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For too long, we have mistaken the familiar for the safe, constructing elaborate sanctuaries out of the very storms we survived, largely because the sudden onset of stillness feels less like a sanctuary and more like a breathless interrogation. We must acknowledge that chaos was once the currency of our survival, a loud, predictable, and demanding rhythm that required a constant donning of armour just to navigate the day. Divine peace, by contrast, arrives without an enemy to fight, and in that sudden, unaccustomed quiet, the heart panics, treating a state of tranquility not as a holy gift, but as an impending ambush. To intentionally choose peace is to engage in the sacred, terrifying work of dismantling that deeply rooted defense system, finally waking up to the truth that you do not need to be actively suffering to know that you are alive. We must look inward and ask: How often did I pass over the quiet harbor of peace, mistaking the storm in my own hands for the only truth I knew, simply because the noise felt like home? In this heavy weight of familiar storms, we routinely trade the still water for the rising wind, actively fearing the silence because it does not offer a distraction, instead, it asks us to finally sit still, look at our wounds, and begin the profound work to heal.
ELISABETH BABARCI 