One Last Cup: The Complexity of Joy
Last Thursday, I was having a rough day. The kids aren’t getting much energy out these days so bedtimes are harder and complicated and Forrest and I aren’t getting enough rest. The girls had asked for some homemade bread to accompany leftover night and, feeling under the weather but trying to avoid dinnertime complaints, I said I’d make some. I was in the kneading stage of the first batch when I realized I’d left the eggs out. Not the biggest disaster, but I thought, maybe, I can just knead them in? Well, that resulted in dough covered in slimy eggs, and into the compost it went.
By this time, I was frustrated, my kitchen was a mess and I was just getting the yeast started again when I realized something. The recipe calls for 9 cups of flour. Flour is limited and I can’t just run out to the store. We’re still on lockdown and only one adult goes out for food once a week. I stood in my kitchen, looking at a half empty bag of flour and thinking, at most, it has 6 cups of flour in it. Great, I thought. Now I have to restart the yeast, and only make a half batch, which is fine, but doesn’t leave any leftovers for snacks and such. A few four-letter words escaped my mouth.
Before I did anything else, I needed to check on the girls. They were in the front yard and I poked my head out the door and yelled, “Everything ok out here?” “Yeah, mom! We’re just making the garden more beautiful!” Honestly, if there had been anything less than that adorable response, I might just have given up. But they were so happy and I wanted to keep my promise to them, however small. I went back in to measure the flour and see how much bread I could really make.
One cup at a time, I scooped out the flour. Six cups, seven cups, eight cups…flip the bag over, pour it out, exactly nine cups. I burst into tears. It’s so dumb, I thought, to be crying over flour. But life is so damn complicated right now. I just wanted to make a nice treat for my kids and everything went wrong until the last, final thing, went just exactly right. The bread turned out amazing (and for those of you worried about having flour to knead with, I kneaded the bread on our Silpat mat and there were no problems.)
The best and most meaningful times in my life have always come in the midst of complex circumstances. Figuring out how to live on my own in new places, dealing with significant illnesses, even things like learning how to become a mother have brought deep meaning but also very real pain. I always think I’ll find joy in some future time but I’m somehow imagining that life will change to the point where all the challenges I have disappear. Which is true. The challenges I had when the twins were infants are gone. But new challenges have taken their place. (In all honesty though, infant twins and a toddler big sister were hard. Some stages are more challenging than others.)
Life will never be simple as long as we are connected to other people. It just won’t. People (including ourselves) make things messy. But the beauty of choosing joy is that we don’t have to deny the complexity of life. Choosing joy isn’t ignoring adversity; it’s looking at it through new eyes. It’s asking, “What is the value in this chaos and how can I nurture it?” I think we all are hearing pat answers for the value in the chaos around us right now, but I want to encourage you today to figure out what the value is for you.
For me, I didn’t need more time with my kids or a slower pace of life or to start new projects at home. We already spend a lot of time together, being a stay at home writer feels glacial at times, and I don’t need another home project. But that doesn’t mean this time has no value to me. Choosing joy for me looks like learning, once again, to learn gratitude. Gratitude for nine cups of flour when I didn’t think it was possible. Gratitude for kids playing happily for even half an hour. Gratitude for cloudy afternoons when they could be rainy.
What is the value in this chaos for you? How can you nurture it?
