If I chased happy like Colt chases a lime green ball, I might be inclined to find it more often.
Or if I simply welcomed its possibility, like a dog bounds into the backyard
hoping that I follow into the moist morning grass
to reach down for the tennis ball,
squish it, soft, dirty and worn
and then throw it, straight and solid across the yard.
He rushes back, happy to have it then drops it “Good boy!” I say like mama to child, “That’s good.” and he looks at me, happy to have pleased me.
Today I will pursue happy; invite it and be exuberant in my retrieving.
Then bring it back, drop it at the feet of the Father, the one inviting my pursuit.