I picked up Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage {affiliate} at the library last week (along with a bagful of other books you know I will probably renew for 9 weeks and then try to panic-read when they are due in 4 days – this does not bode well for my reading challenge!). I have wanted to read this one for ages.

I don’t know why, but I thought it was a huge book so I kept putting it off, thinking I didn’t have energy to tackle it.

Not huge.

It’s good so far, but not for the faint of heart. Hunting, death, and all that.

We are also reading King of the Golden City: An Allegory for Children {aff}  by Mother Mary Loyola as a read aloud for my youngest two (and anyone who will listen).  My son’s First Holy Communion is coming up soon and this is our go-to preparation book.  It’s a Very Obvious Allegory, as you can probably guess by the quote I’m about to share.

“How is this, Dilecta, all in the dark. Where is your lamp?”

Now the Name of that lamp was “Peace.”  It was the King’s special gift to his friends and his directions about it were very important. It was to be kept burning at all costs. No wind nor storm was ever to put it out, and it was never to be left near the window, lest Malignus should put his hand in and take it away. He was always trying to get hold of it.

Despite the in-your-face allegory,  this quote always makes me pause.  Do I let my peace lamp go out?  Yes, I probably even dump buckets of water on it.

No matter what I think about the theology of the above quote (hint: I have no idea what I think right now and am in a constant search for truth with a capital T),  I feel remaining “in peace” can be highly beneficial. Why should I let something outside of me…anything…change my inner world for the worse? And not only my inner world, but most likely my health as well by default.

And then there’s real life. Life seems to grab me by the neck and whirl me around.  There just seems something wrong to me about being peaceful when my son can’t walk yet again because his ankle has swollen up. Just when I thought the new meds were working. Just when I had begged God not to let us fall into the “next step of arthritis care,” which is so much more dangerous than what he is already on, which is bad enough.

I have not quite figured out how to have peace and hate for this disease, and hate for all the other things my other kids are going through, coexist in the one heart and soul and brain that is me.

I guess I can have a little peace that God probably hates juvenile rheumatoid arthritis as well. At least we’re on the same team.

One can only hope.