Joy: The Way it Reminds Us to Keep Breathing

By Jacey Blue Renner

PROMPT — Joy is ...

Joy is. A bright luminescence. That can flare through the day. That can send sparks through the darkest moments. I did not truly know true, untethered, uninhibited joy, until I held my family: husband and sons close.

Joy. Is. Everything. Especially when you need those joyful moments to sustain you. During the grieving moments. During the incomprehensible moments. During the moments where you aren’t sure what the next footstep looks like, or when you can’t bring yourself to breathe.

Joy is. The elementary school librarian knocking on the window of your SUV to see if she has permission to give your youngest son her birthday cake. “I have too many,” she says. It’s chocolate. And she is beautiful.

Joy is. Learning that your son, that same youngest bear, who has grown from your own roots and cells, has won the Battle of the Books, has won that top spot, simply because he loves reading and reading and reading.

It’s walking into middle school, the one where you teach Creative Writing, every, single, day, with your older son. Sharing inside jokes as you walk across the parking lot, noticing the one blooming flower under your classroom window, that you never noticed before. Seeing him in the hallway and not recognizing him, because he’s such an incredibly tall and amazing human, and realizing his heart must’ve grown between !st and 3rd period.

It’s driving that same older star around with his three best friends before you move (again) one last time. Watching them eat small batch ice cream and wander around two separate bookstores, now, with their own inside jokes, while you smile from your spaced out corner, watching them sprout.

It’s looking out onto the Front Range, seeing how the clouds seep into the joints of every valley, the snow powdered and new across the peaks, and the way the sunlight volcanoes across certain gulleys, where mountain fairies likely sleep. Home.

It’s putting on yellow heels and your newest blouse to meet your deployed husband after he’s returned from deployment from Afghanistan. It’s seeing his unwashed hair (because he was stranded for several days with a broken aircraft with nowhere normal to sleep) unknowingly styled into a faux hawk, and thinking he’s never looked more radiant. And thanking every star in the sky for his safe return.

It’s seeing that same husband walk through our front door, every night now, to have dinner and laughs with us, his little family, because he has missed so many. And not having to worry about what night sky conflict he is flying through.

Joy is. Seeing your youngest son run to you when you pick him up at the end of the day and tell you, “I love you more than the universe.” And knowing he means every single word, by the way his eyes glimmer in the Colorado sun.

Joy is. Seeing your oldest son grow into the coolest human you know, watching him shape shift into the incredible man who he will one day be, anchored by kindness, and love of history. He will move his own mountains. He’s a lighthouse.

Joy is. Driving seven hours to Wales, to take your two young boys to Conwy Castle, and watching them hold hands in the fog, in the damp, and snuggle with all this beauty in the landscape background.

Joy is. Living in the English countryside for four years and driving by the new lambs every morning during lambing season, then watching your boys bottle feed the orphan ones, in their Wellies, and learning what it is to notice every beautiful moment we’re too busy as Americans to see.

Joy is. Waking up everyday, to the faces of two growing boys, laughing and learning how to be amazing citizens. It’s waking up, next to my loveliest best friend, my Airman, and knowing, without a doubt, you’re well loved.

Joy, it’s watching the leaves turn from evergreen to burnt sienna, to nothing, and then bud out again, new growth. Like we do, through every hard season, blooming new again. And again.

Joy is. That tether. That internal rote memory that buoys us when we’re sinking. That holds us steady when we are so very unsure. It’s snapshots and starbursts, and every tiny little moment compiled, that makes every morning worth waking, getting out of bed, and pushing the darkness from the eyes, remembering: tiny joys are everything. Tiniest joys can save a life.

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Jacey Blue Renner is an educator, freelance writer and poet. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University. Most recently she was selected as a guest poet for Art from Ashes, which encourages the creative genius in all youth. She loves the idea of using her words and creative writing for the greatest good and impact. When she isn't writing, she's exploring all the joys that make her whole with her family in Colorado.