I took a walk to the library with the baby this morning. We stopped at the park and it started to rain. It’s been a hot July, one without a drop of moisture. The handful of children and parents who’d been running about began to scatter. We stayed on the swings, pulling up our hoodies and laughing, singing songs about water now that no one was around to hear our voices. The pavement had a musky smell that always reminds me of traveling in places that I don’t speak the language. I can feel myself getting wet, but I’m warm, and the dampness is refreshing after so much heat, as if I’m one of the carrots in the backyard raised bed stretching through moist dirt in search of a drip. As we walk home I am thinking about my simple existence, my service as a mother, my place on this planet and the act of rain and dirt and sunshine. I’m thinking about stretching to meet potential, the energy of matter, the opportunity for new appreciation after missing something. I’m thinking about how we cultivate and sustain joy in our lives.
Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore, wrote:
I slept and dreamt that life was a joy.
I awoke and saw that life was service.
I acted and behold, service is joy.
Where does joy show up in your life? Chances are, it’s where you are also called to serve.