This week I saw a reel that made me laugh out loud. It was titled “How to Write Good” and offered some helpful rules like:

1. Avoid Alliteration. Always.
2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
3. Avoid clichés like the plague.
   They're old hat.

(This was from a reel created by Lanette and Kurt, check them out HERE.)

I don’t know what it says about me that I found this so funny, but I did. I laughed in that deep, satisfying way that sneaks up on you. Maybe it caught me off guard because laughter isn’t what I expected this week.

Today marks one year since my mom died. I thought the day would feel heavy, and in some ways it does, but oddly, it doesn’t feel quite like I imagined. The grief hit more yesterday evening. Today, it's more of a soft ache beneath the surface. And somehow, in the middle of that, a ridiculous writing joke found its way to me and made me laugh out loud.

Isn’t that how life is? It doesn’t separate itself into neat little boxes. Sadness and joy show up at the same party. The sacred and the silly sit side by side. You can grieve and still laugh. You can be overwhelmed and still find a quiet moment of peace. You can feel lost and somehow still feel loved.

So wherever you are this week: laughing, grieving, resting, struggling; I hope you know that grace is roomy and there’s space for all of it. (Even for long and convoluted sentences, I hope.)

My wish for you this week, Reader, is that you’ll let yourself feel the whole mix, whatever it is. I hope you’ll laugh when something strikes you funny, cry when the tears come, and rest when you need rest. May you be gentle with yourself in the in-between places, and may you trust that grace is big enough to hold it all. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa ​