Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
An excerpt from Shakespeare’s Richard III.
The Winter of Our Discontent. The title of the last novel written by John Steinbeck.
A phrase that keeps going through my mind……
The winter of my discontent.
“To be alive at all is to have scars, ” wrote Steinbeck.
The winter sun sets in vibrant colors. Deep hues. The trees are bare. And happiness is as far from joy as it’s ever been.
Oh, I can have joy. And I do. I feel it. Making a meal with my son. Watching the Winter Olympics with my daughter. Discussing career paths and future plans. Handling home repairs. Rearranging furniture. Reading. Reveling in God’s love.
But happiness…..happiness is not an emotion I’m in tune with this season. And that’s alright. I’m confident I will be happy again. And I’ll be sad again. Happiness and sadness are roller coaster fodder. Joy is foundational and deeply rooted.
So despite this being a [winter of my discontent], joy is prevalent. And the opposite, contentment, will come.
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