The Secret Strength of Joy
Back in February, I reloaded a several years old Lenten series I wrote and published on my blog. I was in the thick of active hospital ministry, entering into the sacred darkness of people’s lives and being transformed by it in both beautiful, holy ways and in ways that were impacting my spirit’s health and wellness.
It is a great gift and truly a privilege to be invited into people’s rawest and most tender of moments—and that gift took a great toll on me personally. The Lenten practice I took on that year wa s seeking joy, pursuing glimmers of hope, of delight, of remarkably ordinary beauty in the midst of some of the deepest of suffering. When I read through these posts this year, I realized just how harsh I was on myself.
I continuously tried to justify the practice, often diminishing its true holy power to transform and heal. Reading these posts now, my heart aches for that hardworking, overwhelmed, and frightened young woman and minister trying desperately to cling to another way and yet being unable to fully trust that it was the way of the Divine.
There is a current social media trend—one I do believe is actually the Spirit of divine healing on the move that is encouraging a sense of whimsy, of delight, of finding joy in the most ordinary of moments. It has become quite normalized in the past year or two to seek joy and whimsy as a sort of “resistance” or “rebellion” to the current status quo of fear mongering and hate that has blanketed so much of a world’s news and the hateful and fear instigating rhetoric used by powerful people.
Perhaps, Margaret several years ago was on to something, she just did not have the courage or confidence to trust herself.
In the face of such horror, darkness, fear, violence, and meanness it feels small or inadequate to choose to look for joy. Even now, that I know the true power and the true source of delight and joy I worry it is inadequate. And yet, I remember. I remember all the times joy gently wiggled its way into my lap and I almost missed it—but thankfully Joy always lets herself be known. Joy shows up seemingly softly, crawling into your lap like a kitten—but if you don’t pay attention she will use her sharp claws to wake you up to all that is around you. She will announce her presence one way or another.
Have you ever watched a child dance without abandon to music—whatever its source may be? Have you ever known the joy of a four year old trusting you enough to take you by the hand and walk with you, all the while telling you they love you? Have you ever felt the sheer transformation of spirit while watching a flower that you planted bloom or seeing a bee using it for a little snack? Or felt the wonder of chipmunks scurrying across your yard? Or the awe and gratitude you have to birds for choosing your hanging plants and porch to bring their babies into the world? Have you ever been in the thick of an Alexander no good-terrible—horrible day and you are caught off guard by the deep belly, tears streaming down your face kind of laugh because of something someone said or did?
This is holy.
This is powerful.
This is life sustaining stuff.
This is the secret to the sauce of life.
This is what we rely on when our world gets dark and scary—we call on the joys to remind us that light gets in, no matter how tiny the crack.
I recently stumbled upon this quote describing hope—and I wonder if the same could be said about joy.
“People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.” — Matthew (@CrowsFault) March 10, 2022 (Copied from https://pres-outlook.org/2023/01/hope-is-a-shape-shifter/)
In response to this incredible quote, about the resiliency of hope—I found a thread online somewhere that described joy similarly. Unfortunately, I cannot seem to find it. If I do, I will absolutely share.
The point is—hope, joy, love, and even peace are fearsome, feisty, powerful things that have the ability to transform stories, lives, and hearts. They are scrappy and will take the existence of one small bloom and multiply it. They take the smallest morsel and make a meal. They give us reasons to get back up, wipe our face (perhaps smearing more dirt and blood across it) and get back to it—they give us reasons to never give up even in the face of such vast meanness.
It makes sense the meanness wants to squash these things out or convince you to believe that they do not exist. Because these are the weapons we wield to make a kinder, more compassionate, more loving, and just world.
As I found myself falling deeper and deeper down into the burnout hole—the lifeline that kept me going, that kept the flicker of my flame aglow was a dear friend of mine. We would share our candles with one another—to make sure neither of our lights went fully out. We did this by talking about silly delights, giggling like our lives depended on it (because they did), encouraging one another, making jokes, sharing whimsy, drinking cups of tea, crying, laughing, anything we could do to stoke our lights—and it worked. We survived with our flames in tact—until we could get to safe places where we could finally heal.
Joy kept us alive and thank God we had enough sense to pursue her.
Above I have shared some photos of the things that have brought me such joy, awe, wonder, and delight in the past few months.
May peace, may Joy, may Love, may Hope find you all—may they shake you awake, may they remind you to keep going—because beauty, magic, and glimmers are all around. May they strengthen you to come back swinging, time and time again. Because the secret is this—delight keeps us alive, it keeps us fighting, it strengthens us to face the meanness another day, and ultimately Love will always always find her way to win.
