Where Can I Turn for Peace?

Look and Live: Witnessing Divine Order in the Heavens and on Earth

In times of uncertainty, when fear clouds our vision and our hearts grow weary, we have been given a simple command: Look up. The scriptures tell us, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork” (Psalm 19:1). The divine order of creation is not a mystery hidden beyond our reach—it is inscribed in the stars, woven into the turning of the seasons, and set before us in the steady rhythms of the earth. The same heavens that guided wise men to the Christ child still shine above us, offering light in our darkest nights.

We live in a world where fear often grips the mind like a storm at sea. In these moments, the cycles of the heavens and the movements of the earth remind us that we are held in something larger than ourselves—something steady, ancient, and trustworthy. The moon does not wonder if the sun will rise again. The trees do not despair in the barrenness of winter. The smallest insect born in the coldest days of the year does not know that spring will come, and yet it is part of a great, unbroken chain of life. Likewise, our perspective is often too small to see the wholeness of what we belong to. But when we lift our gaze to the heavens, we see a truth that has never ceased: we are part of a divine order, and we are not forgotten.

Attuning Ourselves to the Divine Pattern

Just as a traveler lost in the wilderness looks to the North Star for guidance, we too have a point of stillness within us—our true north, our home. But in the noise of daily life, in the press of worries and doubts, we can lose that inner compass. Fear pulls us into illusion, convincing us that we are adrift, unmoored from the great cosmic harmony in which we were created.

Yet tuning back in is as simple as a single breath.

When fear arises, our task is not to wrestle with it, nor to let it rule us. Instead, we recognize it, release it, and return home. Just as a bubble pops when touched, fear loses its hold when we bring it into the light of awareness. In that moment, we can turn our mind toward the great and steady rhythm of the heavens, toward the wisdom that has guided saints and sages for millennia.

If we do not know how to center ourselves, if the noise of life has drowned out our inner stillness, then we can begin with a simple word: home.

Imagine for a moment that you stand before the vast search bar of your own mind, unsure what to type, unsure what to seek. When all else is uncertain, simply ask: Take me home. The act of asking is enough. The moment we call upon the divine, we have already turned our face toward it. The light is already answering.

Looking and Living

The scriptures give us a peculiar story: Moses, under divine instruction, places a bronze serpent upon a staff and tells the people that all who look upon it will be healed (Numbers 21:8-9). It is a strange command. Why would God use an image that seems so similar to idolatry, an image of the very thing that had been harming them? And yet, those who—who simply look—are healed.

So it is with us. We are given the choice to lift our gaze, or to remain in suffering. The heavens have never stopped proclaiming divine order. The rhythms of the earth have never ceased in their testimony. The station is always playing. It is we who must attune ourselves to it.

The Science of Returning Home

In every tradition of wisdom, we find the same message: there is a station we can tune into, a channel always broadcasting the truth of divine order. The great spiritual traditions of the world—from the Psalms of David to the Upanishads of India, from the wisdom of the Stoics to the meditations of the desert fathers—all point toward the same unshaken reality: there is a stillness beyond fear, and we have access to it at any time.

But how do we tune in? How do we return when we feel lost?

The answer is simpler than we think: through remembrance.

Fear thrives in the forgetting. When we forget the eternal, we believe the temporary is all that exists. But remembrance is the art of setting our gaze once again upon the heavens, upon the order that never left us. It is as simple as calling upon a word, a mantra, a prayer, or even a feeling.

If we do not know what home feels like, then we ask for it.

If we have never felt what it is to be truly safe, then we open our cup and invite that experience. We do not need to define it or understand it fully; we simply ask. What would home feel like? What is the peace that surpasses understanding? What does it feel like to be held by the divine, to be part of a pattern too vast for our limited minds to grasp?

And then, we trust. We let the divine answer in its own way.

The Art of Seeing the Unseen

There is a story in the New Testament of a blind man who is healed by Jesus. But the first time Jesus places his hands upon him, the man does not see clearly. Instead, he says, “I see men as trees, walking.” (Mark 8:24). It is only after Jesus touches him again that his sight is fully restored.

This is a metaphor for all of us. The first time we lift our gaze, we may not see clearly. We may catch only glimpses of order in the chaos, only fragments of meaning in the vastness. But if we continue to look, if we return again and again to the practice of remembrance, our vision will be restored.

The Invitation to Walk Each Other Home

We were never meant to make this journey alone. The great beauty of divine order is that we are not separate from it. Just as the stars belong to the sky and the waves belong to the sea, we belong to one another.

And so, when we forget, we remind each other. When we wander, we walk each other home.

Sometimes, faith is not about certainty. It is simply about calling in what we need. It is about looking up when we feel lost, about remembering that we are part of something ancient and unshaken.

If you do not know where home is, call it in.

If you cannot see the light, ask to see it.

If fear grips you, pop the bubble and return to the breath.

For the station is always playing. The stars are still shining. The great cycles continue. And even in our darkest night, the divine order remains.

Look up. Look and live.