Joy

“If I not only seek an answer but seek after the God who gives the answer, than I receive the power to know I have obtained what I have asked.” ~Andrew Murray (1828-1917)

These moments of joy, like sun light reflected in the dazzling drops of water scattering from the sprinkler in the summer air, these tiny diamond moments are my gift.

When I pause.  When I stop.  When I take my eyes up to level and receive in all the sights around me.  I can see it. Beauty.

When I listen.  When I quiet my head and I still my emotions.  When I close my eyes and soak in the sounds. I can hear it.  Happiness.

A two-year-old screams for delight, chases a ball, says for the hundredth time, “mommia, hold you-ea!” Tugging my shirt down scandalously, fists clenched tight, eyes filled with simple demand, pure insight.  Why on earth wouldn’t I?

The vacuum clacks up another lego part, and a six-year-old laughs from his perch on the porch railing, a forbidden spot. “Mom, watch!” for the millionth time – my heart stops.  Knees scrapes, head bumps, mouth smiles, eyes shine the message, “I am so alright!”  Why not be dazzled by his bravery? Why on earth would I not delight?

Her giggle, her cackle, her soft words, “Mom, I love you, can I make dinner tonight?”  Her crafts, her art, her animals clutter this place, and she shines with inner light.  Messes she may make, but why not let her?  Why on earth would I not make the most of this today?

I have asked for love.

I have asked for grace.

I have asked for peace, for wisdom, for understanding.

I have thought it would come packaged differently.  In quiet, uncluttered space.  In scheduled, dignified order.

And instead, You have shown me Your face.  Shining, smiling, laughing.  In eyes of wonder, and shouts of joy. In piles of laundry and dishes and scraps of paper.  In crayon on the kitchen table, pencil on the walls.  In dirt and balls and scraped up knees.  In loud unfiltered voices.  In gentle cuddles.

And as I repeat these words of correction, as I listen for their correct responses, I think of Your patience, Your repetition.

And as I repeat these words of affection, and as I repeat the motions of cleaning up the messes, I remember Your faithful constant connection.

Scattered across my hours, like so many illuminated drops of liquid watery diamond reflections of  Your Son’s light.  Your faithful, constant repetition.  Your gifts to me.  This joy, this hour.

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