Quote roundup #8: On finding interior peace
Introspection leads us to greater compassion for ourselves and others.
I jerked awake, startled by Ben’s phone alarm. It buzzed and blinked on his nightstand, but he didn’t budge. I did. After fluttering my eyelids open long enough to balance myself, I hefted my comforter off my torso and swung my legs to the side of our bed.
In the background, I heard muffled cries and yelps, presumably from Sarah, Joey, or Auggie, who are the three of my five early risers. I checked the clock: 5:50 AM.
My thoughts moved like a cyclone through my mind, and I rubbed my temples throbbing with the mental overload, consisting of fragments cut from the fabric of this day:
I have to remember to pick up Auggie from preschool today, since my parents are on vacation. What time is it? 10:50 or 11:50? I’ll have to check the calendar.
Sarah’s teacher needs me to sign her Friday folder because of her missing assignments last week. Which reminds me, I got two emails—one from her Language Arts teacher, another from her Math teacher. I need to check those and respond.
Oh, and Felicity has a follow-up appointment with Christine today. I think I told the school counselor about that, but I’m not sure, so I need to go back in my “sent” folder and search for it.
Veronica is the VIP at school this week, which means I need to pick up dairy-free snacks—oh, and gluten free for the little girl who can’t eat wheat—before Thursday. It’s 25 students, right? Or was it 23? I need to email her teacher to be sure.
Joey has a field trip coming up. Did I sign the form? Pay the fee?
Felicity has a high school come-and-see night, and I need to find a babysitter so that she can accompany Ben and me.
My neighbor and friend is having an MRI soon. Did I check on her? I forgot to ask her husband about sending a meal over and offering to watch their preschooler if they need someone.
Writing…
Editing…
Revising…
Researching…
By the time I opened my bedroom door at 6 AM, Joey and Auggie were squabbling in the family room and then turned to me, whining for breakfast.
“I’m huuuunngry, Mom!” Joey tossed himself on the kitchen floor and writhed on his back in a snakelike motion. I stepped over him, not fully awake. Because of muscle memory, my body knew to begin assembling lunch bags and filling water bottles, all while quizzing each kid on what they wanted for breakfast—and then memorizing each order, as if I were a restaurant server.
It occurred to me that what I pine for above all else is this: peace. Not just a quiet space, or twenty minutes of silence in between appointments and phone calls. But abiding peace, the kind that settles upon my soul and relaxes my entire self: mind, body, and soul.
This month I decided to focus on finding interior peace for the quote roundup, because it seems to be lacking in most of our lives. I’ve noticed I’m not the only—or even rare—person who struggles to keep afloat in everyday life. If each of us is pummeled with information overload and demands and requests and expectations, then how can we create a sort of sanctuary inside of ourselves, where we can retreat again and again, regardless of how chaotic our environment becomes?
I’ve selected short passages from Jacques Philippe’s book, Searching for and Maintaining Peace: A Small Treatise on Peace of Heart. It’s the size of a pocket novel, but it’s packed with messages that stir the heart into reflection. So, if you’re longing to rest, I hope these excerpts speak to your heart:
The measure of our interior peace will be that of our abandonment, consequently of our detachment.1
I don’t surrender easily. To anything. I’m a fighter. I was born with moxie and grit and have used these characteristics both to my advantage and to my detriment. Most of the time, letting go means defeat. Defeat equals loss. And loss leads to grief.
I could tell you myriad stories about how I’ve learned to let go (here’s one), but instead I will distill all of my experiences resisting that release, that yielding to uncertainty, by sharing this: We can’t let go when we’re afraid. And often we’re afraid of what we don’t yet know, or what cannot be known.
Find your fear, then face it. That confrontation will likely arrest you. You will tangle with the shadows that live inside of you. You will wrestle with the dark figures that end up blessing you. But if you truly want to be at rest inside yourself, you have to figure out how to live each moment in contentment—without needing solutions or answers. Without control.
We cannot bear the suffering of others because we are afraid of suffering ourselves.2
When Sarah was born, I wept liberally in public. This was unusual for me, but I couldn’t hold back the pain I felt because of her diagnosis, because of its effects on Felicity, because it made me a full-time caregiver without notice or reprieve. The response from others was often dismissive and minimizing:
“God gives special children to special parents. I know you will be just fine.”
“If everything happens for a reason, then it’ll all work out.”
“I’m sure things will get better.”
“Just hang on. God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”
Etc.
The spiritual bypassing was prevalent, and it only pushed me deeper into my grief. I believed I was meant to suffer it alone, because every time I reached out, I was interrupted with a feeble attempt at consolation.
What I learned was this: Most of us squirm at the display of someone’s suffering, because their pain acts as a mirror, reminding us of our own. And in witnessing—even being invited to participate in—someone’s emotional agony, we remember that all things in life are fragile and fleeting. We remember our own mortality.
If I am not capable of great things, I will not become discouraged, but I will do the small things! Sometimes, because we are unable to do great things, heroic acts, we neglect the small things that are available to us and which are, moreover, so fruitful… and such a source of joy.3
A grounding exercise that not only restores my interior peace but also rejuvenates my sense of joy and delight is to consider how I might be a light to others in this moment. Sometimes (often, I admit) this happens spontaneously. But when I pay attention and attune myself to what’s unfolding in front of me, simple gestures can spread encouragement where despondency has taken over.
One example: I was taking a walk through our neighborhood, as I do most days, and happened to pass by one of my neighbors. She shared that her husband just underwent emergency surgery, and she needed some help. I told her that I would be happy to collect her mail and packages every day, and Ben would keep up with mowing their lawn. This went on for about six weeks, and at the end, when both she and her husband returned home permanently, she sent me a card with effusive sentiments, gushing with gratitude.
Small acts of kindness often expand the recipient’s heart in ways we may never know.
Philippe, Jacques. Searching for and Maintaining Peace: A Small Treatise on Peace of Heart (Society of St. Paul, 2002), 37.
Ibid, 47.
Ibid, 81.