I’m learning peace isn’t something to be found. I know. Because like just like everyone else I meet, I’ve been looking.
Real peace is –I think– peace I must make on my own. I’m learning to make some sort of patchwork peace with the world as it is. Healing a little here, hoping a little there. Making peace with my own side of the street and how I want to live on it. With the past of me and the present of me. With who I hope to be next. I’m making peace with remembrances. And worries. With loss. Grief. And farewells.
This year has offered plenty of time for self-reflection.
Early mornings of late, I sit alone stitching. Quiet. Focused on the knit or the purl or criss-crossing the embroidery thread. Slide the needles. Wrap the yarn. Pull the stitch through. I’m knitting with wooden needles quite likely older than I am. My grandmother’s.
I wonder: Is she here with me? Did she too enjoy the texture of the wool, the taut pull of the yarn, the repetition of pattern? As she worked the needles, did she make peace with herself and within her life as I do, sitting here before sunrise?
And I’ve only just today been able to pick up my mother’s cross-stitch project. I promised I’d finish it for her. A sampler for my brother. I know she worked on it as long as she was able, and it was important to her that he receive it. That it was finished. And all these many months, it’s been tucked away in a basket. In wait. Maybe she knew I’d get to it when and only if I was ready. A trust exchanged between us. A certainty the day would come.
There’s peace-making in the folds of fabric my mother once held. I hold onto it as if holding her hand. The thread, the rise and fall of the needle, the finishing. A release. An exhale. A circle closing.
I wonder: Is she here with me? Are we, mother and daughter, each pulling the same thread? One beginning, the other finishing? It’s been an almost two year goodbye, and maybe it’s time to make peace with that too.
Maybe I’ve spent all these many months in the making of bread and the taking of photographs and now, the knitting of scarves and sewing of samplers … to make my own peace as it seems it can’t be found anywhere else just now. Maybe making peace is being at peace and living in peace.
The weary world needs the hopers, the helpers, the givers and the peace-makers.
Rejoice. And make peace.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27
one hopeful year 
I can’t express enough how much I love this. How much I connect to it’s making and yes, if we make anything, may it be peace. I know my mom is next to me with each stroke of the brush I take. She’s quite uncertain of the digital art I’m learning but she is with me always in the making. Thank you for weaving peace a little more deeply into my thoughts and intentions.
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Thank you so much Debby. I’m so glad! The connection to our mothers is strong, isn’t it? I picture you often, making your art. It’s beautiful! We are blessed, brush stroke by brush stroke, and with every click of the camera. Peace!
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hello again, friend … you bring me back to the days of cross-stitch and quilting and other domestic past times where I used my hands. social media was unknown and our minds and hearts were free to be still and meditate.
i miss those days.
and thank you for sharing my favorite verse! true peace is only found in Christ. unlike happiness, it stays close even when all is going haywire.
thank you for this needed reflection.
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Good morning Linda! Thanks so much for stopping by! I think I’m craving simplicity. You’re right about the meditation as I work. My thoughts are free to wander. I don’t much hear myself think as I scroll Instagram – which has its place in my life as well – but doesn’t much feed my soul. Making peace … does. Blessings and peace to you, friend.
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