There are blocks and puzzle pieces scattered across the bare floor. A ball and a few cheerios keep them company. It’s so easy to see the pieces of our lives scattered, messy, waiting for someone to come along and pull us back together.
I string up the blinds and light welcomes itself into the room. The window screen reminds me how often my pictures look pixelated, grainy. When I edit I use the Tranquil effect, blurring pixels into an ethereal glow. It doesn’t pass me that I use Tranquil to quiet the fuzziness of my everyday life.
I’m learning to stop calling it mundane.
In the process, in the living of the picture, it feels broken, smudged, scattered—not as it should be. It lacks the feel of hope…of life, I desire. The image of peace and tranquility I strain for isn’t crushed cheerios and fallen wooden towers.
But then—the pixelated grain blurs to shine in time and there, in that moment of raising blinds, peering through meshed screen, this is peace.
There is no perfect life, no perfect home, no idealized reality.
But there is perfect peace.
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”