Grasping at Joy

Parenting, Adulting, Being Responsible A large part of me wants to just say “this is hard”—and give up. Or just go with what’s easiest. I want to just turn on the tv, give them more toys, yell, put them in time out, take away all privileges, give in to all but the most necessary arguments, etc. etc. etc. It’s what I know. It’s what everyone does… But I’ve realized lately that it’s really not working. And that I don’t know what I’m doing. Mostly its ended up with me getting angry, or crying, or whining at my kids to “please, please just pray so mommy can go to bed.” Real words that came out of my mouth: A stunning performance. A large part of my life, I’ve gone to school. I’ve been really good at school. I’ve figured it out. But parenting is not what I went to school to learn. I didn’t go to school to learn how to teach others to be good, responsible people. I was busy learning that on my own—but not just from school. From my parents, mostly. From friends, sports, my commun...

At the moment, I’m feeling less than joyful. It’s one of those days where I have to remind myself that joy isn’t a feeling, and that while I can’t talk myself into a good mood, I can choose how to respond to the people around me. I can choose to yell, to snap, to be cranky—holding onto the feelings of disappointment and anger that threaten to take over my day. Because it didn’t go as planned. I slept late, and so was rushed getting the boy to pre-school (no matter how many times I tell myself ‘it’s just preschool’ it doesn’t matter, I still hate being late). Then the cleaning people that were supposed to come this morning tell me that they can’t come until between 12pm and 2pm: pick up time, naptime. So helpful. People aren’t calling me back. They aren’t working to my schedule. Don’t they know I only have the babysitter this morning? Word vomit. That’s what this feels like. Maybe if I get it all out, it won’t stick to me. That’s how it works, right? Sigh. Except I know how v...

Seizing Joy. Grasping at Joy Joy is a gift. One of those elusive fruits of the Holy Spirit. It seems to come and go, living in the corners and popping out from under cabinets (like the mouse that currently terrorizes my kitchen). I want to be a joyful person. I want to live in those joy moments that come so unexpectedly. That my children seem to find so readily. They laugh with abandon at the piling of couch cushions into a mountain, jumping up and down with delight. They revel in the attention of wrestling, tickling, cuddling, and reading books. They don’t have to grasp at joy. I do. I live among to-do lists, tasks, and responsibilities. I love my lists, crossing off items as I work through them. I hire a babysitter so that I can get things done. And my work is good. It is. It is good for me, it is good for my family (someone does need to do the laundry), and it is good for my community. I do the tasks, mostly uncomplaining… not always, but mostly. But I know that the...