A Spring of Joy

It was one of those days yesterday.

It was a good day–time alone with Bella-Boo while the boys were at a morning camp, some Olympics watching, laundering and cleaning up, playdates for the kids in the afternoon, Wii and Football playing, a little porch sitting with one of “my dear youth group girls” who’s all grown up and a teacher now, sharing hearts, hanging with another friend and laughing over my goof-ups (oh, my friends, I mess up so much!), yummy supper celebrating 3 years in our home, early bedtimes and falling asleep on the couch with Bri.

But in the midst of it all, there was such a sadness–re-reading an update from my friend, Kim, who is fighting for her life against this terrible cancer monster, aching over all that my friend, Monica, continues to walk through (it’s unbelievable), phone call from a friend who “may have found something” and is going to the doctor and knew I would know how to pray for her, and then..

Then my mom called, a sadness to her voice, with the news that my second cousin had died. He was younger than me and it was unexpected. And while I didn’t know him well, we would hang out at the occasional family reunion, he’d been in my home for a few meals, he’d called to check on me during my cancer battles, he was family. My family.

This juxtaposition of grief and joy continues. This is something I am still learning to accept. You’d think I’d “get it” after all we’ve been through, but I am still surprised by the intensity of the pain.

But then…

This morning we’ve been snuggling, my little girl and me. Just us. Being together. And tomorrow, if God wills, we’ll go get pedicures. We will have friends over again this afternoon, and one of my heart friends and I will spend time in the kitchen together preparing food for our families and catching up and sharing life while our children play together. Bri & the kids and I will read Prince Caspian together and harvest our garden and watch some more Olympics and just be a family tonight.

And as I walk through the sadness that can weigh me down, I am surprised by the intensity of the healing God brings, too.

Some days they are harder to see, but even in the midst of pain, life is still full of beautiful moments.

One must learn to walk before one can run. So here. We–or at least I–shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest… Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are “patches of Godlight” in the woods of our experience.
(from Letters to Malcolm by C.S. Lewis)