Count It All Joy
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness”
~ James 1:2-3 (ESV)
Can the bittersweet feelings also be joy? Grief mixed with the sweetness of deep love. Loss mixed with surrender and the noticing that we wouldn’t trade any of it for the dullness of not having gotten to experience what we did. Isn’t that richness a call inward, toward joy, too?
What about an honest rage that connects us with the voices and the pain of our brothers and sisters and calls us to lend a hand, to be some part of a new day and a new possibility?
Or a rage that teaches us to set a new boundary, to stand and square our shoulders–to stand for our truth and for our freedom after we’ve been huddled in a dark corner for too long. Walking into the light is joy!
When I do my little dancing practice each day, I dance for all of it. The half-starts and the false starts. The confusion and bewilderment. Everything that seemed messy and imperfect, yet was somehow perfect anyway. I dance for the fact that I am always exactly where I need to be. Even if I’m resisting. Even if I don’t understand it. I dance for the fact that I can dance myself into surrender now. I can choose it. I dance for the tenderness of Life and how grateful I am for it.
I dance for the joy that presents itself as Beauty. Sunlight on the leaves of trees and glinting off water. A fresh breeze. Time spent in the morning having conversation with my husband while he cooks our breakfast. The taste of my coffee. An evening stroll in the cool air. A roof over my head. A bed to sleep in. And change–not knowing what any of it may look like in a day, or a month or a year. I dance to celebrate that although there are times I feel restless and uncertain, I hardly ever feel bored.
There is a part of me that would love to be still wilder, still more courageous and trusting of Life. Less scattered. Less “in my head” about things.
And I realize that I already see what that requires: Tuning in to Silence, Listening, faith in the Guidance some Knowing in me already knows is right there. Somehow I’ve allowed it to be sabotaged or sidelined over and over again with mental games. The Gentle One smiles softly at how silly “she”, “the one who temporarily gets sucked into separateness and lack” is. And who is “she”? Where is she? She disappears in the very looking.
Meanwhile, the dancing and the mystery are joy. The seeking and the finding are joy. Getting lost in the questions is joy, as is settling into the quiet answers. Coming Home. Just breathing. Being exactly as I am.