Peace, Be Still

I have been a torrent of emotions lately. I've been doing too much and sleeping too little - working full-time at Springdale (wishing to quit), training on the weekends at the animal shelter, taking two classes at MHCC (wishing to go full-time), and trying to maintain my monthly volunteer commitment at the zoo (wishing to do much more). I'm neglecting my family, my friends, my husband, and my physical well-being, and the neglect walks hand-in-hand with its partner, guilt. I've been sick for over two weeks, and Steve for over three. Beeker has been ripping his fur out due to a skin condition, and the medicine I have to force down his throat makes him vomit. Steve's parents are both struggling with medical and aging issues, and his whole family is feeling the pressure and the strain. I could go on ... complaints and concerns and anger and angst rushing off my fingertips onto the keyboard like a bubbling, boiling, unceasing lava ...

... but I do try to keep myself in check. "Perspective," I religiously write on my mental list of things-to-do each day: "check".

But as religion can be bereft, so are my attempts at downplaying my current inner turmoil. My brain doesn't seem to communicate well with my gut or my heart, as those organs don't seem to keep checklists.

I had the day off today. Other than homework, I had no true commitments. And because I could slow down and turn off the voice of the crazy woman, there was time for a chorus to work its way gently into my usually restless mind:

"Peace, be still ... Peace, be still.
Peace, be still ... And the wind and the waves,
Peace, be still ... Peace, be still.
Peace, be still ... And the ocean obeys."

I first heard Twila Paris sing when I was living in Eugene, restless and conflicted with remaining in school. I saw her name on the marquee of a performing arts center I walked by each day, and knowing only that she was a Christian artist, I decided to go to her concert. Shortly thereafter, I made the decision to leave school. I can't say that those two events were connected ... but I find it remarkable that, all these years later, when what I want more than anything is to finally return to school, what I hear is Twila's voice is lilting gently through my conscience: "Peace, be still".

And will Ronda obey?