Category: Question · 2 min read

Sometimes you don't notice it leaving. You only notice the difference once it's gone — the tightness in your chest, the urge to fix what doesn't need fixing, the words you didn't need to say.

You usually can't name the day.

That's the strange part. Peace doesn't slam the door on its way out. It doesn't announce anything. It just isn't there one morning, and you couldn't tell anybody when it stopped being there.

So how do you know?

You find out sideways. Through symptoms.

You start rehearsing conversations that haven't happened yet — arguing your side in the shower, in the car, with someone who isn't there.

You start fixing things that don't need fixing. Rearranging the garage at nine at night. Handling something small with a lot more force than it required.

You're short with the people you're least angry at. Not the person who actually caused it. The ones who happened to be standing there.

And you can't sit down. Or you can, but it feels like something's being neglected while you do it, so you get back up.

None of those are the problem. They're the readout.

Here's what I think is actually happening underneath.

There's a line where Paul tells a church to let the peace of Christ rule in their hearts (Colossians 3:15). The word behind rule isn't a throne word. It's a sports word — it means to act as umpire. The one who stands over the play and makes the call.

Which means peace was never mainly a feeling you get to enjoy. It was meant to be the thing that settles the question when two parts of you disagree.

So when peace goes, you don't just lose a pleasant sensation. You lose the umpire. And every small decision — should I say something, should I let it go, is this mine to carry — goes to arbitration. All day. In your head.

That is why you're so tired. You've been running the court yourself.

As for how it left: it's rarely one dramatic thing. Usually it's a series of small unmade decisions, or something you agreed to carry that was never actually yours, and you didn't notice the weight until you'd been under it a few months.

I'm not going to hand you five steps to get it back. I don't think it works that way.

But I'd point at one thing. Jesus said peace I leave with you (John 14:27). Left. Past tense. Already done, already handed over.

Which changes the question. It isn't how to obtain something you're missing. It's what you're doing that keeps you from receiving something that's already been set down in front of you.

That's a harder question. It's also a better one.

For tonight, don't try to answer it. Just find the date.

When did you last feel settled? Not happy. Settled.

Start there. Naming a thing isn't the same as fixing it — but nothing gets fixed that hasn't first been named.

If something here resonated with you, The Direction Series was written for exactly where you are. I would love to invite you in — you can find it at directionseries.com.

How Do You Know You've Lost Your Peace?

Category: Question · 2 min read

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