COUNT IT ALL JOY

It’s been 12,783 days since I first came face to face with joy - pure joy - but who’s counting? 

I am.

Because to get there, I had to endure the shocking stabs of labor, glaring humiliation, and an impossible task that rendered my face unrecognizable, all while the clock on the wall circled Hell twice. 

Would I do it all again? Absolutely.

Because after tasting Hell, Heaven arrived in my arms. And she was worth it.

We named her “Kati," which means “Pure," "Marie," which means “Beloved ." - the only way I found to describe what happens when Heaven and earth collide.

Pure Beloved Joy. 

Kati Marie, my precious daughter.

She was worth it all.

Though scissors untethered us, nothing will ever separate my joy from my love, for we share the same blood.

My ears are fine-tuned to her voice. My eyes know every curve of her face. 

Wherever she goes, my heart will follow Pure Beloved Joy all the days of her life.

That is my gift to her.

Last Communion Sunday, the cup was poured, the bread broke open much like my heart when I read the holy words. “For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross.”

Surprised, I lifted my glasses to press a tissue where tears had puddled, tracing the verse with my finger. Perhaps a momma knows something of that kind of joy? One that spends every penny of its soul for the wealth of counting every tiny finger and toe?

And if so, how much more would God, whose name is Love, spill out His life for the pleasure of holding that same precious hand, to walk among the stars and count them together, one by one, for the endless days of eternity?

Yes, Jesus suffered the cross, the labor of His Love, all for the joy of holding us in His arms.

"Pure Beloved Joy.” Just ask Him. You were worth it all.