H is for happy

I wonder when I first learned the word "happy." I assume I learned it relative to a picture of a smiling face. See that? That face is happy. Say, "hap-py!" Happy. From where I stand, the first knowledge of the word happy is probably ages after most of us learn the meaning of happy. That is irony to me, that we first identify something from its exterior, when we've known it for awhile on the inside.

*** Today I felt happy. I had played with Little Man all morning: cars and playdough and hide n' seek. I had changed bedsheets and held a warm little boybot on my lap while eating cereal. I took a wee disco nap and then ran on the treadmill for 30 minutes and afterwards my organs felt very gooshy. I got to pick Baby Girl up from school and be the first reporter to hear the account of her day. I even got goodish news from the Boston realtor which never happens.

By mid-afternoon, I knew I didn't just feel happy, but that I had known happiness on this day.

And what of it? What was extraordinary about this day, its happenings? Perhaps that they were all backlit by gorgeous sunlight was an extra big boon to my spirits. Still, if any one of these activities was isolated from the mosaic of the others, I cannot be sure I would be waving the happy flag by lunchtime. In fact, on many days, I've gotten to do these things, with these people, in this place, and by day's end I didn't feel victorious. In fact, I probably felt one of many of the following: bored, sorry for self, envious of others.

Today, I was happy on the outside, while knowing happiness on the inside. What is clear from today is that my happy smile will surely fade, but the knowledge of this happy feeling will remain. The knowledge that even the most pedestrian of days at home, being a wife and a mother, can well up whole buckets of happiness within me. As I've learned time and time again, these sweet privileges of loving and serving my family give me such incomparable joy, joy that cannot be delivered in a package from Sephora, or found while scanning someone else's vacation album on the Faceplace. The inner happiness and utter joy of this life, this life and its duties and chores that I am so often begrudging.

Do you hear me? The happily ever after is so happening right now and it is unfolding on the inside. Whatever it is that you are called to do, whether it is to teach or coach or write or help or heal, whether it is to look at tiny worms under a microscope or skywrite a message across a big blue expanse, seek to find the joy. Don't look at what others are doing or how much they're receiving or how much easier they've got it. Just consider the blessings of today, all the things that have gone right and all the things that you've learned from that have gone utterly wrong today. Count it all as joy, writes Paul.

I just completed a study with our women's ministry called "Stuck," written by jennie allen. A couple of times, toward the end of the study, she reminds us to "Run our guts out." I just love that. And that's how I felt today after I got off the treadmill. Like my guts were bound to spill out of some open seams.

This world is so broken but I believe we can do so much good if we embrace even the smallest of ministries to which we are called and run our everloving guts out.

My prayer is that our eyes would be open and our hearts would be discerning as we recognize and know, truly, this elusive thing called happiness.

Nativity

This has been the year of The Nativity, as interpreted by Baby Girl. Most days see a makeshift manger cropped together with blankets and stuffed animals in some cozy corner of our home. Giraffe, Lexi the Lamb, Bearista of Starbucks Merchandise fame? They're all attending to the Christ child, who is usually either a baby doll swaddled in pink or Curious George. I guess the Nativity story has always held fascination for me, so I can understand her obsession. It's pretty bizarro awesome when you think about it, isn't it? Angel visits teenage peasant girl, says, "Sup, Mary. You ready to have God's son? What's that? No husband? No worries! We've got you. Just make sure you call this babe Jesus, got that? Kay. Later." Baby Girl is especially fixated on Mary's fulfillment of this role. Did you know, for example, that Mary and Joseph had a midnight snack of s'mores? Labor makes a girl hungry, natch. Also, Mary oftentimes had to cut out and go to a ballet lesson (in order to get back to her pre-baby weight?). Joseph was totally down, though. He was happy to hang back at the crib with his new son. Finally, whatever notions you had about Mary's footwear being the buckle-up Jerusalem cruisers--well you can just put that nonsense away. Baby Girl has informed me that Mary wore high heels. I mean, what other lies have you believed about the REAL Holy Family, wardrobe and otherwise?

Now that we live in the Bible Belt, there are awfully much and many opportunities to encounter the most wonderful story ever told. Tonight Baby Girl and I went to a drive-thru Nativity. Twas awesome. You can see below the level of authenticity the actors and set designers were trying to achieve. Not pictured: Baptist preacher at exit asking me if I was 50, 75, or 100% sure I was going to Heaven. Also not pictured: Baby Girl asking me to read her the illustrated tract about salvation for the third time tonight. *** Stand up and be counted.

This is a donkey, isn't it? I said, "Wow! A real donkey!" but I'm just a city mouse.

The goat's name was Ginger. Isn't that adorbs? That is a goat, right?

And these? Are two little sheep.

Scroogin'

I've been waxing eloquent in my head about a post that I was going to deliver to you right here on this web interface tonight. It centered on the importance of the little things in this season, little drummer boys and little match girls, little kindnesses and little babies in mangers and that's the true meaning of Christmas, Charlie Brown.

But then I fell off the grumpy ladder and hit every rung on the way down.

I don't know what has gotten into me in the last couple of days. Perhaps I am absorbing my students' finals stress or perhaps I am just malcontent here in the month of December where I cannot plan my outfits because by mid-day I am still sweating like a piglet singing opera.

These feelings of agitation are unwelcome, but I am choosing to live authentically through this season. I will not fabricate feelings of joy or manufacture a pocket full of mirth. If we are being really honest here, I do not think the mother of our Lord and Savior was all that ecstatic to be nine months preggos riding a donkey when her husband had not even so much as booked a hotel on hotels.com in advance. Oh, but I kid.

On a serious note, though, we've been at this life in Tennessee for about half a year. Loverpants and I feel very hog-tied committed to our ministries at home and our ministries at the college. We are generally happy here even though our friend circle and our closet space and our entertainment channels have been downsized.

I would be lying, however, if I said that doing the Lord's work and being a part of a spiritual community can really be quite the ticket to Grumpville, population 1. I have had some conversations with God and other people in recent weeks where I have not had a right spirit.

But the Lord knows. He knows our weakness and He knows when, against the backdrop of twinkling stars and bright holiday lights, the flame in our heart is growing dim.

I need revival. I need to know that I am just passing through Grumpville. Like a cold stable, this is no place to camp for long.