There is a whirlwind blowing worldwide. It is disorienting. In the midst, the landscape is changing. From my window, I watch. From the safety of my chair, I see. It is alarming. It is scary when debris flies by, so close. Destruction seems so immanent. Inches away. For now, I am safe from where I sit. Others are not so lucky.

This kind of turmoil takes a toll. My body was not designed to sit in such madness for an extended period of time. The stress level is high. My heartrate seems permanently elevated. My sleep cycle is in constant turbulence. Add in grief, times two…and I am quite undone these days, as you can tell from my lack of words lately. And so, I sit, on this morning, and I turn inward.

Outward is too much. Too exhausting. Too overwhelming. Too everything. I turn to what I know, or more accurately, to who I know. The Good Shepherd. The Source of Life. The Prince of Peace. I sit and I breathe. Slowly. With intention. In. Out. In. Out.

I listen for his heartbeat. Ah, there it is. Ba bap bum. Ba bap bum. Ba bap bum. The steady one; never varying. It never elevates. Never changes rhythm. Just consistent, life-giving beats. Always there. Funny how I forget to listen. Funny how I allow the whirlwind to drown out my lifeline. Ok, maybe funny is the wrong word. Sad, might be a better one.

Sad how I forget his faithfulness so easily and open the door wide to fear. Sad how quickly I push aside the lived experience of his constant care and invite the wonderings of if he even sees what is happening. What is faith if not trusting in the one I have found who loves me? Even in disorienting times…especially then…I forget to cling to his hand. How short is my memory?

He lives above the fray that clouds my vision. I see such a short view. He sees eternity. My life is but a breath. This time in history that seems so huge to me, is a blip. There is peace in that thought. Perspective. I am miniscule. My thoughts are smaller still.

The author of confusion always prefers to blow things out of proportion. Make a spectacle. The accuser of the brethren stands and squawks loudly. Always accusing. He wants me to join him. To stand before God and breathe out his poison at the throne. In my prayers. It is tempting when I am surrounded by the whirlwind. When I am listening to the clamor. But who am I to accuse God of getting it all wrong? Who am I to question the one who holds all things in his hands? My tiny brain, in its tiny head, with its tiny thoughts thinks that it knows everything. The older I get the more I figure out that I know nothing.

However, when I turn inward; when I sit purposefully and allow perception to be changed in the presence of the Prince of Peace, then I see. I see the whirlwind for what it is, a smokescreen. My viewpoint is no longer about accusing, but more about laying down my pride. And the ba bap bum, sound in my inner being is translated to I love you, I love you, I love you. And if I am loved like that, what else matters? Loved, despite my less than loving thoughts. Loved, despite my know-it-all pride. Loved, in my tiny little life, by the creator of the universe. Loved. Period. What can man do to me? What can the author of confusion do to me, for that matter? Nothing. Because my spirit is caught up in the love that covers me, that belongs to me and I belong to him.

This belonging calms my frenzied mind. This calms my fears. This brings sweet sleep. This is the place I want to reside. This place of peace. Of knowing all will be well, even when it appears otherwise. Turning myself inward, centers me. No more wobbles while I am being flung around the wheel. The pressure applied, in addition to the centrical force of the whirlwind brings me right to the center, where the Master Potter can mold me. (You knew I had to throw in a pottery reference somewhere, right?)

May you and I find the center of peace we are searching for in these times.