Cancun and Colds

Two weeks ago today, I was in Cancun. My husband whisked me away on a surprise trip, my mom stayed with the kids, and we had the rare chance to be completely alone, sipping tropical drinks on a white sand beach far away from life. Truly, a dream come true. Something I had been secretly dreaming of as I have been holed up inside during an uncommonly cold and icy winter. I soaked in every second of the white sand and crystal clear water. Of having hours to talk to my husband, or read a book, or take a nap. Of amazingly delicious food not bought or prepared by me. Of no schedules, no whining, no to-do lists, no dishes. Heavenly.

And now, here I sit two weeks later, with a horrendous cold - the kind that stops up your hearing and steals your voice and your energy. On Monday I was handed a $417 bill for medicine for our asthmatic, allergic daughter. The same day, our furnace broke and we went without heat for 4 days. Another bill. I had so much to do this week that I had to break up my grocery shopping over two days because I didn't have a long enough block of time to get it done all at once. And I had to drag two kids with me both times. To top off the week, our TV just up and quit on Thursday evening. My husband and I sat on the couch and laughed. Not such a heavenly week.

In Cancun, I was so happy. Everything was beautiful. Every moment was deliciously delightful. In the midst of the sometimes drudgery of life back home, I often find myself thinking - "Let's go back!"

But Cancun is not real life. Real life is my family here. My husband and children and me doing life together here. Messy, chaotic, crazy life.

It's easy to be happy in Cancun. And in coming back down to earth, I have a choice to make. Will I bring the joy back home, or will I keep it locked up in a place that can only sometimes be accessed? Because truly, in my daily life, there are very few "Cancun" moments. But there is a "whole lotta" life. And to truly embrace joy, I need to embrace every messy crumb of every chaotic moment of every crazy day.

It's a choice. Not a feeling. To be brutally honest, I never feel like mopping or doing dishes or prying crusted cereal off the floor. But as I'm on my knees under the table I can choose joy or reject it. I can grumble and get all huffy and take it out on everyone around me. Or I can search for the joy. Sometimes it's a real stretch. Barely a whisper. But God hears. Thank you God that we all ate breakfast together this morning.

And I hear. And my heart turns from the path of ingratitude to the life-giving journey of joy. Not an easy road. But one I know I need to choose at each bend. For my sake, for my kids' sakes, for my husband's sake.

Thank you Lord, for our health. Battling a cold makes me realize how marvelous it is to be well. Thank you for medicine that gives my child the ability to breathe normally and play outside in the spring. Thank you for a fireplace and wood and extra blankets. Thank you for an abundance of food for every meal. Thanks even for the broken TV which brought a moment of shared laughter and an early bedtime.


**I'm reading a book that has prompted me to contemplate joy in a new way. It's called One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. Truly profound and thought provoking!