Declaration 3:
The new creation that I am
delights in her life in the present moment;
counting
all of it as joy, whether immediate or invested.
She is thankful for the totality of
her life, and will delight in the treasures hidden therein.
Do not mistake me: there
are times when joy is the furthest thing from the place I inhabit. Or so it seems. We’ve just concluded a series about elusive
joy; the kind of joy that is solely the acknowledgment that God is
sovereign. There are seasons when this
type of joy is the only rational response; when the present is so painful, so
fraught with uncertainty, that all we want is for this season to end. For resolution to come; for respite from our
suffering.
How will I feed the kids
tomorrow? Will they foreclose on the
house? What if he always chooses the
internet over me? Will the new cancer
treatments work this time? Will I ever
see my son again? What if tonight the
phone rings, telling me that the tracks on my daughter’s arms finally took her
life?
Conversely, it is easy to
become lost in the day-to-day. The
mundane has such compelling power to pull one deep into mindless habit and
joyless existence. So that we seek to
escape; we look for distraction from our lives, diversion from the space
between the rising and setting sun.
Make the bed, feed them breakfast,
wash the dishes, rush off to school, do the laundry, buy the groceries, pick
them up, make them dinner, get the homework is done, wash the dishes, mandate
baths, get them into bed
Put on the tie, drive the same road,
sit in the cubicle, listen to the same conversations, look at the same images,
submit the same reports, drive home, mow the grass, take out the trash, go to
bed
Just to do it over again the next
day.
How does one count it all
as joy? How do I find treasures hidden
in my days, particularly when my days are monotonous or painful?
Now, I need you to know
that I have spent years dedicated to one task alone: being the consummate
perfect-joyful-Christian-woman. The kind
who rejoices over her laundry because it means her house is filled with family;
or who prays over her dishes as she’s washing them because it means there was
food to eat that day. But I am not her
anymore. Because she wasn’t real in the
first place. Her thankfulness; this
repetitive, resigned varietal formed in obligation and marinated in duty is not
the kind of thankfulness of which I speak.** For me, it was forced. And fake.
It made me feel all kinds of inadequacy and guilt; because, in all
honesty, I hate doing the dishes.
Plunging my hand into a sink full of dirty, food from someone else’s
plate makes me gag. Literally. Laundry, cooking, cleaning all are activities
for which I have no bent or desire. And that’s okay.
No, the thankfulness to
which I refer is one borne from a realization of whom I worship: the Almighty
and Everlasting God. And who I am: a
sinner, in desperate need of saving.
Every day. This truth allows me to see the mundane as gifts, to find
joy in the times of trial; to be genuinely grateful for every breath. This thankfulness does not require that I
enjoy every task before me; but allows me to rest in the knowledge that the God
who spoke the universe into existence knows
me. Knows that I love the slivers of
aspens with their twirling leaving dancing on autumnal winds and that they make
me feel freedom in my chest and that I’d rather be out among them than cooped
up inside up to my elbows in dish water.
Knows that words and music and touch are the ways in which my soul is revived
from this dark and fallen world. Knows
my propensity for rebelling, for wandering, and loves me anyway.
This kind of thankfulness
allows me to be honest: if today sucks, I can say so. But I can end like the psalmist, trusting in
God’s sovereignty over the crappy times.
I can freely thank God for the mundane days, without treating him as the
distant relative who really doesn’t know what I like, thus sends me gifts
ill-fitting my person and personality; but for which I must be grateful anyway.
It allows me to say, on the days of repetition, that God is enough; and His
presence in my life is the greatest gift.
And when the days are good, I can rejoice with a pure heart; praising the
God from which they came and for the delight they ignite in me.
Know
that some seasons are investments towards future joy.
The hard times usually are
for strengthening us. For drawing me
nearer to the throne of grace and the foot of the cross than I would have come
in times of plenty. When the tears I
spill on brittle ground do not even hint at a coming harvest; and the waiting
draws the strength from my veins until I cannot remember what life feels like
anymore; so long as I stay mindful of whom I worship, and who I am, I can count
every moment as an investment in a greater joy to come.
And
some are for immediate reaping.
When joy is all around
you. When you can feel it in your breath
and catch hold of it in your bones. When
the sun delights upon your face; and snow rains love upon your head. When you want to do nothing but dance and
sing and hold perfectly still to keep this moment for as long as you can, all
at the same time. When the light playing
off her hair mines tears from my eyes; and his laughter rouses my own. When the kisses come soft and slow,
dizzyingly true with perfect intent.
When laughter is the soundtrack of my days; and their pace marked by the
comings and goings of beloved members; then the joy in my heart should overwhelm
me, so that thankfulness is instinctual.
I will find
joy in every day, by finding God.
I will be
thankful for the moments which comprise my life,
for I have
but the one.
Knowing
that if I seek first the Lord,
my life
will be filled with the things in which my heart delights.
* Though as I read her blog today, I see she and I do
not share the same view on monotony. But
that’s okay. God made some wild and some
meant to be domesticated; some delight in routine and take their rest in
familiar practices. Both are beautiful.
** By all means, if this practice will
cultivate a thankful heart in you, do it!
And even if it doesn’t, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to be thankful for
these things every once in a while, to attune one’s attention to how good we
really do have it. To find God’s
handiwork even in the quiet and predictable moments.
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