Joy, that illusive sentiment that seems absent from deceptive advertising, shallow world leaders, and the hounding social media. The most irksome of the three is how much time is wasted on being a part of phone “communication” that’s labeled Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or new things I have’t heard of yet. I’ll say it: I don’t actually care what you add to a pan of scrambled eggs for breakfast and feel that posting a picture of your plate on Facebook is something that anyone is interested in. I’m convinced it’s more meaningful to visit with another person face-to-face and have genuine human touch. That’s joy, and it seems harder to find these days.
But I suppose that’s not altogether new. In the 1980s, while going through a divorce and raising two small children alone, I felt the sting of criticism from a church member—in short, the message that married women should be wary of me because I had no spouse. Frankly, I don’t know how I would even have time to have an affair with someone else’s husband while working three jobs and raising my little ones . . . maybe sometime between the laundry and the meatloaf? Anyway, it wasn’t in my character to think along these lines. And then along came a Christian woman, a Roman Catholic woman, who stood up for me and faced my accuser, letting that person know that such an assertion was reprehensible, especially coming from someone who professed to be a Christian. Every tear I shed that day when my defender contacted me about her support was a tear of unadulterated joy!
Even when it seems hardest to come by, real joy can still be found in the multiple blessings daily bestowed to us by a caring heavenly Father who encourages us to “come boldly before the throne of grace” and recognize divine care. The caress of a caring hand, the soft response from someone you love and who loves you in return, the colors of Fall foliage, a bond to a close friend, and the strains of a favorite song—these are joys that elevate the blood pressure in a good way, put a spring in my step and a smile on my face.
For me, that’s JOY! And a slice of warm apple pie with cinnamon in it and a scoop of vanilla ice cream doesn’t hurt, either.