I recently had difficulty finding my words, which is unsettling when words are one’s work. As it turns out I was simply looking for them in the wrong place.

A friend asked, “Do you know where your words went? Do you have a sense of where they are?”
My answer was no and no. Not a clue. But then I had an epiphany. I was receiving words, just not the ones I was looking for. What I was receiving from God were not words that fit into columns but rather prayer words. Words such as: uphold and enfold, guide and provide, comfort and keep. Words with wings to fling them far and wide.

I’m aware my words have work to do, that they are sent to strengthen the suffering, support the stumbling and put fresh hope in those about to collapse (Job 4:4). What I didn’t realize was that, at least for the time being, there was a shift in how that would happen. The purpose of my words remained the same, but they had a new assignment and, without my full realization, had flown like doves to their new destination. They left me, yes, but for a good reason.

Afghanistan fell to the Taliban. Myanmar is in a bloody coup. ­Haiti had an earthquake, followed by a tropical storm, just on the heels of a presidential assassination. California is on fire (again). The east coast was under water. The world is engulfed by COVID-19.

My words were where my heart was, scattered to the four corners of the Earth, pleading for mercy and not yet ready to be gathered back home.

I was texting with a friend and learned her day would hold a dentist appointment, followed by a chemo treatment, topped off with her second COVID vaccine. Another friend is undergoing her 13th(!) cancer-related surgery. And I, myself, just suffered a transient ischemic attack, similar to a stroke.

Once again my words form a prayer, one I need as well: Keep us calm. Grant us courage.

This latest prayer comes out of John 14:27. Here, Jesus was giving a farewell gift to his understandably distraught disciples. The gift was peace. And it was no small gift.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

The Amplified Bible provides a fuller picture of this peace. “Let My perfect peace calm you in every circumstance,” it says, “and give you courage and strength for every challenge.”
Did you catch that? This peace contains the power to produce both calm and courage. Not just sometimes, but for every circumstance and every challenge.

The disciples have heard this peace word before. In fact, they’ve seen this gift in action. They were in the boat when Jesus spoke peace to the wind and waves that threatened their very existence. Saw for themselves the calmness that ensued. Heard Jesus ask them where their own courage had gone.

They knew about this peace. Saw how it governed Jesus’ own life. And now, it would be theirs.
Jesus knows how to give good gifts.

Calm means undisturbed. Courageous, undeterred. These are the gifts Jesus is giving, wrapped in the word of peace. A power to face all that is.

“Release the peace” has become my mantra, my constant cry and calling. These words came to me as I looked at an image of open hands, side by side, palms face up. The hands had been painted like a map of the world, a blue oceanic background on which various colored countries climbed from wrists to fingertips.

Onto this map were a dozen or so white doves in various stages of flight, ready to land on Chile, Canada, Mexico, Somalia, Sudan, France.

Release the peace. I heard it in my bones.

As my words take flight, I now understand the work they’ve been given to do: Release the peace. The peace that passes understanding. The peace that guards hearts and minds. The peace that presides over all, raining calm, raising courage. Release the peace.

And so, if I could, I’d take the hands of my friends (and of strangers around the world) and I’d place this peace in them, curl their fingers around it so they’d have it to hold — so it would hold them — as they live in their todays and move into their tomorrows. Be calm and courageous, I’d whisper. Christ’s peace will keep us still.

Release the peace.