficult one

My church very nicely provided home advent kits. Kits is the word of 2020. All these kits distributed to make life more enjoyable while we’re homebound. Cooking kits. Art kits. Etc. But. I’m off topic. Back to advent. I procrastinated the first week and didn’t get to it. My {hope} candle was not lit. In fact, it sat in the box with the other two purples and one pink. This past week. Well, it was the week of the {peace} candle. I finally removed the candles from the box. Placed them on a turquoise color small plate. And decided to read the {hope} section. It was a helpful reading and interestingly, hope was the subject of my last entry. At some point during the week (when doesn’t matter and sorry I have a hard time with exacts right now) I cut some greenery from my door wreath and added a few small ornaments and made my little advent display a bit more festive. And one evening, now I remember which. The first night of Hanukkah, which was Thursday. I asked my daughter to light both candles and she did. I thought briefly about hope. And peace. We blew them out and went to sleep.

Peace is a difficult one.
Peace amidst the loss. People gone. Forever.
An execution. Brings me no peace. At all. Only anguish.
People I love. Gone. People I love hurting because someone they love. Gone.
Brings me no peace.
People hopeful about the new year. Sure. I am somewhat hopeful as well.
But for now. What do I do with peace? The actual word. Peace.
Light a candle and pretend?
Try to forget my daughter’s job entails operating a database of police shootings?
Not acknowledge my son and girlfriend sleep in a Louisville apartment as did someone else who no longer…
Peace is hard to come by. Sure. I experience it in bits. Pieces. Portions of days when. All is well. For me.
But I know there is still suffering and I wonder. How do I offer peace? To the people I love.
To my neighborhood and community.
Is it even possible?
And even when. It’s quiet and no sirens.
When we’re back to somewhat normalcy and no one messages saying someone has passed. The risks of illness not so ever present.
Will I feel at peace?

Peace in my body.
Peace in my mind.
The most arduous of all. Peace in my heart.
Peace on days when I see the sunrise and sunset. Both. A sliver of the moon still visible as the pink clouds welcome a new day.
The vibrancy as the sun yells good-bye over downtown. Seen through my front window.
Peace. When I see and hear and know.
We have changed yet we have not.
Peace in an embrace long in coming and a settledness.
If only the brevity could last.


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