This morning, as I sat down to journal, a bird chirped nonstop for nearly three minutes outside my office window. At the very same time, two people walked by yelling profanities at one another for just as long. If I were that bird, I’d fly away and find another tree where the world is calm. They were disturbing my peace—and at 6:00 in the morning! 

 

That thought stayed with me. As the day unfolded, I began noticing something else. It wasn’t the noise outside my window. It was the subtle ways my peace was being chipped away by the expectations of others. One friend asked if I could come right over and help move a very heavy box. Another reached out late in the evening wanting to catch up after being away for several weeks. 

 

Neither request was unreasonable. I enjoy helping people. In fact, being of service is part of who I am. The question isn’t whether I should help. The question is whether every request comes with the unspoken expectation that I’ll rearrange my life immediately. 

Can you come now? 

Can you talk now? 

Individually, these aren’t huge issues. Together, though, they can create the feeling that my own plans, priorities, and commitments somehow matter less. 

 

Then it hit me. I forget that I have a choice. No one can steal my peace without my participation. When I automatically drop everything, I am giving away something that is mine to protect. My lesson isn’t to become less generous. My lesson is to become more intentional. 

 

There’s a world of difference between saying, “I’d love to help this afternoon,” and feeling, “I have to help right now.” That distinction protects my peace without diminishing my kindness. Another person’s expectation is not automatically my emergency. 

 

Then my thoughts returned to that little bird. Its song echoed in my heart long after the morning had passed. Above, a bird filled the air with music. Below, people filled it with anger. We each have a choice about the song we bring into the world—and the voices we allow to shape our own peace. 

 

My first thought that morning had been, “I’d fly away if I were a bird. I’d find another tree where the world is calm.” That wasn’t just an observation. It was a metaphor. 

 

I don’t always have to fly away physically. Sometimes the “other tree” is simply saying, “I’d be happy to help later today.” Sometimes it’s silencing my phone for an hour. Sometimes it’s honoring a promise I’ve made to myself. Sometimes it’s choosing not to feel guilty for protecting the quiet my soul needs. 

 

Expectations are about what others hope we’ll do. Boundaries are about what we choose to do. 

 

Everyone wants peace. 

Countries negotiate for peace. 

Families long for peace. 

People take vacations hoping to find peace. 

They practice meditation and yoga in search of peace. 

Places of worship pray for peace. 

 

The world sings about peace. 

“Blowin’ in the Wind.” 

“Imagine.” 

“Give Peace a Chance.” 

“Silent Night.” 

“Let There Be Peace on Earth.” 

“Dona Nobis Pacem.” 

 

Peace is one of humanity’s deepest longings. Even Jesus calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee with three simple words: “Peace! Be still!” (Mark 4:39) 

 

Perhaps those words weren’t meant only for the wind and the waves. Sometimes the storm is the noise around us. Sometimes it’s the expectations placed upon us. Sometimes it’s the pressure we place upon ourselves. Protecting our peace isn’t always about finding another tree. Sometimes it’s remembering that we have a choice. And perhaps, in that choice, we discover the very peace we’ve been searching for. When we choose peace, we sing our own birdsong. And as we do, we change the way we see and change the way we live.