Choosing Joy
By the time March rolls around, I know that whatever resolutions I made at the New Year will have gone the way of any lingering snow by now—that is, trampled down and shoved off to the side somewhere. So last year I scrapped the resolutions and declared a theme for the year instead, almost a mantra I could repeat to myself: "Choose Joy."
I was tired of waiting for a certain set of circumstances that would supposedly fulfill me, tired of sitting around hoping I'd suddenly hit a permanent 10 on the happy scale. So for one calendar year, I committed myself to actively pursuing joy. I can't claim that in those 365 days I somehow mastered joy or discovered a three-step formula for finding it. But along the way there were a few themes that lodged in my heart, and I hope I'll never look at happiness the same way again.
Sometimes joy comes in little packages.
As I reflected on my joy levels (usually during my morning commute), it struck me how easily little things could steal my joy—like waking up late, spilling coffee on my way out the door, getting cut off by the large vehicle that apparently doesn't believe in turn signals. So I wondered: If little things can have so much power to steal joy, why can't they give it as well?
So I started keeping a list of all the things God has given me—not just the big gifts like salvation and provision and people to love—but the less overt graces too, like daffodil bulbs that peek their heads out each spring, a home with running water, the funny things that come out of the mouths of my Sunday school kids. Before I knew it, I was becoming less desperate for the elusive big-ticket joy items.
All those little joys, it turns out, can add up. "The LORD has done amazing things for us! What joy!" (Psalm 126:3).
Sometimes joy appears in camo.
Maybe it's because I'm a romantic at heart or because I grew up with a healthy dose of Disney, but I typically assume joy comes in the obvious things—the perfect wedding, the job promotion, the newborn baby, the happy ending. And those moments are wonderful … when they happen. But if I pigeonhole joy into such a small box, I deprive myself of so many other joys that may require a second glance.
My friend Jan is one of my heroes in the joy department. After a grueling battery of tests, she just received the news that her four-year-old has autism. While Jan doesn't minimize the challenges that go along with that, she's still able to delight in the way God created her daughter. "Like any parent, I wouldn't choose this difficulty for her," she says. "But God in his wisdom doesn't give me the ability to make that call. So in the meantime, I'm happy to have this contented girl who just so happens to be able to differentiate between Mozart and Tchaikovsky, and is overly interested in the number 6."
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