Peace in the Middle of the Chaos

What if peace isn’t something we wait for, but something we step into—even in the mess, the noise, and the undone things?

The noise swirled around me. Actually, it felt more like it was hurling me around, rather than just whisking around outside of me.

It wasn’t anything beyond the normal—kids laughing, kids whining, kids yelling, kids singing, kids crying, kids dancing, kids arguing.

The dog remembered he’s actually a dog and was barking at a delivery person dropping something off on the porch. Yes, the kids are safe, and we’re not dying no matter what it sounds like, Amazon delivery worker. I walk downstairs but don’t open the door to get the package until I’m sure they’re driving away.

My watch and phone buzz with a text I hadn’t responded to. More text reminders of medicines that need to be picked up. A call from an unknown number—not answering that. I can’t believe I used to pay for ringtones. Now my phone is just always on vibrate.

There are baskets of clothes piled up in the laundry room, dirty countertops, dirty dishes in the sink, cluttered floors, cushions on the couch all askew, crumbs everywhere, and a clump of dog hair floating off the dog now because the Seattle area decided it’s spring weather for probably a couple of days. And that’s just what I can see with a quick scan. We can only imagine the things under the couches and whatever the heck is going on upstairs. My homeschool room constantly looks like a tornado went through it. Make that three tornadoes, the size of each of my children.

I was about to snap—tell everyone to be quiet, to just stop for a second—when I noticed something.

My four-year-old, unbothered by the noise and chaos, was twirling in circles, completely lost in his own world of K-POP, courtesy of his Toniebox (he’s obsessed…thank you so much, ball-hopping app thing, for introducing him to K-POP). His giggles and smile rise above the rest. He’s wearing his favorite thing to wear—an old Elsa and Anna sleep dress that used to be his older sister’s. He wasn’t overwhelmed. He wasn’t wishing everyone would just stop what they were doing. He was just… here. Fully present. And happy.

I thought of Jesus on the boat in the middle of the storm, the waves crashing, the disciples panicking—and yet, He slept. Not because the storm wasn’t real, not because the chaos wasn’t there, but because His peace wasn’t dependent on the storm stopping. And I wondered—could I find that peace too? Right here, in the depths of my own storm? The chaos of my everyday?

Can I find peace here, in it, instead of just waiting until it’s over?

Maybe peace isn’t something I have to chase after, waiting for the perfect quiet moment.

Maybe it’s something I can embrace—right now, in all the noise, in the mess, in the undone things.

Maybe peace isn’t found in the absence of chaos, but in choosing where I place my focus.

Not after the storm, but in the middle of it.

Not after the noise fades, but while it still swirls around us.

And maybe, just maybe, peace looks a little like a four-year-old twirling, completely unbothered by the storm.