The Fight For Joy

JoyMy broken yesterday bleeds into my today.

Hemorrhages, really.

Heat pump stopped pumping in the +90° heat. I know that won’t be a cheap fix.  Car won’t start at the kids’ college campus parking lot.  I’m the one with the AAA card, so I’m the one that had to wait for the tow truck driver.  It was at night and he didn’t come for 3 hours. Voluntarily, these add themselves to the “discouragement” list I claim to not have.

“In all things, give thanks . . .”

I spend a good hour of the wait crying—feeling sad and sorry for myself.  Then mad for feeling what I feel. Round robin around Robin.

Some days—weeks even—this lump in my throat is permanent. So quick to rise and stay stuck.

I want joy.

I want to choose joy.

I want to live in joy and never lose my grasp of it.

If joy is of the Spirit and the Spirit dwells within me—isn’t joy a given? Then why won’t it make itself known? Shown? Why does it take such effort?

Jesus was always beautiful, never ugly. How I want to never be ugly!

Ugly still seems to seep from my seams.

The kids laugh and play—loudly. They are supposed to be doing their lessons. I hold back the seething while simultaneously wonder why their joy bothers me so much. Is it simply because they aren’t reading, writing, and arithmeticing? Or, more likely, is it because their abundance mocks my lack?

Yeah—it’s an ugly truth. I’m jealous of their joy!

Some days I have to really fight for it. But if I don’t, I lose. And it’s not just me that loses—but those around me.

Joy fills.

“Fill my cup, Lord. I lift it up, Lord. Come and quench this thirsting of my soul. Bread of heaven fill me ‘til I want no more. Fill my cup—fill it up and make me whole.”


How do you fight for joy?  What fills you up?  Anyone else with that incognito “discouragement” list?




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