Arise, and build joy.

The rain pounded hard in the darkness, and I rocked.

And rocked.

And rocked.

We were all sick, and she cried.

And cried.

And cried.

Unable to sleep, until we finally drug the rocking chair in from the front porch. It was cold and wet from outside. Jeff draped a blanket over the top, and I settled in for a long sit, her legs wrapped around my waist, her body against mine, her head on my shoulder.

And we rocked. And I waited for the warmth of the fleece blanket to envelop me.

But I just stayed cold, chilled to the bone. I waited for the warm romantic feelings to come; thoughts of how grateful I was for this Beautiful Waste, thoughts of how precious it was to rock my youngest child.

But all I could think about was how much I wanted to sleep.

I tried slipping out of the rocker, tried sliding her back into her bed, but as soon as she was horizontal her congestion came back and she awoke, crying.

Back we went to rocking.

And I went back and forth, getting nowhere. 

The next day we were all still sick. I slept in, but woke to bickering. I drew a hot bath but the doorbell rang just as I stepped in the water. I made my favorite cold-remedy soup but all I could think about was how much I wanted chocolate-chip cookies instead.

What happened to joy?

Sure, there were sniffles and sneezes, but colds are nothing new, why was it that this one colored everything bleak?

The rain poured again the next day. And the next. Heidi’s cough barked, like croup. I kept sneezing, throat burning, ears aching, head pounding, eyes watering.

Playdates, dinner dates and discipleship dates were cancelled.

Dishes piled.

Crumbs collected.

Counters cluttered.

Shoes scattered.

“I work so hard and in two days of being sick all my work is undone,” I lamented to Jeff.

All my work is undone.

What is my work?

I had been thinking about building. Reading through Ezra and Nehemiah, and it’s almost summer and I have 4 straight months without a speaking commitment and my mind is on projects:

Finish the office. Read 20 books. Start the bathroom. Move the barkdust. Teach Heidi to read. Weed the front.

The day before we’d gotten sick I had cleaned the whole house top to bottom.

But in 48-hours it was a shambles again.

And I remember the opposition Nehemiah faced, as they set to building the wall in Jerusalem. How Sanballat and Tobiah mercilessly provoked and taunted and discouraged the faithful laborers.

But what’s the application? I understand opposition, but Who are my Sanballat and Tobiah?

And, more importantly, What am I trying to build? 

Judging by my reactions and frustrations, apparently I’m trying to build productivity. Build a clean house. Build an office, a bathroom, a weed-free yard. If those are my end-goal projects then things like children, messes, and colds will be the opposition. In fact, if those things are all that I’m trying to build, I can inadvertently make my most precious people into the enemies of my goal–

Dutch & Heidi = Sanballat & Tobiah?

Something’s wrong with this picture.

Let’s rethink this: While those things are great projects, what am I really needing to build today?

Joy.

Without joy, I am the sullen mommy barking orders at children and scowling at my husband.

Without joy, none of the simple pleasures “work.” Joy is the flame that sets all those things on fire. Baths, tea, hot soup, novels, snuggles, and warm, fleecy blankets are all wonderful candle-sticks, but joy is the flame that sets them on fire and allows them to glow and bring pleasure to our souls.

If the joy of the Lord is my goal–true, abiding, overflowing joy–then the enemies aren’t my children. The enemies are inside: Selfishness, ingratitude, impatience.

Sanballat & Tobiah live inside my heart. Who knew?

But there’s good news: They can be conquered. By selflessness, gratitude, patience, trust.

In a brief break in the rain, I go outside to weed. I’m determined. I bend, pull, and ask God for joy. And as I wait …

I get stung by a bee.

YOW!!! That’s not how the story’s supposed to go!

No one’s around to hear me or to care, so I limp into the house, grab an ice-pack, and drop onto the bed. I can feel the frustration rising as the sting site swells, reddens.

On the nightstand sits my Bible.

So I open it and begin to build.

And Sanballat and Tobiah take many forms within and without–sickness, rain, bee stings, filthy floors, seflishness, sleepless nights, ingratitude, bickering children–but Nehemiah’s confident response becomes my own:

“The God of heaven will make us prosper, and we His servants will arise and build” (Neh. 2:20).

Today, your goal: Arise, and build joy.

{Thanks so much for reading.}