𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐘:

Some days happiness seems a foreign concept in this unfamiliar, post-Jimmy life that is now my own.

Nothing, at all, remotely resembles what came before, and the grief never truly abates. Two and a half years in, I am finally beginning to accept it, befriend it, and live with it, even if begrudgingly at times.

I mourn my love and the life we had.

That does not mean, however, that life cannot still be equally delicious and joyful.

I think the answer lies in our willingness to accept that “different” is okay, that it doesn’t have to leave us perpetually defeated and defined by it.

I now search for joy like hidden treasure. It often hides in plain sight, so I ask God for eyes to see.

He grants that request in spades.

I visited recently with my friend who owns the farm where my inaugural HEAL Ministries event took place in October. It has become a haven for me since Jimmy’s loss.

During a drive into town, Melissa and I marveled over enormous, ancient trees standing sentry along the road, exclaiming over each new one as if we’d never seen anything like it before, each tree more magnificent than the last.

We rocked in her porch swing for hours, mindful of, and graced by, a particularly lovely spring breeze. We took it in, tilting our heads back and closing our eyes, remarking each and every time the wind made its way across the porch.

We walked the property. We planned. We dreamed. We cried. We belly laughed.

We made clover necklaces, which my sweet Sadie happily modeled, and had a spontaneous photo shoot to capture her preciousness (is that a word?) for posterity.

On that porch where we have taken in the night stars in all their brilliance, gazed at puffy clouds, identifying the familiar shapes and objects contained within, and literally applauded lightning storms as they streaked across the sky, we bragged on the God we have loved our whole lives.

We, who have both known crushing pain and loss, chose to delight in the One who painstakingly excavates joy from sorrow and delight from devastation.

It becomes inescapably clear as God faithfully drives home the point:

There can still be joy.

Life is hard, unfair, knee-buckling at times, but take it from one who has often resisted it tooth and nail. There can still be joy.

There can, beloved. In the midst of what leaves us broken, bewildered, and bereft, there can still be joy.

May we choose it again, today.

“The world is full of magic things patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
~ 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬