simple gifts.

Snow on the trees.

I do cry easily now, mostly because of how tired I get. The sleep, it is not happening. And, please, don’t tell me that my body is just getting ready for the lack of sleep once Atticus gets here. As someone astutely observed this past week, you don’t go on a diet to prepare for a famine.

In recent years, tears have come almost unprompted. I have come a long way from the girl who watched Little Women and wasn’t sure exactly why everyone around her was sobbing. Perhaps I needed a little bit more life under my belt. Now I, too, cry when Beth gets so sick, when they drop the rose petals on the piano, and the bed, and the dolls.

So it hasn’t been the tears that were so surprising in the past few weeks. Instead, I have wondered where the deep, belly-shaking laughter has come from, laughter that won’t let itself be played out until it has me wiping my eyes and spilling my coffee. Laughter at the silliest things, laughter that won’t let me go. It has surprised Mike, too, the laughter erupting out of me. He watches until it has run its course, not questioning what might have caused it.

The only word I can think of to describe it is joy. And as I am so tired, as the days get shorter and darker, that joy is a great gift. One that I will accept without question. Perhaps it, too, is part of the way that I am learning to prepare my heart.

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