My heart sunk a little at today’s theme. It was one I read and thought I might have to dig a little deeper for, and as the day has passed, it’s become harder to put words together for something that feels a little trickier to come by; a little more challenging to grasp ahold of, when our worlds are a little smaller at the moment.

But then at times like these, our joy surfaces where it has rippled away underneath, not called upon and constant, yet concealed. Joy is a struggle to behold, because we choose to pay it so little attention. Joy is something that would be so easy, so ready if only we let it, and yet we choose the darkest moments to go hunting for it.

Today, joy was making cakes with middle one, as he threw in an entire pot of blue food colouring, but identified it as blue for the first time, selecting the colour and rolling it around his mouth with conviction. Joy was littlest deciding that that pick up truck he received as Christmas was actually a rather undersized chariot as he rode it around the house, flat-footing his way from room to room, intention fixed upon his face that momentarily eased as he waved with more than an ounce of superiority from his chosen mode of transport. Joy was making my eldest cry when I cut his hair by telling him I thought he looked cool, and him believing me.

We make it so difficult for Joy to come to our aid, willing it to present itself in banners and balloons when really, it was there all along, waiting for us to notice it in all its quiet and glorious patience.

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