It’s all about the Peace

I recently had a wonderful visit from a dear friend who lives some distance away.  We had arranged to escape from my home, where not only do I juggle wife and mother duties, but write, and also manage our business. I knew it would be near to impossible to sufficiently catch up on each other’s lives if we stayed in my busy environment.

I decided to book a little cabin at Cape Hillsborough Resort. It wasn’t flash accommodation, but it was comfortable, and it was right on the beach. It was a delightful plan, but as I prepared to leave my house, my husband gave me some more food for my relaxation thoughts.

‘You’ll never be able to sit around doing nothing. You’ll be completely bored on day one,’ he said.

‘No way,’ I thought. This was something I’d desired for so long—a peaceful time away, with no demands, no stress, no daily grind. For once I could abandon my periodic complaints about not having enough time to relax. I could be at peace.

After picking up my friend from the airport, we chatted about how much we were both looking forward to the break, with nothing to do for two whole days but sit around, soak up the sun, and catch up.

Upon arrival at our cabin I busied myself unpacking, organizing bedding, and generally doing all the household chores I had happily run away from. We toured the resort then walked on the beach where I found it difficult to merely stroll. My normal beach walks are brisk—they have to be, so I can fit them into my day. I caught up with Facebook, and spent some time getting back to business contacts.

What was I doing! Wasn’t this all about the peace? I made the decision to abandon my mobile phone.

Day two started at dawn, like my normal mornings, but this time I was up early to visit the kangaroos that congregate on the beach. It was beautiful but not very peaceful, as a gaggle of resort guests had also awoken early for the occasion. The sleep-in I had mentally planned wasn’t going to happen.

I happily concurred with my friend’s plan to retire to the beach for the rest of the morning. I lay in the sun, feeling the heat on my skin and reveling in the soothing splashes of gentle waves as they broke on the shore. I sighed, pleased to be in happy sync with the tropical harmony . . . for all of twenty minutes, until the spark of an idea for a blog post topic forced me to move into the shade of a rock and grab my tablet to record my thoughts. I emerged from a self-exiled writing pause two hours later, to find the midday sun had stolen my shade, and I was slightly red on the side of my leg where the sun had been pounding.

Maybe my husband had voiced an inconvenient truth. While tossing between opposing states of vexation and epiphany, I finally admitted I was having great trouble translating the go-go-go of my day-to-day life into the peace of doing nothing.

At first, the revelation made me feel guilty. After all, my complaints about not having enough time to relax and no time to myself now sounded like elaborate whining. How could I complain, knowing I couldn’t even discipline myself to stop on a mini-holiday? But soon an entirely new perspective emerged.

I realized that peace doesn’t necessarily consist of hours spent lolling on a beach. At least, not for me. Maybe my idea of peace looked more like a conversation with my husband after a long day’s work, or a good home-cooked meal in the evening, an early night, and equally early morning at our bush camp. Maybe peace is time to write after my son and husband are asleep, an office with nothing in the ‘to do’ tray, the conversational catch-up and communion I had enjoyed with my dear friend during her stay, and unlimited time to spend with my Father in Heaven.

I realized that, for me, peace isn’t always about stopping. It’s about enjoying the moments in everyday life when peace falls upon me.

LORD, you establish peace for us; all that we have accomplished you have done for us. Isaiah 26:12 (NIV)

I challenge you, dear reader, to consider the places in your everyday life where you find peace, and take a few extra moments to revel in them. As Jesus said:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27 (NIV)

We will always have the peace Jesus offers. We have only to accept it. 

PS; I highly recommend Cape Hillsborough Tourist Park for your next get-away. It's the perfect North Queensland destination for couples, families—young and old. Affordable, but comfortable, and the locals (both human and animal) are so friendly. The beaches, sea, and national park is pretty spectacular too.

Find out more here: https://capehillsboroughresort.com.au/

First Seen in Book Fun Magazine: https://www.bookfun.org/

Rose was born in North Queensland, Australia. Her childhood experiences growing up in a small beach community would later provide inspiration for her Resolution series.

Two of the three Resolution novels have won Australian CALEB awards. She has also released The Greenfield Legacy, a collaborative novel highlighting the pain of Australia’s past policy of forced adoption, as well as standalone novel, Ehvah After. Her most recent release is the novella, A Christmas Resolution.

Her novels are inspired by the love of her coastal home and her desire to produce stories that point readers to Jesus. Rose holds a Bachelor of Arts degree, and resides in Mackay, North Queensland with her husband and son.

Visit Rose at: https://rosedee.com/

Herald the Day

Muted hues of dawn light filtered through the rectangular windows of the caravan. I sat up in bed to peer through the dusty glass. The interior of the bush garage that housed our camping abode was scarcely visible in the soft daybreak. I scanned the garage ceiling to check if our resident bat, Bruce Wayne, had survived the night. He swung off his steel rafter, no doubt feeling satisfied after feasting on the insect smorgasbord that swirled around our many solar lights every night.

The garage window made the perfect frame for the view of the bush and gully beyond our camp. I rubbed my eyes to focus on the pair of local kookaburras living on our hill. One bird fluffed its feathers as it perched on a gum tree branch, tilting its head from side to side in an effort to see around its long beak as it searched the ground for breakfast.

The second kookaburra lifted its head high and let out a great laughing cry. The first followed, and they chorused a laughing song. These birds amaze me. They know the exact moment a new day will break and the exact moment the day fades into evening. They herald both times with great gusto, megaphoning laughing echoes into the air. I imagined them singing, ‘Here comes the day, get out of bed, a new day is here.’ And then at dusk, ‘Night is coming. The day is gone. Sleep is here.’

The enthusiasm these birds show for each new day made me think about all the times I have literally dragged myself out of bed, complaining. Complaining about still being tired, about not getting enough sleep, and about how much I have to do. This morning, I fell back against my pillow, listening to my feathered neighbours heralding the new day, and tried to recall the last time dawn had delighted me so much I had broken out into song. I couldn’t recall a recent early morning spontaneous outburst of joy.

Nor could I remember an instance when I had rejoiced at having seen through a day. There were times I had sat at the end of a busy day, content in what I had achieved. But, unlike the kookaburras, I hadn’t rejoiced over the day, or paid such vocal homage to a cycle of sunlight.

I snuggled under the covers, and became transfixed by an exquisite Granny’s Cloak Moth fluttering from wall to wall, looking for a place to land. The brown eyes on its wings winked at me as it chose a comfortable resting place. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind as it roared up the gully. Tree tops rustled, then shook, as the driving gust moved through the bush. It sounded like a distant freight train getting closer and closer, until the unseen force was upon the camp causing the tin to rattle and the eucalyptus trees to drop dry twigs on the tin roof. The freight train of wind moved on, creating havoc in the foliage further up the hill, and then disappeared over the mountain top. I smiled as I thought about the way my entire world was heralding the day.

As put my feet on the floor, I hummed, ‘This is the day that the Lord has made.’ I thought about my place in the world, and how separated—or removed—I often feel. When I am home in my town house, I barely notice my natural environment. I knew nature was there. I saw and heard various animals on occasion, but it is hard to distinguish the kookaburra calls over the clatter of household appliances, the neighbour’s stereo, and the traffic on our busy road.

At home, I don’t awaken to nature’s heralding call, but to the scream of an alarm. There are no winking moths, no resident bats, and no local animals calling to say good morning. The soft early light doesn’t pat me awake. Instead, I often woke to the sun piercing through a slit in my blind. Nature is there—outside—but I’m not nearly as aware of it as I am at our camp. My town environment doesn’t seem to love me like my bush environment does.

All these morning events and contemplations drew me to a fabulous conclusion. I am a part of an astounding creation, and I don’t make the most of it. I thanked the Lord for our camp, far away from the sounds of humanity. Through its seclusion I had discovered what I was missing.

 I thought about this Bible verse from Luke 5:16:

‘But Jesus Himself would often slip away to the wilderness and pray.’ (New American Standard Bible)

I am certain that our Lord knew the value of the awesome creation we live in. Locked away in our houses, streets, towns and cities, it is easy to forget we are part of a much bigger picture. It is easy to overlook the bond we share with the natural world. Beyond us are innumerable creatures, plants and elements who all herald each day. I challenge you, dear reader, to slip away to your local wilderness sometime soon, and find your own way to herald the day.

First seen in Book Fun Magazine:

https://indd.adobe.com/view/ee394659-c0ea-4eef-b1e5-57568b840f4d

Rose was born in North Queensland, Australia. Her childhood experiences growing up in a small beach community would later provide inspiration for her Resolution series.

Two of the three Resolution novels have won Australian CALEB awards. She has also released The Greenfield Legacy, a collaborative novel highlighting the pain of Australia’s past policy of forced adoption, as well as standalone novel, Ehvah After. Her most recent release is the novella, A Christmas Resolution.

Her novels are inspired by the love of her coastal home and her desire to produce stories that point readers to Jesus. Rose holds a Bachelor of Arts degree, and resides in Mackay, North Queensland with her husband and son.

 Visit Rose at: https://rosedee.com/