Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I needed that today, and of course God knew that. Not to say I was unhappy - though I've been trying to cut back on the magic pills and I can feel that anxiety slithering around in the back of my brain again - but just that joy, hope, and peace just feel too dangerous. Christmas day was extraordinary in our house this year. For starters, the priest at the church my son attends (Bee and I can't go, obviously, without any form of transport) came out. He was there to bless Bee and he brought two members of RCIA - who were just about two of the nicest people I have ever met. And this priest! First - priests and nuns are like rock stars to me (well, and writers. I'd need smelling salts if I ever met Stephen King or Judy Blume) so the fact that an actual priest was in my home was just so exciting. But this priest! He was so . . . exuberant. He simply radiated energy and joy and, according to my son, he is like that all the time. No wonder my son was willing to walk all that way for mass! So he comes over and blesses Bee. And let me tell you, she was happy and excited. I haven't heard her that vocal in AGES, seriously. She knew. Or maybe Father Mike's absolute joy and love just washed over her. I don't know. All I do know is that she was happy and so was I. Gosh, even Noah was and usually he is deep in the middle of moody teenage angst. But I tell you this because . . . it terrified me. To be that joyful, that hopeful, was frightening. The good days always are, because the bad days are so much worse, so much more of a fall.
Wow, I started this post two hours ago and only am just getting back to it. Apparently a sinus infection and sore throat are equivelant to the Black Plague to 16 year old boys. He keeps saying "Mom, I'm in so much pain, help me!" And I thought . . . didn't his dear friend and mentor give him a shillelagh for Christmas? Hmmm. It IS heavy . . . one good hit in just the right spot would knock him out for hours . . . but I decided against that particular form of pain relief.
Okay, so to make this quick because he'll need me again quite soon and the nurse should be coming for Bee at some point for her daily shot so I'll wrap this up. I'm pretty sure I had a point two hours ago and now I've just lost it. And I hear Noah growling so I must hurry. Joy is a good thing, a gift from God. Much like the child now beating on his bedroom wall crying "Moooooommmm. Moooommmm!"
Back again. Okay, joy is a gift. People that radiate joy like Father Mike are a blessing. And so, on Christmas Day, God was so very present in our apartment through the joy and love of Father Mike, Angie and Tom. Then, they handed us gifts and Christmas cards (which really excited me as I LOVE Christmas cards, I keep them year after year and I have tons of them) and found that they had blessed us even more. When my kids are better I must sit down and write each of them a letter but I do not think there are words to convey how we feel. But I will try. At first, my son and I balked at their kindness, we discussed the most tactful way of declining and returning the bulk of their kindness. We consulted Noah's sponsor/mentor and he told me that I needed to accept their kindness with gratitude and joy, that they would not have been so kind to us if they did not want to be. I felt selfish at the thought of allowing this, and we discussed it at length.
Oh good heavens, he's banging on his wall again. Okay - joy is good. Scary but good. It is a gift from God. Plus, there are people out there that have the gift for spreading joy just by their very presence and we were so blessed Christmas Day. Now I must finish because I have a shillelagh to find. . .
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