The Thread of Joy
Click on the picture above to watch the video about my thoughts on joy.
While I wouldn’t say I’m a person who tries to explain the unexplainable, this cancer journey I’ve found myself on has prompted a torrent of questions that don’t seem to have answers. I don’t mean the, “Why is this happening?” question. I don’t ask that one. Or the, “Could Steve have done anything to prevent getting a pleomorphic sarcoma?” That actually sounds ridiculous as I say it out loud.
The questions I have are related to my internal state of mind and heart. On some days it’s questioning whether I’m doing a good enough job as a caregiver. At other times I try to make sense of those verses in the Bible that say to rejoice in my sufferings because it will produce endurance and character and hope. Or to count it all joy that I’m going through trials, because I will learn patience. Or that weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning. I have to be honest with you, admonitions like these don’t help me feel better. I cry a little bit every night, and I don’t feel joy in the morning. But then again, how long is the night?
I do take the Bible seriously, and short of getting a degree in theology at this late date, I’ve been wrestling with what it even means to seek and obtain joy while I’m in the hardest circumstance of my life. What does joy look like on a good day, nevermind in the darkest of times? That’s the current question for me.
I’ve begun thinking of my present life as a tapestry of dark colors that have taken on a life of their own. I can see it in my mind’s eye: it undulates and moves and envelops me whether I want it to or not. I’ve taken to calling it the tapestry of my suffering. I envision joy as a thick gold braid that’s woven into the dark tapestry. It has texture and it stands out. I’ve meditated on that braid, asking God, what is joy made of? The image I received is that suffering carves the pathway for joy, the way water over time carves out the rocks for rivers to flow that change a landscape. Suffering itself is changing the shape of my being, I actually feel it every day: that my circumstances are re-working deep places. So where does joy fit in?
That golden braid of joy tells me two things: One, that what’s happening isn’t for nothing. My grief isn’t wasted, it’s too holy for that. It’s a moving force that is making space for the truth that sorrow can poke a hole in the veil between earth and heaven. Sorrow is itself a thin place, and it invites joy to meet it. Jesus said that we will have sorrow, and our sorrow will turn to joy. The same circumstance that produced the sorrow has the glint of joy in it. That kind of alchemy is not of this world. But one has to prospect for it, to dig down into the darkness.
The second thing I know is for sure I’m not alone. I mean, Jesus met me in my kitchen! He has capacity to hold all my suffering because he suffered so deeply in his body, mind and spirit. I’m thankful he’s with me because he never says the wrong thing and he doesn’t try to fix it. He’s just present. He’s also non-anxious at all times, which is extremely helpful right now.
The writer of Psalm 16 described being in God’s presence as the “fullness of joy.” So maybe that’s what joy is, being filled up on the inside with safety and golden love. My suffering is at work carving out new vistas for the golden ribbon of joy to unfurl and give light to my path.
That’s what I know so far.