this life.

by Misty Dawn

this life is hard.

like really hard.

one day you’re in love.

and the next you’re not really sure where home is.

or who home is . .

and some days joy just radiates without effort.

some days sorrow just won’t rest.

there are seasons of sickness.

the watching of someone you love suffer, but not being able to do anything to relieve them.

and for some, those seasons are more than seasons,

but a permanent layer of life.

no hope for relief.

then there is the struggle, and the willing sacrifice, made in the hope of attaining some ideal.

often proven in vain on the other side.

lending itself then to the arduous work of acceptance.

or the easier work of redefining the original hope of the sacrifice as something different than it really was.

sometimes the weight of this world seems crushing,

and sometimes it’s weight is our strength.

amidst the inescapable uncertainty, sickness and sorrow;

and amidst the struggle and sacrifice, in vain, or not in vain,

the joy that on some days just radiates without effort is still there.

it’s always there.

it can be had.