One of my children recently made a comment about my small amount or “level” of happiness. Ironically, it was in fact at a moment when I did feel pretty happy. Maybe that’s why it was easier to take it and evaluate it, reflect on it, rather than take offense to it or to take it personally.
“Why don’t they know when I’m happy?” I wondered. How do I express my happiness? What are those moments like when I feel a deep sense of peace or joy? A question that then sits in my mind, heavy with mostly curiosity.
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I’m driving alone down the road to my house which curls around in a long circle. I spot my kids playing in a good sized group of other children outside, kicking a ball, battling with makeshift swords, circling around on bikes like a miniature neighborhood gang. I smile to myself and think, “I’m so glad we live here. I love this life we have.”
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We are at a park. It’s huge, covering many acres. There is so much to do, touch, see, explore. All four kids tear off running in opposite directions. Hands dig down into fresh sandy mud, kids of all ages are engaged in conversation, options are everywhere. Because of its natural surroundings it doesn’t feel overwhelming or overstimulating (just maybe a bit overcrowded!). The sun is shining down, warming me inside and out. I think to myself, “I’m so happy and grateful for this.”
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We are seated at the long dining table, all three boys and I. The table is littered with markers, crayons, pencils, erasers, paper, maybe even a whittling kit. And so many books. One book is open and I’m reading aloud. Their hands are busy, but without a doubt their minds are engaged in the story. Willing myself to slow down while reading so they’re able to capture the details, I then reluctantly set the book aside as I know there are other things we must do. They groan and ask for one more chapter or give their repeated cry of “That ended on a cliffhanger! You can’t stop on a cliffhanger!” So much of my life was formed by books, so to share the love of story together is an enormous gift. Sharing this experience, this new story or character with them, I am happy.
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So why then, if I can easily recall moments of gratitude and happiness in my days, was the comment made? In a flood of conviction, I think I know. I may truly feel and think about that happiness, but I don’t express it. What often comes out instead is a flurry of complaint about what might be “wrong” instead of right. Instruction on what is to come next, with an attitude of “gotta keep going” thrown in. Maybe a criticism or correction.
Happiness somehow loses its goodness when it is not shared with others. I have many opportunities to spread the bad or plant and root down the good. Words are powerful. The tongue holds the power of death and life. Our thoughts are often very repetitive day after day. They also become our words which then become our actions. I am choosing today to deepen the roots of those fleeting happy thoughts and allow them to flourish and choke out the negative ones that make their way to my lips more often. Next time I have the thought of happiness, I am going to share it with whoever is around me, especially those four kids of mine I currently spend so much time with. Hopefully I’ll watch those words become actions of happiness, bright spots in this home of mine. ❤️