“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” — 1 Corinthians 14:33
In Alberta, this week is technically called reading week. In reality… it’s ski week for many.
Schools are closed, rhythms shift, and for a few days families either hunker down or head out of town. Rob and I are traveling this week, and I’ve been thinking about something that always seems to surface before we leave.
Travel has a way of revealing how much our surroundings affect our peace.
There is absolutely nothing worse than that last flurry of packing. Open drawers. Half-folded laundry. Shoes in the hallway. A stack of “don’t forget this” on the counter. I used to tell myself it didn’t matter, we’re leaving anyway.
But it does matter. Because it isn’t just the mess. It’s the confusion it creates inside me.
And this time, to add to the fun, our cleaners are coming while we’re gone to do a deeper spring clean. Which means the house can’t look like a packing tornado blew through it.
Although… let’s be honest. They’re there to clean. I’m sure they’ve seen everything by now. This isn’t about perfection. It’s about peace.
Travel is rarely simple when you live with chronic illness. Packing isn’t just clothes and a toothbrush. It’s supplements. It’s supportive tools. It’s oils and routines and the little things that help your body feel safe in unfamiliar places. It’s meal planning around sensitivities so you’re not scrambling for something you can actually eat. It’s thinking ahead so your nervous system doesn’t get overwhelmed.
There are more details. More moving parts. More to remember.
And I’ve learned that if I leave all of that to the last 48 hours, I don’t just end up with a messy house. I end up with a messy mind.
On the other hand, I’ve also tried the opposite extreme — cleaning too much, organizing everything, over-preparing so that every corner looks perfect before we walk out the door. And then arriving at our destination completely exhausted. Leaving with no energy left isn’t peaceful, even if the house looks spotless.
So this time, I started a week in advance.
I wrote a simple, pared-down plan of what absolutely needed to be done, and nothing more. I made a full packing list with dates beside it so I wasn’t holding everything in my head. I focused on keeping one contained area orderly instead of trying to reset the entire house.
Good enough became the goal. And something shifted. The house feels calmer. My mind feels clearer. Departure feels lighter. Not because everything is perfect. But because confusion isn’t running the show.
“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)
That verse isn’t about tidy kitchens or labeled storage bins. It’s about His nature. God’s design is peace. Confusion — the kind that spins in your thoughts and tightens your chest — is not His heart for you.
Sometimes we wait for peace to fall from the sky, when in reality He invites us to cooperate with it in small, practical ways. A short list that moves thoughts from your head onto paper. A week of gentle preparation instead of a day of frantic effort. A contained space that feels steady instead of chaotic.
Not perfection. Not pressure. Just enough structure to protect fragile energy.
If you’re in a busy week, whether it’s ski week, reading week, or simply life, I wonder: Is there one short list that would quiet your mind? Not a master overhaul. Not a productivity sprint. Just one list. One small contained step. One early start.
And if your space feels a little calmer but your thoughts still feel busy, I created a simple companion for that too. The Daily Calm Practice is a three-minute faith and breath reset that helps settle the nervous system gently, no effort and no intensity.
👉 Access The Daily Calm Practice here
Because sometimes peace begins before we leave. Sometimes it begins with a written plan. And always, it begins with remembering that our God is not a God of confusion, but of peace.