Lately, I have been feeling discouraged. Sad. Lonely. Basically the full sampler platter of negative emotions 😢.
For those who do not know, I lived abroad for ten years. Since coming back home, I have often felt unsettled — like a foreigner in my own country. Abroad, I had friends, an office life, real human interaction, and the kind of ordinary companionship that does not look dramatic on paper but quietly keeps a person alive.
When I came back, everything felt different.
The things that have kept me going are my family, my one faithful friend — whom I am deeply grateful for, because she has not given up on me — and my dog. And yes, she counts as family. Honestly, she may be one of the more emotionally available members of the household.
For years I have been telling myself, I will be happy when I am abroad again. I will be happy when I become this kind of person. I will be happy when life finally looks the way I imagined it would.
Well. It has been ten years 😭💔.
I am still here. Still not abroad again. Still not yet that person I thought would unlock happiness like some premium feature.
Sometimes I feel like my whole body has been underwater for so long, and only my head is above the surface trying to breathe. Other times I feel like one foot is firmly planted, while the other keeps walking and walking and somehow getting nowhere. Movement without progress. Effort without arrival. Very dramatic, yes, but unfortunately also accurate.
And to be fair, my country has many good things. I was born here. I know that. But the chronic daily stressors can really wear a person down. I will spare you the full list because, one, it is boring, and two, I am trying to have a spiritual reflection here, not host a complaint seminar.
Earlier today, I attended an online Mass. The Gospel was Luke 15:11–32, the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Most of us know the usual lesson: the younger son wasted his inheritance, hit rock bottom, came home, and was welcomed back by a merciful father. Beautiful. Timeless. Humbling.
But today the homily struck me from a different angle.
Yes, the younger son returned, and yes, the father rejoiced. But then there is the older brother — bitter, offended, angry that his father celebrated the return of the one who had messed everything up. The older son basically said, I have always been here. I have been dutiful. I have stayed. And you did not even give me a fattened calf.
Honestly? Part of me understands him more than I would like to admit. Some days I hear the older brother and think, Sir, your tone is bad, but your frustration is strangely familiar.
Now, this is not Fr. Mike’s exact wording, but this is how I understood the heart of the homily: we often train our eyes to notice what is wrong more quickly than what is good. If someone asks us how we are, many of us can immediately list the disappointments, delays, hurts, and inconveniences. Apparently, even science tells us the brain tends to latch onto negative things more strongly. Useful for survival, perhaps. Terrible for peace.
And then came the part that really got me.
The older brother saw that his brother had returned, but instead of being glad that he was alive, he focused on what he did not get. The father, however, focused on what had been restored. His son was alive. His son was home. His son was found. The father chose joy. He grabbed it in that moment. That was the part of the priest’s homily that stayed with me: we need to grab joy whenever we can, even if life is still not exactly how we want it to be.
That hit me hard.
Because if I am honest, I have spent so much time staring at what is missing that I have forgotten to notice what is already present. I have become so fluent in disappointment that joy sometimes has to clear its throat and wave at me from across the room.
And yet joy is there.
Joy can be simple.
A puppy licking your face awake in the morning.
The sun rising.
Birds chirping.
Coffee brewing.
That buttered toast that somehow tastes like the Lord still has mercy on you.
Simple does not mean small.
The fact that I am alive, that I can feel sunlight on my skin, that I can taste coffee, laugh, pray, breathe, write, and still hope — these are not ordinary scraps. These are gifts. Quiet gifts, yes. But gifts all the same.
The parable of the Prodigal Son has many lessons. It is about repentance. It is about mercy. It is about the Father’s love that runs toward the lost. But today, I heard another lesson in it: if we are not careful, pain can make us miss joy even when it is standing right in front of us.
Like the older brother, we can remain close to the Father and still fail to celebrate what is good.
That is what I am reminding myself of today.
Find joy.
Not fake joy. Not forced positivity. Not pretending pain does not exist.
I mean the stubborn, holy practice of noticing grace.
The kind that says, Yes, life is hard. Yes, some prayers are still unanswered. Yes, I am still waiting. But even here, there is something to thank God for.
So this is my reminder to myself, and maybe to you too:
Let us find joy whenever we can.
You probably already know this. I probably already knew this too. But pain and disappointment have a way of making us forget. They narrow our vision until all we can see is what hurts.
Still, there is always something — even something small — that can call us back to gratitude.
Take care of yourself always,
Ember ❤️
Ember - Fire and Soul 