The beginning of summer brings thoughts of lazy days and firefly-speckled nights, hours spent outdoors in hopes of peace and rejuvenation. “Peace be with you,” we say to those around us on Sunday morning, wishing each one times filled with contentment.
While looking through photos on Instagram last week, I came across one of a Massachusetts harbor at sunrise. The image was so serene—sailboats in the background and a little dinghy off to the left, perfectly calm waters smooth as glass, and a sky the color of violet with sweeps of light pink in the distance. I imagined the photographer smiling as he took the picture, the sounds of seagulls and lapping waters the only distractions he likely had while capturing it that morning.
The heading read simply “This is what peace looks like.” That evening, I couldn’t agree more.
It had been an exceptionally busy day with commitments and responsibilities piling on top of each other. When one minor bit of chaos subsided, another began, so by the time I saw that photo late in the evening, I was ready to settle onto one of those sailboats and find my own little moment of peace.
Clicking to save that image, I thought about the heading. Standing on the dock that morning, that’s what peace looked like for him, but maybe a gust of wind blew by soon after or a captain started his engine, breaking the serenity. Such moments are often fleeting and finite, though we continue to find them—or they find us, sometimes intentionally, sometimes spontaneously.
On the Saturday of Father’s Day, when both the rain and our schedules had cleared, we decided to hike for the afternoon at a state park, taking advantage of the increasingly rare days all together as a family. Setting out on the orange trail, we headed for “Little Falls” but somehow ended up on the blue trail.
“It’s an adventure!” my husband Patrick said. Soon Abigail announced, “Little Falls is this way. Take a right!” Just then, the rain clouds opened again, albeit briefly. “Should we head back?” Elizabeth asked, pulling up her hood. Determined to find those “Little Falls,” we continued, until finally hearing the sounds of gushing water. As it turned out, the falls weren’t so little after all. The steep cascade, resembling a staircase, rose up before us, and after much rain, the waters flowed abundantly. We stood in awe, not another hiker in site, and gazed heavenward at this undisturbed natural formation.
After a while, I prompted them to pose for the camera. As I snapped the photo, a mosquito flew toward Elizabeth. When Abigail tried to brush it away, she knocked off Patrick’s hat in the process, causing laughter among us. I checked the picture. The “Little Falls” stood majestically behind them, and the sky was clear once again.
Within that moment of happy chaos was also a moment of peace, the beauty of nature around me and my family in front of me. Though not as perfectly serene as the boats in the harbor at sunrise, for me, that was what peace looked like.
