The All-ness of Joy

When did you last feel all that comes with joy?

In less than 48 hours Teresa and I will welcome into the world our second and third child. After years of trying to grow our family we are having twins. In the process we are jumping from raising a single child to being outnumbered 3 – 2. I am confident things will never be the same.

There is an incredible amount of joy for us in the anticipation of the birth of our kids, and ultimately, the fulfillment of a hope that has long been held.

As is often the case with joy, the degree upon which we feel it is largely based on its juxtaposition with pain, hurt, and longing. The ‘without-ness’ in seasons of life bring power and sweetness to its most fulfilling moments.

Years back a close friend shared with me a prayer entitled, “The Valley of Vision” – an excerpt from a puritan prayer book. Part of the prayer reads:

Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.

“The Valley of Vision” first published 1975 as edited by Arthur Bennett

Infertility has been a valley we’ve walked through for years. The perspective from that journey has forever marked us. I expect much of this part of our story will come out through this blog.

Today, with their birth so close, I can’t help but to feel the ‘all-ness’ of joy. The anticipation of holding them for the first time.
The parental itch to worry.
The mental gymnastics of the what-ifs.
The pure, raw, excitement like that of a child at Christmas.
The pain, and scars that mark the cost paid to get us to today.
The gratitude.

Soon I will hold my children.

Today I will sit in the ‘all-ness’ of joy.

-CB

It’s Part of the Story

Do you have a ‘puzzle piece’ story?

We had completed it the day prior, following three days of toiling over it. I stared down at the vacancy left by two puzzle pieces, wood from the table beneath peaked through. I could feel a frustration slowly growing.

We have learned to adjust to the quarantined life. I’ve worked from home 24/7. Ainsley is finishing kindergarten virtually. Teresa, who is nearly 38 weeks pregnant with our twins has spent her third trimester as a teacher, wife, and mom with weekly doctor check-ups and the treasured evening walk her sole reprieve from the lockdown.

We completed three puzzles the first few weeks of staying home. The third, a sunrise over Mt. Haleakalā in Maui, struck a nostalgic chord for Teresa and I. Nearly nine years ago I proposed to her atop that mountain – a story for another post.

It was a nice distraction. Our plan was to frame the puzzles and put them up in my former home office (now the play room/guest room/home office). But before I could mount it we lost the two pieces.

Getting frustrated about puzzle pieces is silly. I get it. But I’m not always rational and sometimes small things are maddening (just me?). We looked around for the missing pieces, but to no avail. Ainsley admitted she may have knocked them off. My best guess, our dog made quick work of them.

I looked at Teresa and asked a question that ended up being much more profound than I intended in the moment, “Do we tear it down or do we still put it up and this is just part of its story.”

“It’s part of its story,” she said smiling.

Instantly my attitude changed. A few years from now I will look at that puzzle on the wall and I won’t feel a bit of frustration. I won’t care that it’s missing two pieces. Instead, those missing pieces will bring fond memories of how our family grew closer during this pandemic.

What made the puzzle imperfect also made it uniquely valuable.

It was an important lesson and the genesis of a phrase I will embrace, it’s part of the story.

What’s true with the puzzle is true for all of us.

Sometimes the imperfections in our lives, the parts that aren’t what we envisioned – they can serve as a reminder, pointing us back to the stories of our lives. They mark memories of the people and seasons of life that bring depth and meaning to who we are.

So I’m officially trying to ingrain that phrase into my vocabulary, a quick retort when things don’t go the way I want them to – it’s part of the story.

Punch Fear in the Face

When was the last time you punched fear in the face?

Mid-April in Arizona is typically a couple months to early to swim. But with the Covid-19 quarantine all bets are off.

Last week, Ainsley (our oldest spawn) and I decided to swim. She approached the pool, walking around the edge until arriving at a planter wall that hugs the deepest corner of the pool. She crept to the edge and said, “I’m jumping in.” She’d done it before, but not yet this year. As she stood at the edge the anticipation of the cold water paired with the jump itself put her into fear induced paralysis. She’d talk herself into jumping, only to succumb to the anticipation of the jump.

After 5 minutes of almost jumping she looked at me, eyes watering, and said, “dad, I can’t do it.”

We had a quick talk. At the end, I flippantly said, “Baby girl, sometimes you just have to punch fear in the face.” For a 6 year old used to hearing why we don’t hit, this caught her off guard a bit. She giggled. She squatted down, staring at the water. Then, just as the fear started creeping back in, Teresa and I both shouted, “punch it in the face!” A smile emerged only to give way to a look of determination. She clenched her fists, squinted her eyes, and then launched forward into the air.

This blog is me punching fear in the face.

I analyze things. I strategize. I wait. That can and has led to great things. But, it often can lead to procrastination.

I’ve always enjoyed writing. I’ve always felt like I would write at some point in the future. Maybe a book one day, or maybe something else. But I always felt like writing was a ‘someday’ certainty. Oxymoron.

At some point I needed to start. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

So no plan for this blog. No strategy. Just me committing to writing, regardless of the outcome. Maybe it turns into something of value for other people. That would be great! Maybe this is just for me.

That ambiguity is unsettling. Yet, as Ainsley reminded me…

Sometimes you just have to punch fear in the face.

-CB