Joy Found Me

The day never paused. There was no stopping it. I spun and I grasped and I begged to sit.

Where is my rest God?

It started early. The night before I lay awake thinking of all that would take place, not very huge and important things, but things that inter lapped and intertwined.

I named the day Stress.

I awoke and I groaned and I forgot to say good morning Lord. I went to work and I didn't spin with the Toddler or laugh until my sides hurt but I rushed. I rushed through breakfast. I rushed to the office with a little hand and little toys. Mojo's house.

I sat and then I stood. I walked then sat. I typed and talked on the phone and I stood and I rushed.

I ate in a hurry for there was a nap for him and work for me.

Youth group started before I was done work so I ran from the house when I could and jumped in the car. I drove to the meet place and I jumped from the car and into the van. And we drove. And I stressed and I groaned about not having any 'me' time. Drive through food. Calgary traffic. Roller rink.

I forgot my socks and had to borrow. I slipped on the blades and I skated real slow with two beginners at first, then alone.

I skated around and around and then it happened. I caught my breath and I smiled, then I giggled.

Joy found me.

Out on the roller rink with "Grease Lightning!" playing and bodies pushed in all around me so close.

Joy found me.

My husband skated by with a wink and I smiled. I truly smiled, all the way down to my heart.

Unexplainable. Totally weird. Joy.

That's my God. He takes a day never ending and touches my heart. Joy is not found anywhere else. Joy is only God. Happiness lasts for a moment but Joy is never ending. It is searching, always looking for His children to lavish on. There is no explanation. No reason. Just joy. Nothing about my day had changed. I was still frazzled. Still stressed. still tired. But out on that stinky, twirling floor with the bright lights and the deafening music, Joy found me.

Where has unexplainable Joy found you?

Legacy

"By your grace and promise, we refuse to let the enemy have any

of our beloved children."

I am reading my Grandmothers journal this morning. As the sun peers through my living room window, I trace a finger over the words I read and remember her touch, her smile. I remember her contagious laugh, the way she rocked back and forth in the rocking chair in our home. I can feel her hand on my forehead as she recited the blessing before I fell asleep all those nights.

"The Lord bless thee and keep thee:

The Lord make His face shine upon thee, 

and be gracious unto thee:

The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee

and give thee peace."

-Numbers 6:24-26

Tears come as I long to hear her high soprano voice filling whatever room she was singing in. I fell asleep for five years to the sound of her long graceful fingers dancing with her keyboard. I can't listen to a hymn today without hearing her voice.

She was a mother, a wife, a friend, a beloved daughter of the King, a writer, would rather clean than cook, a grandmother and a fighter. She fought for life and the pages of this journal I hold tell of her struggle and hope.

The greatest compliment I ever receive is "You remind me of your Grandma Callaway." My hero.

I have prolonged writing this post because I don't believe any words I write will ever do her justice. I know a grandchild thinks the world of their grandparents and is blind to their faults, but I cannot help knowing what I saw.

I saw a saint. I saw a warrior. I saw Christ.

My thoughts wander back to that last week of her life. She couldn't speak. Her lips were crusty. Her skin dry. She had stopped eating and drinking.
Nurses told me that she wouldn't be able to understand me or communicate. She could only move her neck and had to be turned over by nurses every hour. I knew it would be one of the last times I would have with her. I opened the hospital room door and peeked in. She was sitting in her chair, staring blankly into space. Gone were the words from her mouth. Gone were her active limbs and the contagious laugh. She didn't belong there anymore. I walked in and sat in front of her. She shifted her focus and smiled. She always smiled when she saw me, saw any of her children. I smiled back and knew that they were wrong, she could understand me. She was simply giving up, longing for her true home. This tower of faith who had struggled with depression her entire life was ready to hear the words 'Well done."
The tears came, she was so weak, so ready for heaven.
I was not ready to let her go.
I clung to her body and let the tears fall as she willed me to let go.

As I sat there by her wheelchair, grieving, this frail lady rested her head upon mine and as I looked up I saw tears falling down her immovable face and opening up her mouth a crack she whispered "Praise God from whom all blessings flow..." but that was as far as she was able to go.  
So with a trembling voice I sang the rest of the song as she hummed along, both of us allowing tears to continue there path.

She had never been more beautiful to me.

She was pointing me to the One who I would need to turn to every moment of my life. The One who opened his arms to her five days later, as I lay beside her on a hospital cot, fast asleep.

And today, as I read her words written with a passion so deep and alive for her children, willing that all would turn to Jesus, I praise God for my Grandma.