Here, Too, There Is Joy

Most days, I feel buried alive.
Technically, I have three jobs now: one, full-time, is watching two girls on their farm about ten miles from my house; the second is marketing CUTCO knives through scheduling appointments (there will probably be a post about this job in the near future); and the third, which I have not yet started and am wondering how I can possibly find time to squeeze in yet another position, is assisting in the assembly of various musical instruments for a man whose demands exceed what he can supply on his own.
Often, it feels as though the world is pressing in on me from every side, and I fight claustrophobia as daily activities surround me and close in.  I've downsized as much as I can in terms of how I use my time, and still I feel consumed by the chaos.
But one phrase has been whispered in my ear in the sacred early mornings before the girls wake up, when it's just me and God and the goofy, floppy-footed Labrador puppy: Here, too, there is joy.  Because here, too, I am found.
I am seeking God.  Not in the mountaintops where it is easy to find Him, where the air is clear and seeing God is as simple as turning around.  I am seeking Him in the everyday, in the moments where girls throw dirt and harsh words at each other, in the moments where I am late to a meeting or forget to call my manager, in the moments where I am falling, exhausted, into bed at the end of the day.
When the Word became flesh, He made His dwelling among us.  He entered into our insanity and self-destruction and offered abundant life and living water through Himself.  And where He is, here, too, is joy.