joy.

And how shall we remember this time? I truly have no idea. And election is on the brink of being declared and fought over. Covid-19 is spreading like wildfire. My baby daughter is a delight. My older kids are nearly feral in the morning and evenings. "The us and them just has to stop" - Marie Howe Do you think we can see each other has holy. Can we really pray for our enemies. Can we learn to honor the tree and be grateful for the shade. What is our monastery? The enclosure is invisible, and yet I feel very cloistered. I write. I bake. I scroll. I scroll. I bake. I eat. I scroll. I scroll. I nurse or pump and scroll. I want this time to be remembered by me as a time I gave myself to joy. I have written before about struggling to be joyful. It is so vulnerable. ANd yet this baby of mine is so joyful. And yet my son carrying a bin of legos bigger than he is down the stairs is such a joyful commitment. My daughter reading books while walking, eating, waiting for the bus, going to the bathroom- is so silly. My other daughter pretending to be the leader of the CDC- playing pretend in her room. Lovely beyond lovely. And what of the joy of having a house that is messy. Where pumkin seeds seem to have spread to every room, where the bathrooms are never clean enough and the table is covered in crumbs- isn't this what I wanted. Isn't this the gift. TO be surrounded by aliveness. The fight is ahead of us. The gentle urging of others to listen. My own listening- my own tearing down of my own walls. And yet- what if all of this came from joy. Can I look- can I look- can I look into your eyes and see joy?