On Peace

The older I get, the more I realize that peace isn’t found when life finally slows down. It’s found in the presence of Christ.

As I sat in my rocking chair recently one afternoon with my Marian garden behind me, Jesus the Good Shepherd in front of me, and storm clouds gathering overhead, the Gospel of the day settled deep in my heart:

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

There is a verb there. Come.

Rest requires movement toward Him. It requires making room.

Over the past few weekends, I’ve spent hours turning this little back patio into a place of rest. It was sweaty, ordinary work; it was not glamorous, and it is not perfect. But somewhere between moving furniture, planting flowers, and arranging statues, the Lord was quietly doing something in me. Sometimes healing looks ordinary.

As I looked at the Good Shepherd today, I noticed the sheep. The lamb in His arms rests completely at peace. Another skips alongside Him without a care, utterly confident that the Shepherd knows where He is going.

That preaches.

How much of my exhaustion comes from trying to shepherd myself?

Today’s readings all point to the same truth: our King comes in humility, the Spirit gives life, and Jesus simply says,

“Come to me.”

Not, “Figure it out.”

Not, “Work harder.”

Not, “Carry more.”

Just come.

I’ve realized this patio was never really about landscaping. It was about creating space to remember that my worth isn’t found in productivity but in belonging to Him.

Grace is so often hidden in the ordinary.

A flower planted.

A rocking chair.

A statue that suddenly preaches the sermon you needed to hear.

Jesus is still inviting weary people.

The question is whether we’ll stop long enough to come