Who Took My Joy?

 As my foot steps on to the bottom step, my mind heaves a silent sigh of relief. Naptime!! What a precious commodity, rejuvenating sleep for the littles and rejuvenating quietness and rest for the mother, something to be treasured and preserved at all costs.

As I set about heating up water for a cup of tea I mentally think through how best to use this time. There are books to be read, writing to be done, creative endeavors to work on, exercising that demands all my will power and on and on the mental list grows. The water starts to whistle (or it would if the tea pot still worked properly) and I pour it over a tea bag and a bit of sugar. And then I hear it, the tell tale pitter-pat on the stairs combined with the hollered out request. I inwardly groan and listened for the wispy voice of the three-year-old: "I have to go.....dear mama." I take care of his needs, tuck him back into bed with even stricter instructions to stay there and go to sleep.

My sigh is quieter and more tentative this time as I ascend the stairs. There's a fear that this will not be the last time I hear the pitter pat and my heart and soul is crying out for quiet from the tumult and chaos of the morning. 

The hour flies by and soon the alarm clock signals my daughter that she can get out of bed. She creeps up the stairs until she sees me and then squeals with delight, so excited to be done with quiet time. Too often, I suppress another groan at this "interruption". I am not ready to play Twenty Questions yet or to listen to any random thought that crosses a five-year-old's mind along with a few thoughts I don't think she is aware of even thinking until they come out of her mouth. My patience and attention runs thin and I find myself trying to check out and ignore the constant flow of chatter. I am pulled back in repeatedly as she awaits my answer. 

But lately I've been convicted of this, this groaning in my spirit that I feel when my children disrupt my schedule, when they don't take the naps they are supposed to take, when they talk when I just want silence. What would happen if I greeted them with joy instead of groans? What if my face lit up with delight the same way my daughter's face lights up when she comes up from her bedroom? Wouldn't that change the whole tenor of the room? Couldn't that change the attitudes from despair to hope?

What are the memories I want them to have of childhood? Do I want them to remember that I blogged regularly and sewed quilts and read lots of books to myself? Or do I want them to remember that I was always glad to see them, that I always had time, that my life exhibited joy? I want them to cherish the memories of their childhood and while I don't think this means I must surrender every moment of the day to their happiness (obviously that will breed its own problems) I think the attitude of joy always will be engrained in their memories if it is the pervading emotion and feeling I attempt to convey each and every day. I won't always get it right, but I can try and then tomorrow I can get up and try again and the next day and the next and the next.

Paul talks a lot about joy and rejoicing, "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say rejoice." He doesn't provide any caveats and if you are familiar with Paul you know his life wasn't so easy and yet he chose joy. My life is so easy compared to Paul's and yet I allow so many little things to derail my joy. So this is the challenge to myself to choose joy right now, this moment and again tomorrow and every moment there. I want my children's faces to light up when they see me 10 years from now because I have cultivated that joy in life and passed it on to them.