The Arms of Peace

Last night, I was lying in bed and this thought came to mind. It was a weird thought, and I have no idea where it came from.

I was thinking about science fiction/fantasy movies where the main character is walking through the woods, and all of a sudden, the trees come to life and one of them grabs the main character. He struggles, but the tree's grasp becomes stronger. Maybe the tree pulls him into the ground; its aim: to destroy.

Then my thought changed. What if, instead, the tree grabs the main character, but its aim is not to destroy. The main character doesn't know this, so he struggles. The tree's grasp becomes stronger, but only because all it knows is its purpose--still to pull him into the ground, but not to destroy. Instead, to share with him the connection that this tree has known all of its life. Its connection with the soil and the organisms, with what has lived and died. And in this connection, the main character would find peace. If only he knew. . .

I thought about it for a while. Then I took it a step further and related it to reality. What if that's how it is with God. Are we that blinded main character who struggles against all the bad that humanity has to offer, whether it be fear or anger or jealousy or worry? Are we fighting against God because life isn't going the way we define 'perfect'? Do we see Him as the tree trying to pull us under to destroy us? Or can we look past the struggle and instead find that our struggles connect us to that around us, with what has lived and died? Can we accept the peace that He is offering us beyond the struggle?

It isn't easy. I had an ultrasound the other day. This baby is weighing a little smaller than it should be. Only a week or so, and normally, that would be ok. But the fact that Lily has Trisomy 18 had them a little concerned. There are no markers that should give more concern, but when the sonographer was looking at the baby, we were talking about Lily and how she only showed the choroid plexus cysts and the missing digit in her pinkie. Those are the ones that scare me, she said, because you don't know. And they don't know. So we go back next month for another ultrasound to see how the baby is progressing weight wise.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little worried. There are days when I stand in the shower and think about it in a worrying type of way. And every time, the song "Trust and Obey" comes to mind, and I hear this still small voice that says Trust me. Whatever happens is for my good. That puts me at peace. . .for the time being. So why can't I just go past the struggle and instead fall into the arms that don't want to pull me under as my struggle might suggest? These arms only want to offer me peace. Why can't I just accept that?