How I’ve Kept My Joy, Even Through the Stinky Seasons

I felt a literal blast of joy the other night, clutching my seat belt and praying in the spirit while my 16-year-old drove us around the block for the first time at night. Somewhere between the cul-de-sac and my near panic attack, we were astounded by this 20 foot high, illuminated “JOY” sign in the yard of someone clearly determined to let his Christmas fervor shine. Either that or he lost a bet. I loved that moment. Not only because I was able to regain my vital signs after Jack stopped the car, but it made me happy to see the word joy displayed so openly in a spiritually bleak New England, where most “joy” comes in a Starbucks cup. Read more…

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