Death by Minivan. Heather Anderson Renshaw

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      It’s 7:55 in the morning. The teenager missed her ride to school because she’s having a breakdown about moisturizer and schoolwork. The six-year-old refuses to return the earbuds she swiped from the twelve-year-old, who is protesting the injustice at the top of her lungs. The preschooler woke up late, and I’m scrambling to get him and myself fed, dressed, and out the door while the nine-year-old waits impatiently in the garage, wondering what all the fuss is about.

      In this moment, I am not a happy camper. I’m muttering unrepeatable things under my breath through clenched teeth, and, if my megafrown is any indication, I have completely forgotten that—ahem—the Lord loves a cheerful giver (see 2 Cor 9:7).

      Now, we moms know perfectly well that life in the mother’hood isn’t all unicorns, rainbows, and lollipops. And it’s definitely not about perfectly behaved children or having consistent time to accomplish uninterrupted anything. Instead, it’s often about tracking down missing shoes (again), keeping toddlers from bum-rushing the altar during Mass (again), wiping up frivolous messes (again), and eradicating heinous mystery smells from the van (again). It’s about perpetual mountains of laundry, ridiculous to-do lists, and bags under our eyes that are carrying their own unchecked luggage.

      I defy anyone to feel supremely “happy” about any of the above circumstances. We give and we give, and then we give some more. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not always (ahem) cheerful about the giving.

      And yet, as Christians, we are told to view even our hardships as a reason to rejoice: “Count it all joy, my brethren, when you meet various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness” (Jas 1:2–3).

      At this point, you might be thinking, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. We don’t have enough in our checking account to cover our bills. My kids are driving me crazy. But … God wants me to … count it as … joy?

      In a word, yes. Now, stick with me here for a minute.

      As a young mom, my skin crawled whenever some well-meaning stranger observed my spirited youngsters daring to be youngster-like (usually I was running late when they decided to go full-on Lord of the Flies in the grocery store before lunchtime) and felt compelled to offer this gem: “Treasure every! single! minute!” I’d usually grimace and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from pelting the speaker with my exhaustion-fueled litany of grievances. Did she expect me to cherish every blowout diaper, each sleepless night, all ear infections and colicky episodes? How about the countless tantrums and the myriad other energy-sucking maladies of young motherhood? Happy? Happy? Joy? Joy? Give a tired mom a break.

      You and I both know that it isn’t always easy to master our feelings or conform our will to that of our heavenly Father. Our bodies are broken and poured out for our families, often multiple times a day. Yet God wants us to know that, when we rely on him as our source of strength (see Neh 8:10) rather than waiting for our circumstances to improve or our feelings to change, we will have abiding joy that the world cannot give. Even when the dinner is burning and the math homework is insanely difficult and the two youngest won’t stop touching one other.

      So … what is joy of the Holy Spirit variety, really?

       Joy isn’t a feeling—it’s a reality

      Now, this isn’t some mumbo-jumbo New Age-y concept or a pie-in-the-sky, fortune-cookie phrase. It’s Gospel truth about God’s kingdom here on earth. Remember: we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Mt 6:10). Even here on earth, Jesus wants his joy to be in us, and for our joy to be complete (see Jn 15:11).

      Yet this joy is not the same as happiness. It took me many, many years to understand this, and I know it’s a tough concept. So I repeat: joy and happiness are not one and the same. While happiness comes and goes like the wind, depending on circumstances and feelings—“I just rocked my presentation at work, and the kids aren’t biting each other’s heads off for a change. I’m so happy!”—joy is an unchangeable reality rooted in our identity as beloved daughters of the Most High God. We belong to him, and one day we hope to be with him in heaven. This is cause for tremendous, incomparable joy! And I can choose to believe and live in that reality … or not.

      Now, there’s nothing wrong with happiness—nothing at all! In fact, Jesus talks of happiness when he gives his Sermon on the Mount, specifically the passages about the beatitudes. But happiness on earth is a passing glimpse, a mere hint at the joy that’s omnipresent in the kingdom of God.

      Ultimately, we can rest in the knowledge that true joy comes from our relationship with a God who loves us beyond our wildest imaginings—that he died and rose so that we can be with him forever in heaven, where everything will be even more amazing than unicorns, rainbows, and lollipops. Our ultimate desire isn’t for joy—it’s for God.

      Have you ever wondered how it was possible for so many early Christian martyrs to be unafraid—joyful, even—as they were led to their executions? Because they knew that this earth was not their home. Their real home was with God in heaven, and they were going there soon to be with him forever, so they sang psalms and hymns before the ax struck or the fire burned or the lions pounced.

      Not too long ago, our family was afflicted with not one, but two separate flu strains. One kid went down, then the next, and the next. The first kid would begin to recover, only to be knocked back down by the strain that had struck a different kid. And to top it off, a sizable army of invincible ants descended upon our house at the same time. It was a nightmare of near plagues-in-Egypt proportions. Eventually, I was afflicted with a wretched, mutant version of the kids’ illnesses and found myself completely down for the count. There was painful coughing, stuffiness, nausea, dizziness, headache, persistent fever, and mucus. So much mucus!

      Maybe it was the fever, but after the second day of feeling completely useless, I made a decision: I was going to try to squeeze some joy out of this horrid situation even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. I remembered the words of Job 1:21 and made them my own: “The LORD gave me health, and the LORD has taken my health away—blessed be the Name of the LORD.” With my scratchy, stuffy, weakened voice, I sang a praise and worship song that brought a smile to my face. Yes, I felt like death warmed over, and, yes, it wasn’t my best smile ever, but I did smile. Because it all reminded me of the truth: God was still good. He was still in control of the world and my life. He still wanted me to be with him forever in heaven, just maybe not quite yet. And there was nothing the circumstances of my flu-ravaged body could do to change that unchangeable, immeasurably joy-filled truth.

       If the joy of the Lord is your strength, don’t forget to tell your face

      In my many years as a liturgical musician and, more recently, speaking around the country, I’ve had the tremendous privilege of sharing with God’s beloved children, many of whom sit quietly in the pews sporting their very best sour-pickle face. Now, these poor folks look like someone just canceled their birthday. СКАЧАТЬ