This morning I was sitting on the balcony with my daughter and my coffee. The sun was on my right side and a gentle breeze was blowing. Not many Turks get up as early as our daughter, so it was pretty quiet — enough to hear the birds chirping loudly from the tree about five feet away.
And as I sat there I thought — how can I have this moment of such peace in the midst of everything that’s going on? If I were to make you a brief and non-exhaustive list of the uncertainty and instability troubling me from all sides — COVID, race riots, watching loved ones duking it out on social media, waiting on a court date so we can finalize the adoption and finally take our daughter to meet her family and friends.
My heart is hurting for the pain and the suffering and the divisions breaking out in every direction. For the multiplication of lies and the inexplicable violence and the lack of visible peacemakers.
And yet. There I sat in a moment of such perfect peace it brought tears to my eyes.
My daughter likes to flip through my Bible, and as she was flipping I saw a verse I’d underlined in Lamentations years ago.
Because of His great love, we are not consumed.
Yes, the world has erupted once again in chaos and flames. And yes, some of us are taking our turn at the very hottest center of the fire. But we are not consumed.
Somehow, some way, with each new morning’s mercies He gives us what we need. To stand and face the sorrows of the day. To burn or watch those we love burn. To run toward the fires instead of away from them.
I think it’s in those little bubbles of peace like I experienced this morning, in moments of laughter and joy and light, that He shows some of His greatest love. When He says take a breather from worrying about the world and rest for a minute, smile, breathe, enjoy your coffee. I’ve got this.
Because of His great love, we don’t have to be consumed. What a world-altering, life-changing, hallelujah-shouting kind of truth.