During Sunday service, an older lady sang a solo. As she sang, I watched her closely. Happiness and joy radiated from her face, voice and body. She meant every word. She felt every word. She believed every word. She made her own happy.
My son bounded into the living room wearing only his boxers, toting my wedding album. He climbed into my lap and asked about all the people in the pictures. We laughed and smiled as I went through all my bridesmaids, the groomsmen and grandparents who have changed a lot over the last twenty years. When we finished, he skipped away, saying, “I’m putting up the Mama, Dada smoochy, smoochy book now.” Once he returned, he danced around and sang Christmas songs. He made his own happy.