Aj Schwanz

My son is sad. This week Iím teaching VBS, and heís experiencing three hours of the nursery - much more contact and stimulation than he gets from his introvert mama. He comes home, tired and wired all at the same time - confused at the paradox running amuck in his infant body. It seems natural that he would fall peacefully asleep at night, exhausted from the dayís events. However, those nursery hijinks disrupt his the rhythm of his inner groove, and sleep becomes an illusive, slippery, combatant state rather than a luxurious, cozy, snuggly friend.

I find myself in a similar unrest. A number of reasons easily float through my mind: juggling VBS and grocery shopping and required napping schedules and connecting with folks and getting books back to the library and cleaning the apartment because people are coming over and making sure the husbandís taken care of . . . and this and that and a little bit more of stuff.

But itís more than just the details of daily life: theyíre white noise to drown out the true ache of my being. Things arenít right with the world: thatís obvious watching the nightly news as well as the dysfunctional families in my apartment complex. Iíve been exploring the realm of church: being as opposed to doing, emerging and conversing and converting as opposed to remaining stagnant and inflexible and institutional. Iím torn two ways: wanting to be considered ìinî with the emerging church crowd, and remaining true to my Quaker heritage. I know they can blend and balance - to bring out the best of both. But I hear conflicting voices, and I donít know who to listen to.

I also realize that things arenít right with me: if I were part of a Shakespeare play, a dense fog with bouts of hail would have been the forecast for the past while. How dare I talk about what looks right for things outside of me when things arenít right inside of me? How hypocritical can I be? Itís hard to decipher the condemning/accusing voice of Satan versus the convincing voice of the Spirit. One thing I know for sure: if anything good comes out of me, itís certainly not of my own will or strength: itís a testament to my Abba Father who uses my weaknesses.

I wonder if my sense of unrest is a sense of things to come. I sense a shift, a moving of the Spirit. I see evidence of it as more and more people keep questioning the ways things have been, voicing their dissatisfaction with the way things currently are. Itís as though a plot line is climaxing, and I canít turn off my light because I have to know whatís going to happen next.

But Iím also tired and ache for peace: for rest: for wholeness: for the world to be as it should. Which wonít be happening in my lifetime. Where do you find or experience Godís peace in this relentlessly turbulent world? Has your Spirit found a refuge?