Ever since that morning I woke to find a world void of color I have searched for joy. I remember it like it was yesterday. In the Wing St. apartment I woke to the sound of my one and two year old eating breakfast with my Strong Man. I laid on my back with my eyes closed for a few minutes before rolling out of bed. When I did blink those sleepy eyes open I couldn't help but stare at the gray wall in front of me. After a minute or two I stumbled over to the light switch to be sure it was really true. When I had gone to bed the night before those walls had been yellow. I know it sounds crazy but for the next few months I would live in a world covered in gray. Thus began my search for joy.
At first I found a journal and began numbering each joy that I found, training my eyes to see that it in the smallest parts of life joy could be found. The way a bubble glistens in a sink full of dishes. The feel of a summer breeze passing by. The peaceful sound of a song bird floating through the window as a sleepy Momma tries to manage the chaos that always trails behind toddlers. The silence of nap time. Strong hands that hold me tight... Somewhere into the hundreds I saw color for the first time in months. It was dandelion yellow. As counting the joy around me became more natural vibrant color came back into my life.
While I don't number my joy any more I haven't stopped searching for it. Every November as a family we write out our joys together. Simple. Sweet. It's just one word at a time hung on a few sticks to remind us to slow and see to find the joy surrounding us.