There are things in life that I think will make me joyful but don't. I also think I confuse happiness and joy. Joyful people are happy but not all happy people are joyful. I've been told joy is a state of being rather than a fleeting emotion and it was hard for me to understand this but once I saw it, I could experience it.
I remember riding a train into Paris, France having a conversation with Noah and noticing there was a lot of graffiti. The best part of traveling is realizing how naive you are. I thought Paris was this perfect city filled with beautiful sights, fame, and lots of tourists. And it is but it's also filled with the same stuff you can find right here in Albuquerque. Every city is someone's home and in every city, life happens. Graffiti happens. People like to litter, whether you're the home of the Isotopes or the Mona Lisa, it won't change the way people flick cigarette butts or gum wrappers.
Ever since that trip to Europe, I try to look at each city remembering that no matter what, people do people things in it. One of those "people doing people things" moments was when I was in Chicago. We were at Buckingham Fountain surrounded by this magnificent city. There was a man with two long poles and a bucket surrounded by children. He was dipping these poles into the bucket and letting the wind make these giant bubbles. The children were going crazy over them. They were by a $750,000 water show but they paid no attention to it and couldn't stop smiling at these bubbles that probably cost no more than $10. My mind wanders and I wonder what brought these kids here. Did their parents bring them here? Do they have both their mom and dad? And what about the man making bubbles? What is it in his life that motivates him to take time out of his life to make bubbles for kids for free? Where's his family? Does he do this for his grand kids? Does he have grand kids to make bubbles for? Based on my imperfect life, I'm imagining the kids' and this man's life aren't perfect either. That the bubble man has had plenty of bad days in his time and the kids will have their fair share soon enough. But in that moment, on that day, they chose to be happy. And I think that's joy. There's freedom in choosing to be happy, and that freedom leads to joy. Despite everything that could be bad in their lives, they chose to be happy and content playing with bubbles.
"For instance, I used to think that paired opposites were a given, that love was the opposite of hate, right the opposite of wrong. But now I think we sometimes buy into these concepts because it is so much easier to embrace absolutes than suffer reality. I don't think anything is the opposite of love. Reality is unforgiving complex."
Life isn't black and white. It's every shade in between black and white. I don't think anything is the opposite of love either and I think you can be happy and sad at the same time but still be able to choose joy in the midst of it all. There's so much life to be lived in the gray areas of life because shades and shadows give life dimension, it makes things come to life.
My non-English speaking grandpa always seemed happy, no matter what. I remember hearing the story how he lost half his finger. He was working on a lawn mower while it was still on and lost most of his index finger and split his middle one. He drove himself to the hospital and afterwards stopped to get lotto tickets on the way home. He didn't let a few stitches change his daily life or the chances of him winning the jackpot. He never struck it rich but that didn't affect him either. Black says when you lose a digit you should be upset or maybe pissed off. White says you don't need that finger, you have nine more. But the grey says life would be easier with ten fingers but you can choose to make the best of what you have. It's looking at life honestly and choosing to be happy.
Life would have been easier if my grandpa and I spoke the same language but we enjoyed each other's company anyways. It's almost better this way. Like Paris having graffiti. I think it makes this city more beautiful, it makes it real. There is no perfect and I can't always be happy just like the cities I want to visit won't be perfect. I shouldn't be surprised when places like Venice and Paris have vandalism or trash in their streets because they aren't immune to the impact humans have. I shouldn't be surprised when bad things happen in my life and that I'm not happy all the time.
I guess what I'm saying is joy is a choice. We have the choice to let Jesus into our lives. We have the choice to walk in the Spirit and we have the choice to be joyful.
in His grip,