That 3 letter word

It's such a small word. A small word with immense consequences.

I've been playing an illusive game of hide and seek with it my whole life.
I've fought for it in the darkest of places,the night that has swallowed some of my days.

If I could describe my last few years it would look something like this:
melancholy.
sorrow.
mourning.
sadness.

Guilt that comes then flees.

All that changed a few months ago.I think I've found it. I think I've found it and the key that unlocks it.


It's JOY.
It's the bliss found in the painted sky of sunsets.
The wonder as I watch the waves pound across white sand.
The delight as I stop and listen for little giggles that echo through my home.
The amusement of bare piggies running through green grass on a warm November day.

It also comes in the form of refreshment from tiny, frothy bubbles of milk sitting atop my cup of caffeine.
 Rich food that sits in my belly.
The comfort of a warm hand and attentive hug when I need it most.

Yes, joy. I write it with a gleam that illuminates my entire being. My body. My soul. I can't help but grin!

It's been hidden, buried so deep at times it seemed unreachable.
Unattainable, as I dug through memories, disappointments, and fears. As if I were burrowing my hands into the soft, brown soil, hunting some something unseen to the eyes. Digging deep, seeing a shining glimpse of what I was searching for, only to have the soil collapse like sand  around my weary hands. My soul no better now than when I began my pursuit.

My joy hunt came to me in the form of paper. A hard bound book with a photo of a twigged nest. Blue eggs.
Could this really help me find my joy?

As I began to read it, the author tells her story. Her joy dig. Her treasure hunt. Her secret to how she found it.
And I thought to myself, "why not?"

So began my hunt. It didn't require a metal detector nor any special tools.
It required not much more than my own eyes.
A heart that was willing to look beyond the hurt, the tears, and the pain.

Wouldn't you know it? After a few days of being intentional, in seeking those things that could make me smile, I encountered joy. Pure joy. It gets bigger and better the more I seek it.

Last weekend, joy found itself in a dance party in my living room. In shoes too tall to walk in. Us girls kicked off our tattered flip-flops and pranced and danced around in heels till our feet ached and our heart beat and our wind was gone from our lungs.

Today, joy comes in the form of my daddy's cup. Gold rubbed thin from years of his hand cupping it as he sipped. Today, I sip. I drink. And I find joy. And tomorrow? Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I dare you to find the joy in it.

Let them give thanks to the Lord, for His unfailing love, and His wonderful deeds for men. For He satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. 
Psalm 107:8-9

RIP Daddy

I just returned from a long, long trip. It's the kind of trip you welcome, where smiles, hugs and familiar faces greet you at the end.
It makes the road to get there worth it- no matter how much sleep you lack, how sore your old bones get cooped up in a car, or how many times you have to hear "Are we there YET??"

It's the road that starts to blur as you forge on ahead. Where you travel at speeds so fast, sometimes you aren't even sure where you are.

It's the road that has small white lines, meant to keep you on your path. Your right path.

This trip was all that and yet so much more. As we packed and I spoke the words that raised the eyebrows of the one I love,  he questioned me, "Are you sure?". My reply was solid. I'm ready. At least I think I am.

So, we packed up the heavy plastic box, with the hinge on one side and the white label on top. And it traveled with us. One last family trip.

After many days and thousands of miles we came to place where our car stopped. This was it.
The place my dad had fondly talked of, and brought me to often.. just to see the view.

He had worked this route on the railroad, and it was one of his favorite spots. It bridged a gap between where he lived, and where I lived, and it brought us together as father and daughter more than one time. But this would be the last time.

The car stopped and I looked ahead. The question swirled in my mind... was I really ready? Could I let go of him? A gentle squeeze on the hand by my husband told me the answer.

Slowly, we filed out of the car, and began a short hike to the special place. We were thankful the skies had cleared, as earlier they were sad, grey and wet.

I walked ahead, one foot in front of the other, memories clouded my mind, as did this verse. " The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; don't be discouraged." Deut.31:8

This kids babbled questions, but I couldn't really answer, for fear that opening my mouth would bring on the sobbing I fought so hard to control.

When I got to the spot, I slowly opened the plastic box, and with shaking hands I gently began to scatter my daddy's ashes, all over the ground. Tears rolled. I heard sniffling behind me only to turn and be greeted by my kids whose eyes were also filled with water. None of us spoke, we just poured and poured. We took in our breath and let it back out. We looked up at the tracks my dad had so frequently rode. He had been there, enjoying the view, so many times before. My heart longed to have him back with us.

A soft breeze carried some of the ash away. "Dad, we miss you." I heard myself whisper. How my heart ached for a new ending to this story. "Why couldn't you have been here with us today in person? Why did you give up hope? Why did you chose to die?"

I knew there would be no answers. And the ending doesn't change. But WE change. we choose life when we are tired and worn and want to give up. We choose to look up at the sky and see the blue, and the beauty in the clouds. We choose to believe God has the best in mind for us no matter how many tears fall to the ground. We choose to believe tomorrow is going to better even if today the valley seems so deep. And dark.

The kids pick a few yellow flowers and walk over to the spot. They lovingly plant them in the ground, covering them with soil. They pick up small rocks and begin to build a planter.

And I take a step back, and draw a big breath. Yes, Rest in Peace Daddy. The view is marvelous.... and so is the road ahead.

To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory. Isaiah 61:3

The Card of guilt

Today is my dad's 3rd birthday since he left. I'm only counting because this day had monumental meaning on the day when I walked into his office after his death.
I woke up this morning choking back tears. It seems the heavens are weeping with me today as the sky is shrouded in dark, grey clouds. The heavy, wet drops continue never ending- just like they won't stop coming from my eyes. Yes, I think perhaps God weeps with me today.

My dad had carefully arranged things on his messy computer desk. Intentionally making sure all would see that letter scribbled in such anger and hopelessness. The will. The glasses. All taking up residence next to his mousepad and moniter... sitting silently until someone made the discovery of what he had done. Right on top of that stack of paper and clutter, lay the card.

 The smiling, happy birthday card written with love yet some reservation, by us, just the month before his angry last grip on that gun. My dad had been changed for months before his death. He had given up on life. He had pushed me away. I didn't understand it then, but now I do. People who take their own life sometimes unconsciously push their loved ones away in an effort to shield them from the pain of what lays ahead.
I had indeed pulled away from our relationship as a result. After trying to reason with him about his enraged look on life, I too had given up. He wasn't going to change. All I could do was slowly pull back and love him the best I knew how.

The birthday card was my last correspondence to him. It represented the last thing I got to say, and he had put it out for me to see. The kids and I had wrote blessing to him. Reminded him of our love, and how much we missed him. But that's all I did. I didn't call, a statement that my dad had made to his brother. I didn't ever call.

3 years later, the card.... no, the birthday,  has left me with my head hung low in guilt. Tears welling in my eyes, my heart aching. Why didn't I just make the stupid call?  Every year I'm left pondering over and over in my mind the would- have's and could- have's if I had just lowered my pride and called. Maybe if I had made more of an effort he would have understood that he was loved, cherished and needed. Maybe he would have thought twice before allowing that darkness to close in on his mind.

I'll never know. But today, I weep. God weeps. And I try to break free from the guilt card that still has it's hold on me.

No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. Philippians 3:13-14