A gray joy

Dark gray storming morning. Lying in corpse pose after my first dedicated work out since bed rest. The instructor on my iPhone tells me to focus on my worries and embody them. Seems counterproductive, so I pray moving through the fruits of the spirit. Thank The Lord for his love in our hearts. Ask for peace to be sown in our home.

You missed one.

Pause to recite the verse: the fruit of the spirit is love, joy.

Oh yeah, joy. The little one. That was my mental cue when I was learning the list. Joy was the little word tucked in. Three letters easily missed. Especially on a rainy morning stretched out like a corpse.

Isn't it human how joy can be overlooked in what should be our most joyful seasons? We have a brand new baby. I should be dancing around the house, humming to myself like a scene from Lady and the Tramp.

That's not happening right now.

It's been a very hard year, truth be told. Our assertive bossy one hit the assertive bossy three's. Our emotionally volatile one hit the emotionally volatile two's. We've discovered that personality times developmental stage exponentially exaggerates and elongates the behavior phase. Grr...

Tim and I have been the easiest either. I've been sick and pregnant or recovering and exhausted. Add walking through some difficult, painful issues in our relationship. And saying goodbye to good friends and my grandmother.

I don't mean this to be a gripe list. But in an effort at openness, we're in a long difficult season.

I want to grin and bear it until the next birthdays. Then pray expectantly for an easier year. But the last time I decided I should be done with trials my cousin died and my dad underwent radiation treatment. I don't mention that because I believe God will smite me if I ask for a break. God is not petty.

But 'hanging in there' 1) does not create joy in the present 2) teaches me self-reliance not God-endurance 

And I have no promise that any light at the end of the tunnel is daylight.

But if The Lord is my light, I don't need the sun. Don't need the day. I can walk through the tunnel for the rest of my days and never walk in darkness.

The Christian life is not trial-free but trial-proof. ~~Mark Driscoll

What a depressing, intellectual post on joy. 

Maybe that's why joy is the small one in my estimation.

Why the only "joy" associations I could make during my meditation were a Christmas carol and a verse about suffering.

Maybe this is a huge gap in my everyday that needs some serious prayer and practice. Not a dogmatic self-command, rejoice, damnit, but a new understanding.

Once again I write with no answer.

No answer, yet.

Joy is one of his gifts for all Christians, even the cerebral blogging types.

More joy in my heart

We laughed last night as a Baltimore Raven made a purple and gold confetti angel on the field. Grown man giddy and childish. Joyful over a goal complete.

A sweet friend birthed her second this morning. Everyone is happy and healthy. Delighted. Joyful over new life and love and family.

I'm happy enough for the Baltimore Ravens. The Lombardi trophy is nothing eternal, but their excitement was infectious.

I'm much happier, thrilled, in fact, for my friend. Can't wait to give her a hug this evening and present little man with his quilt. Your own pregnancy or a friend's, doesn't matter, those nine months stretch like an eternity. The anticipation of meeting a brand new person, well, I have goose bumps.

With all the surrounding excitement, my heart was a bit downtrodden and raw when I opened my Bible this morning. Accumulation of small stuff weighing on me. But my should be joyful heart wanted very much to curl up on the couch. When I read:

You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound. Psalm 4:7

And I saw that football player rejoicing in confetti, the team crying and hugging. Big contracts about to be written. Big rings about to be forged. Top of the world. All their grain and wine before them.

You have put more joy in my heart.

I thought of a hospital, my own babies laid in my arms for the first time. Tears of joy and wonder at their tiny noses and pillowy cheeks. Dreams for a family fulfilled. All our grain and wine before us.

You have put more joy in my heart.

Do I really believe that he is my joy, more joy? Yes. And no. But mostly yes.

I do believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living Psalm 27:13 and will recognize the fullness of his joy that he has put in my heart. And I do believe that in him this day is my fullest joy.

Beauty in Hand

Tulips are up. Pink, purple, white, and any other color big one threw in the cart last fall as we snatched up clearance bulbs.

 Before I could gather them for a vase, they were found...

snatched by hands eager to hold beauty.

In those tulips, I saw two worlds:

My mom's as she watched her toil in the garden snapped up by my small fingers or crushed under careless feet. Beheaded plants, some with bulbs exposed, bedraggled garden.

Myself, as a little girl, confused at mommy's dismay. Smelling and seeing from the border were well enough, but I wanted to be in the garden, sitting in the middle of all those colors, holding flowers in my hands. Tasting beauty.

Small one embraces her tulip, pressing it to her chest. Petals fall to the ground as she releases. She's all smiles.

The flowers would last longer in a vase. But they would never have been enjoyed like they were crushed in tiny fingers. I'm all smiles, as I let go the garden and embrace their joy.

Practicing Hard Joy

This week is hard joy. Truth tested. I won't recite my tale of woe. It's much like any other series of simultaneous frustrations that culminate in a tired family finding grace a hard practice.

Joy must be tested. Hope must be unseen. Otherwise, how do I know where joy and hope come from? Do I have joy in the Lord or in His easy gifts? Is my hope in God's goodness or in my comfort?

In small group, we tossed around the tired, yet always appropriate question: Why do bad things happen to good people (to my cynical brain: why do good things happen to bad people)? That's an entire blog in itself. Not for today. What was said that stuck: God gives hard to chip away the sinful, self-loving parts so Christ shines through.

That's my week. God showered me with truth in January, opened up His word and poured blessings. February He asks: Did it stick? Was sin removed that Christ might reign?

Heavenly seeds fell, but on what soil?

Rocky soil? One joyous week of God's word, happy sprouts quickly shriveled and gone. A lesson that should have blessed my whole life withering from lack of care.

Weedy ground? Cares of life, overspent, over tired, crying baby, illness. God's true and beautiful word choked out by everything else screaming for my attention.

Rich soil? Accept truth and encourage growth through meditation. Recite memory verses through the migraine. Practice grace at end of failed nap time. Force roots deep and grounded.

Where does my joy come from?

Gwennan's Potty Chart - Stickers mark accidents verse successes. A chart for my parental goals. If I fail, does my joy fail? Am I worshipping Jesus or "successful Christian parenting"?