Indescribably happy

Leonard preferred to be with people.  He could have quiet alone time when battling/enjoying his insomnia but for the most part, he preferred to have someone with him.  In fact, the night before we got married, his dear friend Mike took me aside.  He warned me that Leonard didn't self-entertain well.  I don't know if it came from being one of 8 kids all born very close but it was true.  He loved being with people.

And I loved being with him.

Another thing Leonard loved was to cut wood.  I think he loved the process almost as much as the finished product.  He loved planning the cuts, setting up his machinery and finding the most accurate way to get his desired results.  He would spend hours in his garage shop even in the dead of a Phoenician summer.  In fact, one of our favorite family memories is when a very young Kirby wrote a To-Do list for his Dad that included:  1.  cut wood and 2.  get sweaty.

Cutting wood made him happy.

And like pretty much everything in his life, he liked to share the activity.  He would set up a folding chair and invite me out to just be with him.  I would work side by side with him getting him his needed tools, listening to his plans, giving my opinion and helping where I could.

Truth be known, I didn't really like it.

I didn't like the noise, the dirt, the mess.  I didn't like the heat.  I didn't like how patient you had to be with the process.  I really only liked the finished product and I wanted it done and done quickly!  I don't have what it takes to be a master woodworker.

But what kept me out there and made me look forward to each of our projects was how much it made him happy.  His joy was infectious.  I loved the twinkle in his eye when he got a cut so perfect that the union of the two pieces would be seamless.  I loved how he planned and talked and reviewed each step.  I loved how much pride a well executed day in the shop made him.  I was happy because he was so darn happy.

And now I'm faced again with a process I don't really like.  I don't like being a widow.  I don't like solo parenting his children.  I don't like missing him so much.  I don't like the patience required of mastering this earthly existence.  I really only like the finished product and I want it done now.

Yet, truth be known, I'm pretty sure heaven makes him happy.  If I believe there is a paradisiacal existence with God after this life, I have to believe he is happy now.  Indescribably happy, I've heard it called.  I have to remember to be infected by his joy.  I have to remember what his face looks like when he smiles.  I have to be happy watching him be happy.

The thought of his joy brings me peace.  The thought of his joy helps me be patient with this process. The thought of his joy helps be emulate his workmanship as I finish my time here on earth. The thought of his joy just makes me happy, darn happy, indescribably happy.