Where I Find Joy

Ebony McMullen, the protagonist of The Colors of Home, has been living in my head for years, and she's ready to share what it really means to rebuild a life from broken pieces. Her voice deserves space beyond the novel's pages.

Where do I find joy? I learned it isn't the absence of grief, it's what sneaks in between the cracks when you're not looking. Destiny humming while she colors at the kitchen table, her ladybug backpack hanging on the chair as it belongs there.

Owen's arm draped across my shoulders when he says, "I'm proud of you, Mom." Words I didn't know I needed until they opened somewhere in my heart.

Scotty's dimple holds it too. He hides so much behind his quiet strength, but when he lets himself smile, really smile, I see his father. I see hope.

The ordinary carries its own kind of grace. A pot of coffee, brewed before the sun comes up. The soft blue-green of a freshly painted hallway. A neighbor's casserole left on the porch with no note because none was needed.

Owen, my angry, stubborn, wise-beyond-his-years son, asked me a question I couldn't shake. "Is only painting the kitchen enough for you?" He remembered what I'd forgotten. Art wasn't just something I did; it was how I breathed.

So I painted. Not perfectly. Not without fear. But I picked up the brush, and something in me exhaled. Creating again brought me back to myself.

The small, imperfect moments remind me we're still here. Still standing. Still healing.

Joy shows up when you least expect it, and exactly when you need it most.

That's where I find it. In the cracks. In the colors. In the beautiful, broken mess of learning to call this place home.

Where do you find joy? I'd love to hear about it in the comments.