Joy

I wondered, at one time, where Lauren learned to sing silly songs for Austin. And then Kate asked me about a few from her childhood, just before my Emmaus Walk. I had forgotten. As Greg healed and we lost babies, people often commented on my joy and how real it remained. Until it was no longer authentic. As Erin endured biopsy after biopsy and the world turned on its axis and children died of cancer, I stopped asking God for what I craved. I stopped asking for healing, miracles and "the yes".  I always expected Him to redeem whatever the outcome, but didn't go to him at the forefront because I didn't trust myself to accept the no. And over time, keeping God at a safe arms length away, I slowly stopped leaning on God and shouldered more and more of my world's burdens myself. And then. And then I heard a mother literally sing God's praises just five months after losing her son and I was confronted with the loss of joy. It was missing in my heart, even if most failed to notice. That was my Emmaus Walk takeaway. It was a powerful moment, followed by a very tearful release. All the tension over the last few years melted away and my heart was healed. I had the follow-up opportunity to literally lay things down at the foot of the cross and my need to control was left where it should have been all along. I'm weeks into what the Emmaus community calls, Day Four and I still have no desire to pick it back up. I'm too free without it. And those silly songs? Much to my son's dismay, they have returned. Kate just giggles, shocked her friends don't know any of them. It's because I made them up. I suppose we never know what our children are learning from us but silly songs should absolutely make the list.

Somewhat related, Ty yelled out the window at a lady hanging Christmas lights on her house this week, "it's not even Thanksgiving yet!". I was stunned he had the nerve and then shocked he cared. Apparently he gets it from his mother. To each their own, but the whole point of Christmas has nothing to do with Black Friday, Small Business Saturday or Cyber Monday. I harbored anger for many years over the lies we tell ourselves about the meaning of Christmas. No one was willing to sacrifice their traditions to allow us the time we needed as a family when we had a baby in the NICU. In fact, the day I could have held my son for a bed change, I was instead meeting someone's Christmas demands. I should have firmly declined but didn't want to make waves. I still struggle to shut out the noise of the season and keep the focus where it belongs, but as a family, we are getting better at it. This year, there are no gifts being exchanged. A family has already been adopted and our gift budget is going toward a family trip to visit Lauren in Hawaii in the summer of 2024. The fact the kids all unanimously chose the time together over a traditional Christmas says they maybe, just maybe understand the birth of a baby savior requires different energy than the commercial mess we've made it. Or perhaps they all need therapy. It's often difficult to distinguish the difference.

Speaking of therapy........

He loved this. Diesel did too.