Dean from December 2019
When my daughter was little, we used to play her a variety of kids’ worship music. She loved music, even as a baby, and it was something we could all enjoy. Of course the classic song, “I’ve Got Peace Like a River,” always came on our playlist.
As I’ve thought about peace, it seems odd to say “peace like a river.” This line found in hymns and kids’ songs alike feels paradoxical to me. I’ve encountered several different physical rivers across my lifetime -– and hardly any seem peaceful.
I’ve seen peaceful ponds and puddles. Maybe a placid lake or a gentle stream. But a peaceful river?
Rivers are massive bodies of water that move tons of water a long distance. I am not a swimmer, but I do not imagine swimming in a river to be too peaceful an experience. Maybe in a calm portion of it. But the river as a whole will have several tumultuous portions, for sure.
So, why do we compare peace to something that can be a violent current of water? What is it about a river that’s offered as a vehicle of peace?
Perhaps it’s because peace is not always stillness around us but a stillness within us, even amidst turbulence.
Being LGBT+ means that I am often in a turbulent place. Either I am around other Christians who don’t understand my identity, or I am around other LGBT+ individuals who don’t understand my convictions, or I am around people who cannot grasp either thing.
Even most of my own family doesn’t fully understand or accept me as a queer man.
How can I have peace when my existence causes turbulence around me? Can even a violent rush of the river compare at times with the environment where I often dwell? How much less could peace mean to me? And how do I live out this peace?
Dean from May 2020
Honestly, what the actual f*** was I thinking?
My analogy from 2019 became more reality than I thought possible. Life this year became a raging river, taking me in the current and dragging me kicking and screaming down a course I never longed to go.
I had so many conversations in which I made it clear to my friends, my wife, and God directly: I DO NOT WANT PEACE ANYMORE.
Peace was not going to provide me income. Peace would not put food on the table. It definitely wasn’t going to keep the bills paid. And peace would never be able to keep my wife and daughter safe.
I was done with peace.
Then, due to my need for income, I traveled with my daughter to Florida to work for my sister for eleven straight days. The intense amount of stress cannot be accurately described.
During a worldwide pandemic, I split up my family by hundreds of miles, working for nearly two weeks, entrusting my daughter to be all right with my taking her to an unknown place, left to play with cousins she didn’t know, while I worked twelve hours a day.
The river had dragged me into an endless ocean with no respite in sight.
While in Florida, I penned some words in a journal. I won’t share the whole thing — just the repeating phrase. Each line, I started with the words: “If nothing else . . . ”
Amidst all of this stress, I had one thing to depend upon — Christ. He was it. I had literally nothing else.
“If nothing else . . . ” I still belonged to Christ.
“If nothing else . . . ” I still had an eternal hope.
“If nothing else . . . ” God is still God.
God did not abandon me — even when I was ready to abandon God. This lesson was larger than my sexuality.
“If nothing else,” God is with me — queerness and all.
And that brings a greater peace than I ever thought possible.
Do you struggle to find, maintain, or simply rest in God’s peace? When have you most experienced His peace, despite life’s circumstances?