General-ized Joy

Just over a week ago, a friend asked how I had been doing in a particular area of my life. Apparently, at the beginning of the year I had shared with her that I had been struggling--and one thing I had expressed a need for was more joy. She had written it in her journal and had been praying for me, so she wanted to know how I was doing now. My response was positive--that I actually am experiencing more joy in some areas--such as the time I get to spend with my grandson. Financially there has been more joy, as it's been less of a struggle for our family since my husband took a new position six months ago. 

My friend was happy to hear of the improvement in my "joy department." Later on though, our conversation got me to thinking. I thought of all the things that had come in over the years, attempting to rob me of my joy--and instead push me into the zone of anxiety many, many times. It occurred to me--if one can have "generalized anxiety" (the clinical term for anxiety that doesn't have just one specific cause or trigger)...why can't the opposite be true? Why can't a person have generalized joy? Joy that's just there, with no particular situation or blessing precipitating it--it just is. 

A common Christian confession, "The joy of the Lord is my strength," comes from God's encouragement to His people at the end of Nehemiah 8, verse 10. They had suffered greatly from disobedience, resulting in many years of exile. But this was a time of restoration and rebuilding--a time to look forward and rejoice. And so the Word says, "Nehemiah said, ‘Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength'" (Nehemiah 8:10). 

What struck me about this exhortation, in addition to its celebratory nature, was one key phrase: "of the Lord." If our joy is "of the Lord," as in "originating from Him," it would seem to give joy a whole new context. God is a joyful God, and the work He does in our lives is a reflection of His love. Knowing we are loved by God should fill our hearts with joy continually! I realize this is not always the case--and it has been one of the battles of my life.

Author and Women of Faith speaker Sheila Walsh shares that we must "listen" in order to receive joy. She says, "Be a listener, to music, to life, to others, to God. Life is noisy, but there is music in every heartbeat. God is waiting to bring joy and peace to the confusion of our days." Can we have joy in the midst of a confusing culture? In the middle of painful circumstances? In the midst of disappointment? When we are feeling utterly anxious?

I believe we can. And I believe God is saying to us now, as He said to the Children of Israel, "Let my joy strengthen you." No matter what is happening right now, God comes from a perspective of joy--because He knows the end of the story. Yes, He is with us in our sorrow, and there is a time to grieve. But He doesn't want us to continually run to a place that is absent of joy. He wants us to have an abundant life. In fact, He tells us in John 15 that He has commanded us to love one another "so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete [perfect; full]." (verse 11).

As we walk in love, we receive God's joy. It is a supernatural gift that results in a personalized joy, which translates to a strength we didn't know was possible. Why is it that some can go through such hard things--and those around them marvel at their strength? "You are so strong," they declare in amazement. Well, it's because they have not based their response or outlook on circumstances--but on who their God is. He is a river of life--and in that river flows His love, His peace, His joy. "Generalized joy" just is, because He is. It can spring up from out of nowhere, and through God's love it can be spread and perfected (John 15:11).

As God provided the Israelites with water in the wilderness, He wants to give us joy. So let us be quick to call out to Jesus, the Source of Life, "Spring up, O well!" so that he can bring us to a place of joy when we feel ourselves moving far from it. No, we don't have to walk around with goofy grins all the time. But wouldn't it be wonderful if a spirit of joy were our default in place of fear, anxiety, and isolation? 

I believe that not only can joy be generalized--we can be generals of it. A military general is responsible for major areas of command, including operations that fall within a geographic area. They have authority in those areas and in that region--just as we do in the areas of influence God has placed us in. He has not called us to a haphazard, ill-fated campaign but rather strategically--through the vehicle of Love--to spread Joy, that will strengthen our brothers and sisters.

Psalm 30 is a song of restoration to life--"for sorrow may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." Be a general of your own joy today, and trade your sorrows for it. Trade your anxieties for it. Trade your negative speech for it. Who wouldn't want something so dear to the heart of God that He would share it with us in such abundant measure? He wants His children to walk in joy. Let's not settle for less, when He's given us the "choice food" (Nehemiah 8:10), Heaven's very best.

Where the Heck Am I?: My Life-long Struggle With Driving Directions

I have long believed that I possess some form of learning disability in regard to compass directions—and lack of memory of geographical locations in relation to other locations—sometimes it’s so bad I can’t even recall a general direction for a long period of time. And even then…it’s not necessarily permanent.

I have, on more occasions than I can count, gotten turned around—even lost for hours amidst feelings of panic and frustration (and sometimes tears). 

It’s easy, like many with a recognized learning disability, for me to feel “stupid” and want to smack myself in the head because “I—JUST—DON’T—GET—IT.” Over the years, I’ve learned to find tools to help compensate for my disability.

It’s made even more frustrating by the fact that others don’t understand how it could possibly be so difficult for me. And the thought of—or the attempt at--explaining it makes me feel even more inept, embarrassed, sad, misrepresented…and probably dozens of other adjectives.

I experience trying to recall going somewhere new, and then trying to remember the way later, something like this:

First Time: Wow, I made it! Remember—turn on <insert name of street>, next to <insert name of anything familiar or that COULD be memorable>.

Second Time: Oh, yeah, THAT’S how I got here last time.

Third Time: Dang, I was going to remember at least PART of the way to get there.

Fourth Time: I have no recall of how to get there. Any frame of reference to begin seems to be totally gone.

Fifth Time: I’ve been there FOUR times. If I ask for help, I’m going to look stupid. I will need the address so I can at least use GPS.

Sixth Time: Thank God for GPS. I made it!

Seventh Time: (still using GPS—because I can’t trust myself) Oh yeah, I remember that street. Just couldn’t have told you where it came up in the ORDER of streets.

Eighth Time: As I’m driving, I can ALMOST recall the turns—almost; but I’m keeping my GPS on—I can’t totally trust myself to remember the way.

Ninth Time: (with GPS off) Dang, I think I made a wrong turn. How can that even happen after EIGHT times?!

Tenth Time: (en route) Okay, I’m gonna get it this time (but still not feeling 100% confident—having made so many mistakes that I always second-guess myself).

I may or may not remember—even after the tenth time. It all depends on how my brain is recalling that type of information on that particular day. Sometimes it really feels like there is a literal block inside my brain that keeps me “lost.” I guess one could call it a “roadblock.”

Yes, I maintain some humor in the face of it all. I’ve even told people that I can’t find my way out of a paper bag. To give myself proper credit, I have made improvements over the years. But I still don’t experience going places in terms of a map or layout of an area—except rarely. Every once in a while, something will “connect” in my brain, and I’ll know that such-and-such street, building, etc. is in that direction. But do I ever know for sure? I invariably experience at least some level of “I-could-be-wrong.” 

My problem is worse at night, when I’m stressed, or when I’m in a hurry. So I try not to put myself into those situations unnecessarily. Learning new ways to get to places that I know one trusty way to is also a formidable challenge. I find that the more often I take a route, the more ingrained it becomes. But I have to take that route quite often if it’s ever going to become a part of my long-term, spatial memory.

I can estimate travel time really well. And I can tell just by looking at a meal portion what container it will fit best in. I can usually also tell if a particular piece of furniture will fit in a certain spot, accounting also for other pieces of furniture. But I cannot seem to get my brain to “map” when I need to get somewhere.

This deficiency used to make me afraid to travel far from home if I was the driver. But over time, I’ve come to accept my limitations and use the resources at my disposal. I have chosen not to let it intimidate or stop me.

As long as I can remember how to get to the most important places, I feel like I’m doing alright. My directional challenge doesn’t define me. And I know I excel in many other areas. It’s important for all of us to remember that we are not defined by what we don’t do well, nor by what we do well. But we define our own lives by what we do with those circumstances.

Cheese Doesn't Last Forever

My husband is invariably shocked if I happen to tell him that I had to throw out some cheese because it had gone bad--which in the case of cheese generally means that it started to mold. "What? Already?!" he will quickly retort. "We just got it a couple weeks ago." Then I will kindly remind him that if by weeks he means months, then yes, we just got it a couple weeks ago. This conversation usually ends with me stating the moral of the story, something to the effect of "Cheese doesn't last forever, you know."

Cheese, if not used in a matter of weeks (a rather generous time period for most cheeses), will begin to turn. First comes the smell, then the spots, and then there's no stopping the rapid spread of the fungus which will turn the cheese into something unrecognizable--and unedible. It has, in a word, expired.

Many things in our lives have this kind of a cycle. Dairy products, meats, fruits, vegetables, packaged items go bad; make-up gets clumpy or clotty when it sits around too long; shoes wear out; carpet breaks down, losing its pile and becoming more prone to stains; medications lose their effectiveness; paint separates; even Crisco turns sour!

But God's love, as it turns out, has no expiration date. You don't one day present yourself before God and suddenly have to say, "Oh, shoot--I got here too late--it's expired." No matter how early or late (whether temporally or in terms of a spiritual journey) we come to Him, His love always remains up-to-date, current, immediate, and plentiful. The LORD tells us in Jeremiah 31:3, ""I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."

But often we behave as though He has said, "I have loved you with a time-sensitive love; I have drawn you with perishing kindness." We can't fathom the idea of a love that is both unconditional and un-expirational. Paul boasts of this love, which he himself had experienced in a dramatic way: "
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39).

No matter what poor choices we've made, sins we've committed, lies we've embraced--nor how far astray we may have gone in rebellion to all He has planned for us--His love remains steadfast and unending. And even if we never loved Him at all--still, His love for us is as sparkling and effervescent as the moment He first conceived of creating any of us. Creating me. Creating you.

That love that motivated our genesis has always been there--from before time began. And what is His love like? According to I Corinthians 13, it is patient, kind, does not envy, does not boast, is not proud, is not rude or self-seeking. It is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. Furthermore, God's love for us always seeks to protect us, put trust in us, provide us with hope, and persevere after us. He is a Father who never disowns His children. His love is too far-reaching, too magnificent. He will never leave us or forsake us (Heb. 13:5).

I Corinthians 13:8 tells us, "But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away." Nothing will last forever except the trio mentioned in this passage: "faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." And why is love the greatest? Because it's the very nature of who God is. He is love (I John 4:8).

So please take comfort tonight in knowing--that even if you don't have it all figured out; even if you aren't able to believe in His love right now; even if your life seems directionless or pointless to you at present--there is a greater truth than what you have experienced. And that is the truth of how much He loves you.

Unlike cheese, that lasts forever, and no matter what you do--you can't make it expire.

Freedom, Future, 50

What is it about being 50? It’s not like it’s a magic number or something…but for me it sort of feels that way. I stop and think likely over half my life is over now. And it gives me great pause—and the tendency to recollect, among other things.

I barely noticed my parents being 50. I was eight when my dad was 50, and an eight-year-old is still too preoccupied to take note of such things. I was 17 when my mom was 50, and I was too busy falling in love and “planning” (my plans were all fairly loosely formed) my future to pay much attention, except to scoff when she tried to pass along some time-tested wisdom. Now I’m the one asking what wisdom do I need to be passing on to others?

When I turned 50, some of the things I once thought were important no longer were. And some of the things that hadn’t been on my radar before were at the forefront, setting off alarms and flashing lights. Having my house clean to the point of sweating and barking orders before company arrives? I’m over it. The fact that there always seem to be several unfinished projects at home? I’ve accepted it. Feeling bad about not liking most plants enough to take the time to care for them? I don’t really see the point. When I’m ready for plants, I’ll know.

At 50, time doesn’t seem to be rushing me along anymore. I am able to find more joy in the time I have—it seems I am enjoying life’s moments to a fuller capacity. I think I’m finally realized that it doesn’t pay to rush. After all, what’s the point? My mom had realized this in her 40’s…and applied it to putting on make-up and the duration of grocery store trips (the ones where my dad would finally send me into the store—or back in, as the case often was—with the instructions, “Find out what’s taking your mom so long.”). I didn’t understand her philosophy then…but I’m beginning to now. She wanted to look her best in public—and to do that to her own personal standard required time. She wanted to find the best deals at the store, taking in all the sales, price comparisons, new products, and the like. That too required time. And she gave that to herself.

I no longer feel a sense of panic or uneasiness about first—getting to work, nor second—performing well. In fact, I was formally observed just recently at work, with no actual anxious feelings on my part. I didn’t know when it would occur, nor how long the duration of the observation would be. But I was determined to just do what I do, help my students, and try to keep a good, positive momentum. Could some things have been differently? More than likely. But what has changed in me is that I no longer feel it’s more important to prove myself to others than to do what I believe is best.

Some things I have become exceedingly more passionate about since turning 50: tattoos; having fun with my grandson; listening to those who are wiser than me; finding little things that make me happy. I’m more passionate about expressing what I feel inside—either out loud or in a visual way, such as through my tattoos. Sometimes I’m thinking something in a checkout line and I’ll share it with the person in front of me—partly to see if they’ve had similar thoughts, partly to see if I can provoke a smile or chuckle, and partly just to make a human connection. Sometimes I get the awkward silence or the tenuous agreement—other times, my willingness to just speak to strangers results in a delightful exchange. At 50, though, I care way less about the reaction I get.

I don’t want to convey the message that I’ve become self-absorbed. In actuality, I believe I have become more self-aware. I feel more comfortable being me than I did in my 30’s or 40’s. Aside from loving God, there are three things I want to love well in my 50’s—my family and friends, my callings…and me.

Why “50” seems to be my rite of passage to do what I want, love what I love, and feel what I feel—I can’t say. But I rather relish the freedom of it. So I wear my crazy leggings, get wild colors in my hair, take on new projects, and strongly consider the ‘maybe-I-should-try-that’s. No, I don’t see myself going scuba diving or visiting a nudist colony…but skydiving is not outside the realm of possibility. I want to see new things, go places I’ve never been, and accomplish things I never dreamed I would—or only dreamed I would.

I have always found the concept of “the Island of Misfit Toys” very sad. It shouldn’t be an island—it should be an airport! The place where the misfits get on the very flight that will take them to exactly where they do fit. I am in a flight pattern. I’m finding my “fit.” I’m forming my future. And I’m forging forward. At 50.

Being the Mom of a Boy

Being the mom of a boy—

There's a spirit that's different from gals.

A boy specializes in sound effects,

Dive-bombs, and dirtying towels.

He’s cuddly and very persuasive;

He'll charm Mama's heart in a blink.

And when he is quiet for too long,

He may have done more than you think.

He likes to do little experiments,

Which often involve a slight mess;

And things that he loves tend to wiggle

Or have scales, tongues, or claws that impress.

The harder you work to contain him,

The more he’ll bust out of the box.

You catch him free-jumping from tables

And running about with no socks.

Being the mom of a boy

Means giving up delicate ways.

It means a collection of rocks—

Blanket forts that turn into a maze.

It's finding a snake in a quart jar;

An arsenal made out of twigs;

A love of all things fat and furry;

Random radio songs sparking jigs.

It's a hot dog found moving the dresser

That's stiff ‘cause it's been there a while—

And a hundred small things out of place

That (looking back) make you smile.

It’s pursuit of the wide open nature

To see what survives his rambunction

And taking apart mechanisms

To find out just what makes them function.

Being the mom of a boy

Means remembering dangerous stunts

And shaking your head in disbelief

That he tried ‘em more than once.

It's caring, protecting, and trying

To stay more than one step ahead,

Yet knowing that each day it's vital

To place him in God's hands instead.

It's sav’ring the hugs and the thank-you's

That say "I ‘m glad you're my mama"

And attending his sporting events—

A competitive brand of drama.

Recalling the bedtime stories

You came up with on the spot—

And all the times you consoled him

Through the sicknesses he caught.

Being the mom of a boy

Means capturing each memory you can

Because one day you'll turn, and quite suddenly

Your little boy now is a man.