Today I am thrilled to share a guest post from one of my favorite writers, Micha Boyett. Micha (pronounced "MY-cah") is a writer, blogger, and sometimes poet. She and her husband live in San Francisco with their two boys. A former youth minister, she's passionate about monasticism and ancient Christian spiritual practices and how they inform the contemporary life of faith.
Micha’s first book, Found: A Story of Questions, Grace, and Everyday Prayer released just yesterday, and let me tell you, it’s fantastic. Endorsed by Ann Voskamp, Mary Karr, Sarah Bessey and Yours Truly, Found opens a door to Benedictine spirituality through which regularly, busy people can enter and taste, see, smell, hear, and feel what it means to live life as prayer. If you’ve been struggling with prayer—particularly as a busy parent—this is the read for you.
But in the meantime, savor this beautiful reflection on joy:
When the Joy Runs Out
by Micha Boyett
I gather my two pajama-clad boys in the lamp-lit living room. They climb the couch and lean against me, warm and snuggly. They wrestle for the coveted spot in my lap. The oldest is foggy-headed. The younger one always wakes chipper. He babbles on about Mickey Mouse and “Diny” and their adventures on a train last night. I listen, then tickle the older boy’s back and talk him through his day. Today is library day and he needs to grab his book and stick it in his backpack.
Somehow it’s already 6:50. Ugh. These kids are slow as molasses. This could be a disaster. I kiss their faces and send them to their room to dress themselves. “I’m setting the timer, boys!” I yell down the hall. “If you’re not dressed by 7, you have to eat your breakfast in the car!”
I run downstairs where my husband stands in front of the mirror, already dressed for work, his shirt tucked in, his jaw set in that superman stare he makes when he’s concentrating.
This will be another morning without a shower. A bun-on-top-of-my-head morning.
There’s a rumble overhead. “Boys!” I shout up the stairs. “I hope you’re getting dressed!”
They make it in time for cereal and I spread peanut butter and jelly onto bread, slice apples, pack my computer, finish the permission slip for the Kindergartener’s coming field trip.
We are five minutes late once everyone is buckled tight and the car spins out into the rain. “But 7:35 is pretty good,” I whisper to the dashboard.
I’ve had a Sandra McCracken song on repeat in the car these past few days, Oh for grace to be somebody other than this / To be loved with a love that I cannot resist.
I’m sure I sang that line to the skies long before I found Sandra’s words. And now, when she sighs them through the speakers of my car, I nod my head. Yes.
“We want kid music! Mommy!” one of the voices whines behind me. I hold those words a moment longer.
To be loved with a love that I cannot resist.
Last month, my pastor preached a sermon on John 2, that story of Jesus’ first miracle. A wedding that runs out of wine. Water remade blood red.
“What Jesus is doing here is replacing the joy,” my pastor said. The party had failed in its hospitality and that’s embarrassing, of course. But under that story of water turned to wine is something bigger. It’s a story about everything we strive to fill our lives with, everything that fails to make us whole.
“Jesus is saying, ‘I know what you’re looking for and it’s not found here. It’s found in me,’” my pastor said.