For the last 7 months my wife and I have been blessed by the gift of our incredible little boy. And I have found that becoming a father and transitioning into that stage in life is almost as abrupt as the act of being born itself. You have time to prepare, time to ready your mind, life, and home. Time to make sure all the physical and mental apparatus are in place in time for the new arrival. But regardless of the preparations, anticipations, and expectations there is no quantifiable amount of bracing one can do to ready themselves for the tsunami that is about to wash over their lives; clearing the slate and starting all over from scratch. And like the child coming into the world, it is sudden, immediate, and somewhat anti-climactic. All of a sudden it’s just here, with no trumpets, drum roll, or slow fade. A complete and immediate shift in realities. One minute life’s one way, the next it is completely different.
And this shift is not terribly peaceful. It’s sudden and jerky with lots of crying and tears and laughs and it’s quite emotionally messy. And the raising of the new life is not awfully dissimilar. Our son is always squirming, kicking, laughing, crying, crawling, drooling, eating, and making seemingly random inarticulate sounds that will one day be the words “Go Saints” and “Who dat?!” He is rarely still and even more seldom quiet. He even makes noises in his sleep. And I watch my son reflecting on my life with him versus my life before him, looking for peace in the same manner that I look for something I was just holding and now can’t seem to track down.
I have two reoccurring rolls in our family regarding to our son: get him to sleep at night and get him when he wakes up in the morning. I like these responsibilities. In addition to giving my wife a break, I get to be the last one he plays with at night and the first one in the morning. And every night as I sit with him in the old wooden rocking chair in our living room, slowly rocking him and feeding him his last bottle, he rubs his eyes letting out a few last squawks and squeaks and looks at me one last time to make sure I’m still there, and then he goes completely limp except for his heavy, deep-sleep breathing. And in that first moment of his sleep peace finds him. Yes he’s tired from going all day. Yes his biorhythms are telling him it’s time to shut down for a while. But as he lies in my arms, stomach full, warm, recently bathed, loved, and knowing he’s safe and sound, peace finds him.
My son, Boston, came abruptly, suddenly, and anti-climactically into this world, and every day his mind and body are full of beautiful life and constantly in motion. And like him, I am chaotic, busy, tiring, tired, needy, and desperately seeking peace. You aren’t a baby. You don’t worry about which toy to play with first or why the dog is so hairy or if mommy still exists even though you can’t see her. You worry about your bills, your job, your family, career, faith, marriage, health, house, education, friends, past, future, and so on. And amongst it all we feel so helpless and overwhelmed. My son doesn’t worry about his next meal because he knows it always comes. He doesn’t worry about love because it always comes. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow because it always comes. And whatever joy it brings will come, and whatever pain it brings will go. He doesn’t find peace in trying to control all of these things and bending them to his will and need because peace always comes too. And his peace comes when he finally surrenders his needs and realizes that they are all taken care of. When he realizes the things he worries about are out of his control and that someone else has it covered, then peace finds him.
With all the abruptness of life, all the needs, wants, and demands that are here, suddenly and unannounced, with all the worries and anxieties that are destined to come, peace finds us in the moments that we realize someone else already has all the important things covered. When I recognize that I am not in control anyway and that trying to be is futile, then peace finds me. When I understand that the only things that truly matter are the things God was already going to take care of anyway, then peace finds me. And today, may peace find you.
Father, you have never given me a reason not to trust you. You’ve never misled me, never disappointed me, and never dropped the ball. But I continue to try to be in control of the world around me. You know what I am anxious about. You know what keeps me up and replays over and over in my head. God, send us peace in the knowing that you are watching over us and taking care of us. Help us live lives that relinquish control along with our worries. And help us not worry about how worried we are. Help us give ourselves permission to surrender to you. Please send us peace. Amen.
Chris Palmer
Stephenville, Texas
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