Joy

I am an emotional, sentimental and reflective person. It wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if I said an old family picture makes me cry. 

This picture makes me cry. 

But it is more than that. So much more than teary eyes. This photo makes me ache, makes me burst with gratitude, puts a knot in my throat and then my chest, transports me to a time when I didn't have a care in the world. To a backyard that was such a safe, comfortable place where I could be completely me, a place where I was uninhibited to imagine and dream. When I see this photo, I can feel the air, I can smell the smells, I can hear the laughs and the squeaky swing, and my mom's voice behind the camera. I know what I was feeling. I remember that little me. I remember the way those soft little arms felt, and the way those new permanent teeth took up more space in my mouth. I remember cozy summer clothes and loving so much being with my family. 

I always knew I was a lucky girl, to have a Dad who played hard and loved me so much. Now that I am a woman, a mom and a wife, I know that I am beyond lucky. I am divinely and uniquely blessed. I know that it isn't easy to be a parent who makes a life perfectly secure and fun and full of constant joy for a child. I know now, that my Dad was burdened financially, that work was stressful, that he was the bishop of our ward and there were problems that weighed heavily on his mind, that he didn't have a lot of free time. I also know that he put the worries of the world completely on hold, while he played with his kids. He mastered the very difficult art of not allowing my 7 year old self to detect an ounce of worry, stress, or fatigue. In moments like these, he lived completely in the moment. And that is one of the reasons my childhood was untroubled, full of love and joy and in my opinion, perfect.