Joy Waiting

This morning I found an old picture of my niece, Eden, riding a top my brother’s shoulders. She was probably three years old in the picture. Both of their smiles so joyous and beautiful. Her hair angelic blonde curls. The proud smile of a father. Life before cancer. It made my heart soar just to go back to that moment. Then it caused a flood of emotions that caught me by surprise. Her last clinic treatment is this Friday and we are celebrating big time. And yet the tears just won’t quit flowing.

Through this whole cancer journey in our family, I felt like I was truly present, real and allowing myself the full range of feelings. And yet when I see that picture I feel a flood gate lift and tears just pour out of my being. Why am I crying now when we are in celebration mode? The hardest terrain is over, right? Behind them, behind us. I should scream with joy and elation. And yet relief is not the cause of my tears. What I’ve learned most in this stretch is that there is no part of our journey that is the “hardest” part or “easy” times because you don’t know what’s to come next. And what’s to come next defines and shapes what’s already come before.

So, I cry for the loss of ease and innocence, for the laughter lost and perspective gained. Crying for the person Eden was before that is lost, and yet in miraculous awe of who she has become that the world gained. I hold that feeling for each member of my family through this journey. A loss for who we were and yet in awe of who we have become.

The tears are for the joy I thought we missed. I see now the joy was never missing. It was always there, but in a form, I needed to learn how to see. It’s not how the situation changed me, but how much I needed to change my definition of what joy looks like. My definition of where goodness can be found, what a good life looks like, and what makes me feel lucky and blessed needed to change. The only thing required to change life is just me. My filter. My perspective. What I decide joy looks like.

Rather, I didn’t lose anything, but I discovered what is always here for us all. This has been a lesson in how to quit playing the “If Only” game. If only this hadn’t happened. If only a cure. If only not so many setbacks. The only “If Only” is…… if only my eyes could see the joy right here in the midst of the pain.

Joy is always laying there, quietly waiting to be noticed. It is just a glimmer of sun glittering off the thorns, quietly shining and hoping someone will notice it.  So when I come down to why such a flood of emotions, it’s for all the glimmers on all the thorns I couldn’t see before when I was too busy asking for the thorns to be cleared away.

The joy is right here, right now just waiting for us to not miss it.