I guess one of the biggest, hardest lessons in life is to realize sometimes it’s really difficult. It doesn’t cooperate, or listen or turn out the way I want very often. I’d probably say nine times out of ten. I don’t say this complain, just as a reminder for myself. That basically nothing has ever worked out the way I thought I really wanted it to at one point in time, and I survived. And life was good. I was happy. Even after things crumbled. Because I guess that’s the way it works. Everything falls apart and is rebuilt so much better than before.
I guess that’s where joy comes in, though. In the broken places. In the holes. It fills them up and makes them whole, even when I don’t want it to. And suddenly it all makes sense, at least a little more than it did before. I don’t notice it changing things, but somehow it always sneaks in.
I’ve never been good at gratefulness when times are hard. I would even venture to say I’m pretty good at throwing pity parties. That said, this year has been nothing short of awful for my heart. Any cliche that comes to mind probably fits – bruised, crushed, torn, stomped on, kicked, shattered – they have all been accurate descriptions of how it’s felt. Truth be told? I’m over it. But I can’t change anyone else’s decisions. I can only try to make the best of what I’ve been given.
So I’ve been attempting gratefulness. And intentional joy, even when it’s the last thing I want to be doing. And it’s helped. It makes the rough patches a little less rocky.
The best part, though? The bad makes the good breathtaking. The confusing makes the perfect moments feel infinite. The tears make the laughs a little louder. All of it makes my heart a little more whole.