Joy, as defined by Webster’s Dictionary, is the “state or feeling of great happiness”, as if the only way to find joy is to top the scale of happiness. If that were the case very few of us would ever find “Joy”. Maybe in the truest sense of the word, very few of us do.

I remember shortly after my dad died Eric and I, along with our four small children, were out “joy” riding. There is something about dirt roads that sing to me. They are the sweetest lullabies that draw out the deepest of hidden memories and unfurled dreams inside of me. Something elusive makes me yearn for the courageous and reckless spirit of dirt roads. The woods, in all their mystery and fortitude, stand guard and hold their ground at the very edge of this “path” that has been purposefully and rebelliously cut through them like winding scars. And oh my! What an olfactory buffet. You can smell dirt from the newly planted fields. Or fresh water on newly cut grass. The jasmine calls in sweet fragrance as it drapes graciously over fence rows. And honeysuckle as it hangs in trumpets of honey gold from overgrown trees. The children are singing and laughing as they bounce around in the back of the slow moving truck. Eric and I are holding hands, saying little as random dogs bark and chase our tires. And I am thinking of my dad. Missing him so much I can hardly breathe. And then it hits me. This thing so slight but solid hits me out of the blue. In the depth of my sorrow and grief comes this awakening of the moment, unfolding in heaviness but quickness before my very eyes. I look at my tenderly held hand and the back seat full of our love manifested in dirt smeared, giggling faces. Out of the midst of the belly of grief blooms not pleasure or happiness but rather the whisper of an indescribable idea or reality. I sense it in its beauty and depth and am instantly confused but grateful by its presence. It can only be described as J O Y. It only came to rest like a butterfly, but as it lit, I was filled with a desire so great and so overwhelming I knew it did not come from me. The reality of it sits within me to this day, some ten years later.

Joy is different from any other emotion. So much is the difference that I would say joy is not an emotion at all and therefore cannot be associated with the “height” of an emotion. Saying that joy is the “state of great happiness” is like saying a big hill is a tiny mountain. In the description you may have been referring to scale but missed the majesty of the greater, thus reducing the true nature of the most grand to a thing that could easily be handled and explained. A mountain is seen as a creation of grandeur and glory. To use in comparison the mountain to a hill will only reduce the notion of the mountain, not elevate the reality of a hill.

To my understanding, joy and happiness are not to be pieced together, to do so will only reduce the glory of joy to merely just” a good time.”

Bitterness, pain, sorrow and grief are all emotions. And, in my reasoning, an emotion cannot overcome another emotion. Pleasure can replace pain, but as soon as pleasure is gone the pain will immediately come back. The emotion of bitterness, pain, sorrow and grief can only be overcome by joy. I have been plagued by these emotions this past year. I have felt the depth of a broken heart and have contended with the emotions that ravage the tender soul like swarms of hungry and careless locust.  I have been crying out for J O Y! But the mystery of joy is that you cannot achieve it or find it like you find pleasure, comfort and happiness. The awesomeness of joy is that it finds you. The secret of joy is to recognize it when comes to rest upon you. God said His kingdom is a place filled with righteousness, peace and joy.  Thankfully, He did not say happiness. Who would be happy to die on a cross? What kind of God would expect it? But like righteousness and peace, joy is not achieved. It is given. And it is given in the most bitter of natural circumstances. That is the goodness of God for my sake! (And for the sake of my hurt and ravaged soul.)  In a heart filled with peace and righteousness, the reality of joy comes to rest. It matters not that I am not happy, or that my soul is tormented. In fact I am finding that it is these times when I sense most clearly the touch of joy. With tears on my face, in the bitterness of heartfelt pain, my God answers me. He gives me a reality bigger than my temporary being. He gives me…  J O Y. 

The glitter has fallen
And I with it.


Sparkles of white, silver and gold,


Subdued to hues of blue, black and red,


Platitudes, latitudes and longitudes,


You are sure of where you stand, of where you stood.

But, it is not the stand nor the stance but the bow.

The bow, the bend, the break,

Broken, face down, humbled, contrite,
Melted soul poured thin but deep.

Deep is revealed down low, on callused knees,

Truth and grace gather in still places, solemn moments,


Head and soul breathe dust, wind bends the mind,
Spirit and heart inhale heaven, Fire refines the life,


Sight perfected in meek reflection, senses gained,
Strength attained in buckled knees, Wisdom summoned,

I stood…Sure, confident and steady

Blurred, dull, full of fantasy


With glittered abrasion I fell…broken, dizzy and sorrowful

Awake, sharp, full of clarity

Forehead, face, shoulder, belly, knees, toes… laid flat...kissing the ground
Sight, healing, understanding abound ….heaven touching earth.

As I remain...Bowed Down

I've sat in front of my keyboard numerous times over the course of the last few weeks waiting for the words to come. Words to describe what I am feeling and going through. But the words, they sat stubborn, muddled and huddled together like a hive of bees with no pollen to gather…swarming, moving, but no place to go. It’s been seven months this past Monday since Grace died and our faith shaken, stirred and poured out. But, still, the ray of light, hope and ease seem imprisoned, held in solitary confinement with only whispers of time to be let out of the dank room to spread wide and drink in the warmth and pleasure of fresh air.

 It’s like looking up from the ship wreckage at the bottom of the ocean.  You are struggling to swim away from the broken remains of twisted metal and sunken dreams. Through the thick dark water to the top of the lighted surface you aim but with every muscled kick and perfect stroke there is no progress.  The only change you know for certain as you look upward in tempered hope is the burning and stinging in your lungs is ever increasing. Dismayed, you wonder if you’ll break the sparkling surface before your lungs burst and the dark water fills you and receives you gladly as his prisoner forever…one with the wreckage.

The whispers of hope come to me in the form of reading, rehearsing and absorbing the writings of David, the man after God’s own heart. He speaks of his own hurt, devastation, anger and indignation and I am laid bare in agreement and tears. But he always ends with hope and trust in his Father and overwhelming love for his God. With his words I am comforted and renewed in my fight and resolve to reach the top, to experience the joy of breaking through into the sparkling surface.  

One Psalm that has reached out its tender arms to me, pulled me in close and refused to let me go is Psalms 40:1-3

I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me,
And heard my cry.
2 He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock,
And established my steps.
3 He has put a new song in my mouth--
Praise to our God;
Many will see it and fear,
And will trust in the Lord.

It doesn’t take the death of a loved one to make one long for God’s favor, to desire more than anything to be held in the grasp of God’s hand, to endure His judgment and ultimately find His heart.  Anytime our faith is tested for a extended length of time…when we have wept on our pillows in the night season and all during the day…when we are so distraught we can count all our bones…when our heart is melted like wax and there seems no breath left in us, when no one gathers around us but our enemies in their prosperity…how we long for God’s favor.  I know I will have entered into His favor and found His heart when there is sustained joy in my heart instead of this horrible, heavy, crushing weight in my chest that expands and constricts with every breath I take.   

With all of my faith gathered, I rehearse His holy words…”I wait patiently on the Lord. With the peace of His word in my heart I sit before Him, I kneel before Him, I stand before Him.  And He sees me, He leans toward me, He turns toward me and gives me His ear and He hears every one of my muffled, grunted, screamed and tormented cries. He is bringing me out of this horrible pit of devastation. He is pulling me up and calling me out of this mucky, sticky, slick red clay and He is setting my feet on level, sure and trustworthy ground, which is His word.  And He is showing me how to walk and live every day in His word. Today He has taught me a new song and I sing it in my heart, a melody taught to me by Jesus, Himself. He hums it to me as I sleep and beckons me with it when I am awake. He is teaching me to worship my God no matter my circumstance or the mess of my soul. With the praise that rises from the ash of a contrite heart, a suffering heart, a broken and mangled heart, I worship Him! People will see and hear it. They will notice and be moved. They will know God hears them in their anguish and torment of soul and they will worship Him and put their trust in Him!”

It has been seven months…and I don’t seem much closer to the surface than when this all began. Recently, it has seemed I am deeper than ever. I am saddened at the acknowledgement that the pain and devastation is getting worse not better. But, each day I know He hears my cries and brings me up. He sets me on His Rock and shows me how to live. And each day there is a “new song” to be learned and sung. Praise to our God!

Today is five months since our Grace passed. Yes, it seems I am still counting the days and months without her. I wish I could say the pain is gone, my heart has healed and all is well but that would not be the truth, not even close. 

It was a choice to enjoy her birthday Sunday, October 6. Many of my closest friends and family joined me and my family Sunday to honor Grace by dedicating “Grace Park” behind our, and her, church building in her memory. It was a choice as we gathered beside her grave to celebrate her life with love and laughter as Alese spray painted a purple rose on her grave while her brothers watched, her dad sang and friends stood close by.

Grace was and is the epitome of inspiration. I marvel at her courage, faith and spirit all the time. When I am at my worst, I remember Grace at her best. I wish I could say her best was when she was footloose and fancy free without a care in the world, acting like most spontaneous and erratic 19 year olds, but that is not true and very short-sighted.  Grace’s best, her most excellent of heart, was when she had every reason to be angry with God, angry with the world and bitter with her life but chose to love God instead, embrace her life and fight the never ending pain. She did this all with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. Grace saw and understood the beauty of choice.

It was Grace’s choice not to be a victim of cancer and that made her a victor in life. The dark seasons of our life seems to want to dictate and whittle down our choices until we feel we have no choices left to make at all. It is those times we become victims- victims of life, victims of circumstance, victims of the very thing we hate. Grace made a choice early on in her journey not to be a victim. Her dark season came and with it she saw the Light and Beauty of choice. And once she made her choice, she never changed her mind or direction!

Grace’s choice is made, mine seems to waver more than I would like. If Grace’s choices were based on how she felt, she would have never left her bed. And her infamous smile would have faded into crumbling tears. There is no doubt she had every reason to cry but she chose to laugh, love and live instead. When a heart chooses to live above the circumstance and stand in Faith, I believe the grace of God abounds and helps to sustain our choice. Grace understood the grace, power and sustenance of choice.

I am still looking at her life and learning from it. I wish I could say the dark season of my life is over, but I see the heavy black clouds that hang low and dense and I sense the eerie stillness of the air around my heart. But at the same time, I see Light stabbing and piercing through those ominous clouds and I understand the beauty and victory of the day is contained in the power of my choice.

Grace’s birthday is coming up next Sunday, October 6. The week before she went into hospice she was making plans to visit Florida with her friends to celebrate her 21st birthday. In her heart, spirit and body she fought for life every day. She never used cancer as an excuse for anything!! (Except maybe to get an indoor dog!! ) This story is a tribute to her life and the inspiration she was and is to me. This Sunday I will celebrate her birth, giving thanks to God I had the blessing to know Grace, love Grace and be changed by Grace!

The story of Grace is an amazing story. Her story is filled with hope, love, faith, and courage. After battling sarcoma cancer for 9 months she stated her faith was just as strong then as it was in the beginning. That statement was made just one month before her passing on May 9, 2013. I am here to say her faith was stronger, but not only that, her smile was broader, her face shone brighter and her eyes were clearer after battling hard for nine months than when she first began her journey. In her end, she was not diminished but bursting with glory at her mortal seams. Grace was transformed during her battle into a person I am sorry I did not get the chance to spend a my lifetime with. As her body became weaker and more and more sick, her internal life force became stronger and more and more sweet.

I would be the first to say this awesome and amazing dear young woman changed my life.  Living with Grace I was in the front row seat of her life and watched as her story was played out before my very eyes. We laughed together but we did not cry together. She never saw the need to cry. As far as I know, she never shed a tear for herself or questioned the reason of “Why me?” One thing she could not stand were eyes of pity. She never pitied herself and didn’t understand or receive pity from others. She was a warrior through and through. While she knew inner strength and resolve and had the patience of self restraint enduring great pain, she readily admitted she did not see what all the fuss was about when people told her they admired her faith or that she inspired them. She just lived her life the only way she knew how. But what those words of affirmation and adoration added to her is unexplainable. She knew the strength she had did not come from her but from her God and from the people rallying around her. I watched her face light up as I read cards from people of the community saying they were praying for her. The light radiating from her face was unmistakable as people told her how much she had inspired them; and I watched as she walked on a little taller and fuller after hearing the words, “You have made a difference in my life!”. It was wonderful to behold the beauty of inspiration unfolding before my heart. It was amazing to watch the cycle of people being inspired by Grace who was in turn inspired by them and the momentum went on and on.

It is for this very reason Day of Grace-“Inspirational Day” has been the burden of mine and Eric’s heart. We saw firsthand the power and value of inspiration. What we experienced as a family, we would like for everyone to have the opportunity to experience. We should not wait for tragedy to dictate the time to express our heartfelt thank you’s or I love you’s. This is a day to let that person or people know they have made a difference in our lives. It not only feels great to say thank you and be reminded of the inspiration but it also is a wonderful thing to hear thank you and be encouraged to continue on in strength.

On October 7, 2013, please send a purple rose to the one who has inspired you that they might know of the difference they have made in your life. We have learned it is the simple acts of kindness that restore our hope and give us strength to carry on. Expressed love and goodness remind us we need one another. Grace left behind a great legacy of inspiration and hope. And I am thankful for her life every day.