Finding Joy in Remembering

Sometimes it is hard to be joyful, joy full, or joy filled! I am struggling this week with the concerns of the world. Care taking has strained me in the form of taking care of others, taking care of the house, even taking care of myself.  It's not that I can't "soldier on" and get it done, but the joy is not effervescent. The colors of life are not vibrant. Then last night, in the midst of grief, work, and cleaning dishes, I had a moment of joy. It popped through with my youngest, Colin. He was in the kitchen as I was filling the sink to scrub some pans and I just "splatted" him with some bubbles! Then we "might" have had a bubble fight in the kitchen complete with tear-jerking laughter.

Perhaps that moment was not "joy" so much as a relief valve, but it helped me gain a little bit of joy back as I saw amusement go through the folks in that kitchen. It was a moment where I could remember joy, even though I was not immersed in joy.

How do you find joy when it isn't readily available?

I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a searching adolescent, given to moods and ecstasies, these are still part of me, and always will be... This does not mean that I ought to be trapped or enclosed in any of these ages...the delayed adolescent, the childish adult, but that they are in me to be drawn on; to forget is a form of suicide... Far too many people misunderstand what *putting away childish things* means, and think that forgetting what it is like to think and feel and touch and smell and taste and see and hear like a three-year-old or a thirteen-year-old or a twenty-three-year-old means being grownup. When I'm with these people I, like the kids, feel that if this is what it means to be a grown-up, then I don't ever want to be one. Instead of which, if I can retain a child's awareness and joy, and *be* fifty-one, then I will really learn what it means to be grownup.” ― Madeleine L'Engle

Kennedy and Donald
Kennedy and Donald

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