Finding Peace

By Amy F.

We’re sitting on the long doormat at the entrance to the PEACE Program, little tracks of snow melting into our pants. As the wet and draft begin to chill me, I have to remind myself what I’m doing here. On the floor. In my nice work clothes. At the end of a long day. Why am I here?

Oh, yeah. IMG_20151021_161014568

Because she’s here. My 7-year-old friend, who doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to go home, but is just not ready to start on her 50 math facts. So, we meet in the middle… on the floor. And because I had a tiny glimpse of her world today, I won’t demand that she suck it up so that she can earn her homework sticker, not today. Today, she’s not here for a program. I’d love it if my program did have all the answers she needs, but she’s in no mood right now to pretend, just to make me happy.

So–all the while keeping an ear out for the rest of the program that I’m supposedly running–I scoot up next to her and lean back against the cold wall where she huddles. I pat her back, let her cry, give her chances to talk, tell silly stories, and pray silent prayers.IMG_20150514_172247132

I thank Father that He does the same for me when I can’t handle life. That when I’m overwhelmed, unreasonable, and don’t know what’s wrong (except everything), I can still do just one little thing right in coming to Him. That instead of telling me that He has a universe to run, or that I have 50 problems to solve, favor to earn… Father sits with me and holds me, holds me more completely than I could ever hold my friend. I pray for her, that she finds what she came for today. And I pray that He finds her. 

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