Cradled in the Chaos

When I graduated from high school, oh so many years ago, I received a gift that I still have. It has moved with me from home to home, and it has always been set in a space where I can see it every day in each place I’ve lived – near the sink where I brush my teeth. It’s a frame, about four by six inches in size, and it holds the quote “Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He lets the storm rage and calms the child.”

It was given to me at a particularly profound moment in my life. My grandfather was dying; and my graduation day was his last “good day,” having the energy to come to the graduation Mass and then make a couple of other visits that afternoon. The next time he would leave the house would be for the hospital to spend his final days. This was the first hard and close family loss I’d experienced, and that quote in its simple frame pierced my grief and became an anchor that I still cling to today.

Since that difficult loss, I have known more of those moments when the noise within is louder than the world around us. I’ve wrestled with anxiety that grips the soul and silence that feels like a holy absence. And yet, in that rawness, I’ve felt the stirring of a peace that is not of this world.

St. Paul calls it “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” I used to think peace meant calm circumstances, or things working out the way I hoped. But the peace of Christ is something entirely different. It doesn’t depend on what surrounds me; it flows from Who dwells within me. It is the quiet assurance that even in the storm, I am held. 

To trust in this peace is to admit that I am small, and God is enough. Peace does not erase the pain – it transforms it. The same Jesus who calmed the sea also lives within me. The storm may rage, but my soul rests.

That is the peace that surpasses all understanding: not the peace of control, but the peace of surrender. Not found in the world, but in the heart that is cradled in the chaos.