Somehow, in the past year, I have lost my sense of joy. Maybe I’ve suffered from postpartum depression, maybe I’ve just been spread too thin, but I have definitely lost the pleasure I used to take in my ordinary life, in my extraordinary family. The little trials of the day that used to be amusing anecdotes have become, well, just trials, one more problem that I have to deal with, one more thing eating into any time I might have been able to find for myself. I was thinking about all this the other day, when I was exhausted from a long night with Henry, trying to nap when my babies napped, but lying awake, because one of those babies doesn’t fall asleep and the other can’t stay asleep. It was a long day.
What matters? I wondered, lying there in the bed, and after awhile, I was able to answer myself: prayer that keeps me focused on God, good food shared with my favorite people, great books read together for pleasure and education, and lots of time together tending our farm, creating, learning, being. What else matters, really?
I got up from that not-nap with some clarity about what I need to change to make a life of peace and loveliness for myself and for these people who are journeying with me. I made some changes that are already bearing fruit. And I have every confidence that, soon, I’ll be able to see the beauty again, and take pleasure in all the little things that make up the fabric of a life well lived.