Your Power Is in Your Peace

“We’re all just walking each other home.” — Ram Dass

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The Message

As I soften and surrender into the most sensitive, reflective, compassionate parts of me, messages rise up from my heart like an early morning sunrise over a lake.

Recently, one of those messages came through in a dream. The context doesn’t matter. What stayed with me was the feeling.

Mari and I were hugging. One of those deep, spiritual hugs where your souls touch before your bodies even move. As we slowly pulled apart, we locked eyes, and I said:

“Mari, your power is in your peace. Your peace is your power.”

When I woke, the message clung to me like dew. I started to send her a video chat.

I hesitated. Worried I’d seem strange, woo-woo, or out there.

But my heart said, Send it anyway. She needs to hear it.

And she did.

It landed.

She told me others had been offering similar messages, observing how much more peaceful and open she seemed lately. She agreed. And then she turned it back toward me:

“Lori, your power is in your peace.”

Here’s the other beautiful part. Mari and I met in late 2018 and became fast friends. For a few years, we were close, until life happened. As it does. We both went through hard things. We drifted. Lost touch.

And then…you find your way back.

Mari is the kind of friend who lets me disappear when I need to. She doesn’t guilt me or question my quiet. When I return, she simply opens the door, offers me a seat at her table, and lets me stay as long as I can.

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The Decades Before

In my teens, I craved independence. In my twenties, I longed for strength. In my thirties, I chased freedom. In my forties, I sought peace.

And just like that, people started telling me they felt it.

They said they felt calm in my presence. That my voice, its cadence, its softness, brought them peace.

For a while, I lived inside that peace like it was my true home. And then, in my early fifties, I lost my way a little.

Jim was away for months on a short-term mission, working long days and nights. I filled the empty space with work. I started early, skipped lunch, stayed late. I let chaos creep in where calm had once lived.

That’s when I took a six-week break. To remember. To reset.

Since returning, I’ve worked hard to protect my peace. Mornings. Evenings. Weekends. I honor the quiet.

At a recent meeting, I listened as others spoke about the chaos of their lives. And I realized, yes, marketing at a startup can feel like running a marathon every day. But still, I choose peace. I crave it. I cultivate it.

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Coming Home

So yes. I’m still fiercely independent, like my teenage self. The strength I built in my twenties still holds me up. The freedom I fought for in my thirties still fuels me. The peace I claimed in my forties is now my compass.

And now, in this sacred season of my early fifties?

I crave authenticity.

Being real. Raw. Unashamed. Unapologetically me.

And as I write, honestly, openly, for me, I share with you. Because again and again, you’ve told me: That hit home. Me too. Thank you.

So yes. I’m still writing for me. But I’m also writing to you.

In the quietest corners of your heart, maybe my words will whisper something you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Maybe they’ll remind you that you’re not alone.

That my soul sees yours.

And that your peace — your precious, powerful peace — is something worth holding onto.

©2025 Lori Ann King