“Ella! Ella!” his little voice yelled across the yard. “Look! Look at me!” Caleb stood in the green blades watching his sister in the neighbor’s driveway. She waved a hand, gave a quick glance over, and then continued playing with her friend—ignoring his small voice.
My baby boy’s face fell. His sister never really saw him. She looked his way, but she never really saw him.
With shoulders sagging, Caleb walked back over to continue helping his daddy and me as we washed windows. Windows dirty with film and grime. Windows keeping us from seeing the sky clear to it magnificent blue.
I scrubbed and sprayed with sweat beading across my forehead, spying the boy quiet and drawing chalk figures on the concrete. His features telling the story. A broken heart, and me cleaning windows so I can see.
And I saw.
I saw the heart of my Jesus when I refuse to see Him. And I wonder how often He calls out to me from the depths of my busy, of my chaos.
How often do I ignore His call? His declarations of love? How often does He put joy right before my eyes, and I refuse to even glance His way?
Am I so concerned with what is right before my eyes that I fail to see the Creator beckon me? Especially when life is screaming at me with its demands.
But Joy is right in front of me. Standing with His hand held out like a gentleman. Whispering Look! Look at me!
And so I begin to look…
I sit typing as my sweet girl struggles through knotting a friendship bracelet. Start and stop. Start and stop. Knot and unknot. She apologizes for interrupting. Interrupting?
No sweet girl. This is joy. Sitting. Enjoying your company. Watching you fight without giving up. Listening to Jamie Grace’s God’s Girl on your CD player. This is joy.
Joy in the mundane. Joy in the madness. Joy in the stressful. Clearly seeing this joy means I need to look up. Look up and see the Joy-Giver standing, beckoning me to see Him. To clean the grime from the windows of my soul and look to Him.
He offers joy in moments when I’m too busy to notice. But if I gaze through the clear glass windows of His world? Joy is everywhere.
I need only stop a moment, look up from the crazy, and there He is. Because ignoring Him, ignoring His call, only deepens my stress, increases my chaos. But when I choose to stop and really see Him?
Joy. Pure Joy.
Joy etched in the faces of my children. Painted clear blue across the sky. Blowing the fall breeze across my skin. Heard in the patter across our floors in the early morning. Felt in the dirty rock handed over by chubby boy-fingers. Seen in crinkled smile of my husband.
Joy is everywhere. I can choose to see it. And I see it when I choose to see the Joy-Giver.