Honestly, I've been struggling to find a little "Christmas cheer".
I never expected to have to make space for Him like this, through this. I persist to push away the thoughts that smother my palette--all of the scents, the sounds, the pinch in my throat and in my heart, the reminders.
Sometimes I'm convinced that I'm living in the middle of someone else's novel. I so desperately want to close the book, but I'm not the one writing it, and I'm not the one reading it. At some point, I know this chapter will close and be ready for everyone else to read, but for now--all I can say is that I am inhaling, and that I am exhaling.
And Joy is a presence so sweet and strange. I thought I knew, before now, about Joy.
Joy sits close to the numb nerves and tells them that it will be okay. Joy is healing through quiet persistence. Time. Presence. Stillness. If I give in to Joy, then I know that His warmth will eventually break through and thoroughly captivate me in the most beautiful way.