The Still Small Voice

Yesterday, my son went to Sunday school for the first time in his life… He actually stayed the entire time, without me having to either stay with him or retrieve him after 20 minutes, I mean.

So, I was able to attend church in a physical, actual sanctuary, in-person, and stay the whole time–for the first time in like two and a half years!

The family member who accompanied me led us straight to the front row, so you can bet that I was paying attention. Being an educator, I can’t help but to nod along encouragingly and make eye contact with those who have the floor, as I know that nothing is worse than a sea of glazed-over eyes and zoned-out students checking their phones or watches.

Many things from the sermon resonated with me, but one thing that stuck out to me in particular was the idea that joy is not happiness.

Joy is the absence of fear.

That got me thinking about how many of my decisions have been fear-driven: fear of what is, fear of what could be, fear of making the wrong choice, fear of running out of time, fear of not getting it right.

As I have been contemplating the things I love in life and the emotions I walk with on a daily basis, I realized that I am tired of worrying, even though at times it seems that I have a lot, rightly, to be worried about.

Free-falling into simply, truly trusting God sounds impossible.

But, I want to find joy again. I have had a lot of gratitude, but I want more than that. I want joy.

I don’t know how I can live a less-stressed, less-worried, more restful, more confident, and more grounded life, but I want to. I want it for me, and I want it for my son. I want to be like the North Star to him, worthy of following and emulating. I want him to look back on me, even long after I am gone, and think, “Wow, Mom really lived a joyful life. Mom was a great example. Mom loved me so much, and Mom taught me to love myself, too.”

This is my prayer for my son and for me. May I be up to the task.