Ordinary joy could be the title of my life story. Sacred mundane. Passionate silence. Urban nature. Transcendent Cog in the Machine. Prairie Mountaintop.
This year is like many of the preceding years: celebrations of soul moments lacing up the sneakers of my life.
The heartbeat of celebration lives in the mundane, the ordinary.
The coffee meeting the empty cup in the darkness before dawn morning.
The almost daily wave to a neighbor who I have never met who drives past in his semi-beat-up, semi-restored red Ford pickup truck. He ambles by, smoking a cigarette not unlike I sit, drinking coffee with a pencil or pen in hand, scribing in my notebook. We wave to one another, contented and grateful to share our mutual landscape.
Our culture too often seeks solace in the celebration of the bigs while I, in my counter cultural everyday life has come to know solace seeks me, seeks you, seeks the guy driving the beat up Ford and the mail carrier and everyone we encounter - - yes, solace seeks us in celebrating the birth of ordinary joy, everyday.
We choose, every day, to be born into ordinary joy or not. I prefer the ordinary joy. The sacred mundane. The passionate silence. The giggling cacophony. The handfull of soil in a land of concrete. Yes, even in the Transcendent Cog in the Machine.
I was writing this blog post in my notebook this morning while simultaneously doing Monday morning post holiday chores. I had walked through the house from my front porch writing desk and was completely grooving with the lingering smell of pancakes and coffee, countertop cleaner and dish soap as I went to answer the relentless call of the laundry. It was a half an hour or more before I sat back at my notebook.
I turned the page and across the top, my nineteen-year-old daughter-home-for-Winter-break had visited my notebook in my absence and had written, "I love you, Mommy."
Tears filled my eyes.
Ordinary Joy.
I'm loving each and every minute of it.
What ordinary joy have you experienced today?
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