Joy has been my constant refrain this last year. I've prayed for it, studied it, thought about it a lot. I shared with some friends that my goal for this time next year was to have a little more joy. I was thinking of what seemed possible in my own struggle with choosing joy amidst the drudgery and difficulty of life with two young kids. A good friend challenged me to not set my goal so low since our God is so good as to make my joy overflow beyond what I could hope or imagine. So I started to pray for a bigger, fuller joy that is impossible in my own efforts, but completely possible for the Creator of all things.
I'm not going to tell you that God answered my prayer and I am forever changed into a light-hearted woman of effervescent joy. But I can tell you about a precious moment of tangible, palpable joy that even a sleep-deprived, dull-brained mother couldn't miss.
A Christmas concert at my Mom's church. Harper playing on the pew next to me. Z standing in his Papa's lap, straining to see Grammy on stage- mouth open, eyes wide. An easy-going, family-friendly atmosphere in which I didn't worry about the noise my children might make. Music about the coming of God as a tiny baby boy to save us from our sins. Joy. Joy filling me up and spilling over. Joy bouncing off my smile into Z's clapping hands, ricocheting over to Harper's bobbing head and zinging back to the warm spot on John's shoulder where Z's hand is resting.
That's it. That's enough.
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