Page 12 of With All My Heart, Joy

Joy: I was there on Tuesday.

Two days was a long time? Mom’s reply took enough time that Joy was able to get set up at the table with her yarn, positioning her recorder to capture a knitting session. It was all she had energy for, but she could knit in her sleep and produce something beautiful.

Mom: When a daughter has been living at home and was here more hours of the day than not, two days feel eternal. Plus, I was hoping for some help in the kitchen.

It was their thing, cooking together. It always had been. Even when Joy questioned whether she was really and truly wanted, she knew her presence in the kitchen was. When did that stop being enough?

Unwelcome tears rushed to Joy’s eyes, and she dashed across the room for a tissue. When she was about to shoot a video wasnota good time to cry.

With her emotions under control, Joy sent a placating final text to her mother, then hit the record button. While she knitted and made verbal instructions or lapsed into silence that would be filled with music, she continually shoved away thoughts of all the other things she needed to be doing.

She hadn’t filmed her makeup tutorial for tomorrow morning yet. Social media posts needed to be created and scheduled. Most of her apartment still looked like a bomb had gone off inside. Her viewers would be wanting her walkthrough video as soon as she posted the shopping spree. But first, all the decorations she’d purchased today had to go up—aftershe finished unpacking.

A moan escaped her lips involuntarily, and she dropped the needles to the table and hit stop recording. If her viewers saw her in this state, looking so agitated, they would wonder what was up. And how could she explain that the cheery face they were used to seeing was, most days, a total and complete act?

That night she sat in bed, all lights off except the strand of blinking multi-colored holiday lights she’d strung in an arch around her bedroom door. At least she’d knocked down the cobweb today.

“I matter because…” She couldn’t seem to finish the rest of the sentence. She knew she should say something like “because I’m a daughter of God. Because I do great things. Because I’m a Halverson.” But none of those things seemed to matter. Maybe because she’d never truly believedshemattered.

Would anything ever change that?Couldanything change that? Only time—and Mr. Miller—would tell.

* * * * *

JJ Hall.

Isaac stared at the mail in his hands. Who on earth was JJ Hall?

He racked his brain as he closed the front door, shutting out the frigid temperatures. Coming up blank, he looked over the package the mail carrier had just thrust into his hands. It was addressed to Zak Miller. No one but his mom still called him that.

Intrigued, he tore open the envelope only to find yet another envelope, this one addressed unmistakably in his mom’s handwriting. Now thoroughly mystified, he opened it, first reading his mom’s message, then turning to the folded note.

Hello, Zak,

I found your mail discarded on the sidewalk and realized quickly that someone stole the gift card your mother included. I’m certain the gift cards I have enclosed are not what she would have chosen, but I hope they will create a different type of happiness. I don’t know the age of your daughter (I am assuming that is what Paisley is to you), but I know when I was a young girl, I loved makeup. If she’s too young, feel free to regift it or save it for her. Maybe take her for some hot chocolate—and enjoy your favorite hot drink with her. Dads deserve some happiness, too, after all. Wishing you all the best during the upcoming holiday season.

With all my heart,

JJ

Isaac was astounded as he fingered two gift cards. One was pink and white and covered in glitter, sporting the name Taylors. If the logo was an indication, it was a makeup store. Paisley would be over the moon—even if she was a little young for makeup.

He flipped the gift card over and sucked in his breath. It was worth fifty dollars.

As for the second card, Isaac was down to hit up Fresh Ground any time, any day. It was his favorite hangout spot with Paisley, and the drinks there were outstanding.

Again, he stared at the letter in his hand. Incredible. Whoever this JJ was, she had a beautiful heart. A stranger had never done something so unexpected and kind to him. He would love to say thank you. How weird and creepy would it be if he wrote back?

Very weird and creepy. He didn’t need to be a counselor to answer that question. But he couldn’t shake the thought all afternoon.

The best thing about the weekend was having time to spend with Paisley. Her favorite winter activity was ice skating, despite how clumsy she was on the ice. She would be at the rink every day if he had time to take her. In answer to her daily pleadings, he had a promise to deliver this afternoon.

“Ready, Paise?” She appeared from her room in enough layers for ten people, all of them pink. “You look cozy.” He peeled a scarf off her neck so he could see more of her face. “But I’m not sure you’ll be able to move in all of this. Let’s thin down your layers, then have fun.” As he shrugged into his coat and tugged on a knitted cap made with his mother’s hands, his eyes strayed to the mess of mail on the kitchen table.

Incredible…

The ice rink was crowded, and Paisley fell more than she remained upright. But she was laughing, and that was all that mattered to Isaac. Back at home, he put frozen potatoes into the oven while Paisley took a warm bath, praying the food wouldn’t burn this time. While both the food and his daughter warmed up, he took a quick search of what he called his “office drawer.” He found one lonely box of Christmas cards. That was it. No blank paper, no thank you card. Just a box filled to the brim with Christmas cards.

Maybe it was a sign he shouldn’t write back.

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