Peace

Once, I told one of my friends who was struggling to sleep that insomnia sounded like a problem I would love to have. Falling asleep was never difficult for me. Sleep always came easily.

Over the past few months though, sleep stopped feeling restful. I started having dreams that would stay with me long after I woke up. Some were difficult, others comforting enough that waking up from them felt difficult too. Either way, once I was awake, it usually became hard to fall back asleep again. Most nights I ended up scrolling on my phone or watching something random until I was tired enough to sleep again, only to wake up exhausted the next morning.

The last time I remember sleep feeling this unsettled was when I was a child. I still remember when my parents first made me sleep alone. I was terrified of it. One night, after hearing me complain once again about bad dreams, my mom placed a Bible under my pillow before I slept. I still remember that night because, for the very first time in a long while, I slept peacefully. For years after that, I kept doing it. Somewhere in my mind, I believed that as long as the Bible was under my pillow, I would be okay. Somehow, it worked. The bad dreams stopped, and eventually sleep became effortless again.

As time passed though, that habit slowly disappeared. Especially after moving away from home. Life became busy, routines changed, and eventually I stopped thinking about it completely until a few weeks ago. After another rough night and barely getting any sleep, I remembered it again. By that point, I think I was just exhausted. I missed what sleep used to feel like. So before going to bed, I placed a Bible under my pillow again, hoping maybe it would help the way it used to when I was younger. But it did not really change anything. I still woke up during the night, and I still struggled to fall back asleep.

One night, after waking up again, I reached for my phone only to realize that it had completely run out of charge. Since it usually takes a while to turn back on after dying, I just lay there in the dark waiting. And for some reason, instead of getting frustrated, I started praying. Not formally. I was really just talking to God. Somewhere during that conversation, I fell asleep. After that, the same thing happened a few more times. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night and could not sleep, I would pray for a while, and before I realized it, I would be asleep again.

At first, I almost felt guilty about it. Part of me wondered, “Are my conversations with God really so boring that I keep falling asleep during them?” Around the same time, our church had started a series called “Conversations With Christ,” and one Sunday the preacher mentioned that sometimes he would wake up early to pray, only to fall asleep again shortly after. He said he once felt bad about it until someone responded, “Ain’t that the most peaceful way to fall asleep?” That line stayed with me because I think I finally understood it.

For the past few months, I have been praying a lot for peace. Not for answers or for everything in life to suddenly make sense, but simply for peace. The kind that does not depend on circumstances going well or life feeling stable. The kind of peace that can only come from God. And I think I slowly realized that peace is not the absence of difficult things. It is not having a perfect life or a mind free from worry. Peace is being able to rest even when life does not feel settled yet.

Looking back now, I do not think there was anything magical about having a Bible under my pillow as a child. I think it simply reminded me that I was safe, that I was not alone, and that God was with me even in the middle of fear. Maybe that is why those late-night conversations with God helped me sleep again years later. Not because they instantly solved anything or suddenly made life easier, but because there is something deeply calming about remembering that even in uncertainty, you do not carry everything alone. And maybe that is what peace really is. Not a life without storms, but the quiet reassurance that even in the middle of them, you are not alone.