Joy « My Heart at Home

“When the LORD brought back the captives to Zion, we were like men who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, ‘The LORD has done great things for them.’ The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” (Ps 126:1-3)

It’s 6:00 a.m. The room is dark, the bed warm. He’s checking his phone “32 degrees. We can do it. No problem.” he teases. I moan and tell him I’m just going to run on the treadmill at the Y. I pull myself out of bed and go to the window.

“The tops of the trees are swaying a bit – looks windy.”

“Yep.”

How is it that he can be so friendly and pleasant from the moment he gets out of bed? Fourteen years. He’s always been this way. He’s gotten used to my morning sighs and silence. Space please. In our first apartment – a one bedroom – I found a corner of the living room for my morning quiet and turned my face to the wall. It took him awhile to understand that even his presence in the room was a bother.

So he knows better than to try and convince me, but he’s putting on his warm gear. And I know I’d rather run with him and outdoors is better, but the trees are swaying and it’s dark and it’s 32 degrees…

“Oh, all right.”

He’s won me over again. I put on the layers, head downstairs for shoes, gloves, and the crazy hat with the face shield attached.

The wind pushes hard as we turn north and up the first incline. On the northern edge of the neighborhood 32 feels like 20. But I’m there and he’s beside me and we can make this good.

We turn south again and start making plans for adjusting our route – how to avoid that wind.

Running south and lower, we find a sheltered loop and run it a couple times.

“Ready to pray?” He asks.

My crazy face mask is gross now, damp with breath, drips from cold nose, sweat. From under it, I pant out, “Sure.”

He knows he’d better start. We’re on an uphill. But I’m learning – to pray with him, between breaths, with eyes open – getting stronger.

When the street levels out again, I take a turn.

I ask God for laughter.

I’ve never been a comedian and “reserved” is certainly on the list of adjectives others might use to describe me.

But I tell God how I want to be like the captives brought back to Zion. I am a captive brought back. So I ask Him, in short breaths, cold wind pressing, “Lord, fill my mouth with laughter, my tongue with songs of joy.”

Mark agrees, thanking God for joy and asking God for a house and a life and a heart filled with joy.

A few days later, we’re riding home from the Y after an early morning treadmill run. He looks over at me in the passenger seat and smiles.

“You laughed a lot yesterday – just wanted to tell you that…”