A Place for Joy
(Please forgive the massive size of the pictures; I have a help request into Substack because their editing interface seems to have changed, and I don’t know how to fix it.) 🙃
“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Emmalie offered a sympathetic smile as she held out a delicate cup toward the newcomer, and the young woman swallowed hard as she accepted it, although she didn’t move to take a sip.
“No, it’s—I mean, yes. I mean—I suppose I should be grateful to know—the world hasn’t truly become—what it is for me, but—”
“Believe me, we understand it better than you think.” Emmalie turned her gaze to her sister-in-law, who sat perched rigidly on the edge of a rocking chair, lips pressed together and eyes fixed vacantly toward the blond toddler who lay on the floor, happily building with blocks. “Our own world is…well, I suppose we ought to say it’s better now that we’ve passed the physical war. But the danger hasn’t…fully…”
“You don’t have to explain.” Brinlee tore her focus from her dusty boots and met Emmalie’s gaze hesitantly. “Do you feel at all—guilty—being able to rest here when—”
“When those you love are still suffering?” Emmalie voiced the question gently, and Jaelyn’s eyes squeezed shut. Brinlee nodded, and Emmalie sat thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “I don’t think so. I see it more as…doing my part.”
“Your part?” Brinlee cocked her head curiously, and Emmalie nodded.
“Because there’s a reason for the suffering in our worlds. And we can trust—or I believe we can—that it’ll all be worth it in the end. But if our stories are going to encourage others, then our time spent here—telling others about them—it isn’t wasted. It’s helping to make sure that all of our pain—all of their pain—” Emmalie’s voice faltered just a little. “—that it isn’t for nothing.”
“Look, Mummy!” A bright little voice broke into the beat of silence that followed, and smiles touched each of the serious faces as the little girl hopped up and tugged Brinlee’s hand, pointing eagerly toward her block tower.
“It’s very pretty, Joy.” Brinlee squeezed the little girl’s hand, and Joy giggled happily as she ran back to the toys.
“Her name is almost a lesson in itself.” Emmalie murmured the words, and Brinlee nodded emphatically.
“It truly is. She’s lived through—I don’t even know how much. But she still sees the world…”
“It’s beautiful to watch. And a spark of light shines brightest in the darkness.” Emmalie’s eyes were still on Joy, and she didn’t seem to notice the look that Jaelyn shot her way. “Are you ready, do you think? To tell them?”
“I guess so.” Brinlee drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders as she faced the screen. “Our story was apparently published a while ago, in an anthology, but it’s just been published for the first time on its own. She’s calling it a ‘cozy Christian contemporary dystopian,’ whatever in the world that means. And somehow, it seems like ours is also the first of our stories to have an audiobook made. If you’re interested in that, there’s a special sale this week, so you can find it below, or check to see if it’s made it to your favorite store yet.”
Joy in the Morning - Audiobook
“And Angie apologizes for the delay in this newsletter—she says it was partly the fault of her getting her weekends mixed up and partly the fault of being sick.”
“You’re calling her by her first name now?” Jaelyn turned on her sister-in-law with a raised eyebrow, and Emmalie offered a tiny shrug.
“I’ll take other suggestions. But ‘our author’ sounds awkward, and I don’t know why we shouldn’t make ourselves as comfortable as we can while we’re here.”
“That’s—actually not such a bad idea…” Jaelyn trailed off thoughtfully, stroking the tassels of the shawl that couldn’t fully hide the growing curve to her stomach.
A click sounded from the hallway, and two doors popped open. Brinlee took a deep breath and sent an apologetic look toward the little girl.
“Ready to go home, Joy?” Her voice wavered a little, but Joy jumped up and ran to her without a protest.
“We get kids, Mummy?” She held up her hands, and Brinlee scooped her up and held her close, burying her face in her hair for a few seconds.
“Yes, baby. I guess the kids still need us. Let’s go do what we can.” She walked back to her door, but as she began to close it behind her, Emmalie softly called her name.
“Brinlee? Just remember—it does still matter.”
Brinlee blinked hard and nodded, then disappeared, and Jaelyn rose and motioned for Emmalie to precede her toward their own door.
“Don’t forget your shawl.” Emmalie motioned toward the chair she had just left, and Jaelyn shook her head, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips.
“No. If I need it at home, she’ll have to give me another. As you’ve said, everything has a purpose. And if I can leave a little comfort here for the next one who comes, I’m going to do it.”
“Is this your new resistance? Making a difference, no matter what’s happening in our world?” Emmalie offered a soft smile, and Jaelyn lifted her chin defiantly.
“Maybe it is.” She drew a breath and bit her lip a moment before continuing. “Emmalie? Do you truly think—it’ll all come out right?”
“With everything I’ve seen? I truly do. We don’t exist without a purpose. You’ll see.”
Jaelyn nodded and straightened her shoulders before helping guide her wheelchair through the door and closing it tight behind them.
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