I always thought I had peace. But my body tells a different story. Somewhere along the way, peace became something I thought I carried – but not always something I lived.
I cannot remember when it started. Maybe in my twenties. This constant urge – the feeling I need to go to the toilet. Sometimes real. Sometimes not. It haunted my travels, interrupted my worship, shaped even the simplest choices – like where Kathleen, Jesse, and I could eat.
Dad used to drive me to work. He had to stop the car many times just to let me find a toilet. Later, when I could drive, I drove Jesse to school, gas stations became part of the routine. Doctors ran tests when abdominal pain landed me in the hospital – yet found nothing. One doctor suggested it was psychological. I believe it is also spiritual.
I have led worship, preached sermons, taught classes – even commuted 40km for work. I sat by Kathleen’s hospital bed every day. I somehow managed. And yet, before every trip, every meeting, every walk with Ben – I wrestled with this same unease.
Today at my checkup, the doctor found my blood pressure high. He asked if I felt my heart racing. I had not noticed. But I did feel that familiar urge. He smiled, sent me to the toilet. False alarm. Moments later, my heart rate and BP were normal again.
It hit me: my nerves, my mind, my restless body. This is not just about health. It is about peace.
I thought I had it. But peace is not just the absence of trouble – it is the presence of Christ. My body may tremble, my mind may falter, but he whispers still: “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).
So, I carry on, learning to breathe deep, to hand over what weighs me down. Because true peace is not something I muster up, it is the one who holds me.
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