And Joy Flew In...

When I graduated with my creative writing degree in December, I deeply anticipated the freedom that comes with post-college life. I was going to have a vehicle at my disposal, I was going to get a steady job and take charge of my own finances, I was going to read whatever I wanted and write whatever I liked. No syllabi, no assignments, no deadlines. But, as is often the way with plans, most of them didn’t come to pass. Instead, I found myself, along with my family, neck deep in some extremely trying circumstances. I had no car at my disposal, no job, and not much time for reading and writing.  Most of my time is taken up with housework. How do I feel about that? Well, that is the great adventure.

At first, I took to sweeping, mopping, dish-doing, laundry, etc. with a kind of nervous energy, then a kind of bitter energy, then an altogether lack of energy. Nothing drains like a discontented spirit and my spirit was not content. I began to grow frustrated and harried. Frustrated at my family for making so many dishes (I’m not sure what I expected them to do. Perhaps eat their breakfast on a napkin), frustrated at entropy for generating mess, secretly frustrated with God for changing my plans without my consent. I knew in my heart that all this frustration sprung from a thorn of rebellion in my heart and nothing, I repeat, nothing causes sickness of the soul like rebellion in the heart. I knew that I was creating new attitude habits, the repercussions of which I would suffer from for the rest of my life unless something changed – soon. So I went in search of change and the answer I discovered was remarkably simple.

I opened my hand.

That is all. I opened my hand and embraced the work God set before me. People who don’t trust God live with their hands clasped shut, knuckles white, desperately clinging to the idea, dream, relationship that they have set up as more necessary to their happiness than their Heavenly Father. I realized that this was me. I realized that joy belongs only to the open-handed Christian. So I opened my hand – and joy flew in.

Life is challenging but life is wonderful. Even in the midst of trial, of dark valleys, joy is there. Don’t sit and tell yourself that on the other side of your shadow there will be joy. On this side of your shadow there can be joy, you just have to open your hand and let joy nestle there, in the place of the lesser thing. 

The Lovely Thing About Winter

Winter comes every year and, in most of the world, is colder than the rest of the year. Winter has a 100% rate of accuracy; it always comes and it is always cold. In recent history, winter has never forgotten to blow round and bring with it several months of low temperatures. Yet I have found, with a mixture of amusement and despair, that everywhere I go are people in denial of the regularity of winter. As soon as the leaves are off the trees, the grumbling begins. Even Christmas fails to coax some appreciation from the shivering, bundled populace. They turn their eyes down and in. Down on the dark, frozen ground and in on their chilly, aching selves. And they miss out on a season of magic.

My house is nestled in one of those wonderful, remote, sylvan places of the world mostly forgotten by mostly everyone. Except the birds. Birds everywhere. Birds in rainbow droves hopping over the snow, darting through the trees, fluffed out in their brightest winter foliage. When all the world is white and gray, have you ever noticed a cardinal bobbing and darting across a field like a red shooting star? Have you ever noticed a brilliant blue jay clinging to a tree branch like a tatter of blue flag? In winter, birds are like spatters of color on a blank canvas, more brilliant and fascinating, bringing more joy and wonder to me than they ever could in spring.  

Have you ever noticed the sky in winter? Baby blue in morning with lazy, cotton fluff clouds. Clearer than glass at night, the stars like sugar scattered on black velvet. Steely gray, dropping tiny gems of crystal and diamond. In the evening, when the sky is clear, the angle of the sun creates a certain golden light that gilds the landscape in a uniquely intense and wintery way.

And I haven’t even mentioned the music of winter wind, or the sparkle or iced trees, or the splendor of a pink sunrise on a freshly fallen snow.

Winter can be cold, and dark, and inconvenient, but it is also beautiful and majestic. If we try, if we draw our eyes up and out and look around us so that we not only see but also observe, then winter becomes more a collage of sparkle and glister than dusk and dank. Open your eyes and you will begin to discover all the lovely things about winter.

A Little New Thing

This is a new blog. It is not a platform for political rant, nor is it an online diary. It is not a vehicle for me to express my opinions on popular culture, to post a gallery of pictures, to create an artificial public image of myself. This blog is a little, new thing. A small voice of musing amidst the din of a deeply vocal culture. You will find no empty optimism here, but you will find authentic joy. I will never promote a grin-and-bear-it stoicism, but I will encourage you to feel deeply. I am not writing because I believe that my perspectives will change the world, I am more of a realist than that. I write because I love it, because I relish it, because I am an artist and the words bubble up inside me and must, must be put on paper. I write because I am an artist. My paint – words. My canvas – you. I’m just a little, new voice amid bigger, older voices with more to say, and I speak of little things. All the lovely little things of the world.