The Song of Joy

I was standing in Sam’s Club at the counter in the Tire Department. It was the day after Christmas and I was tired. All of my children were sitting in my husband’s truck ready and eager for the Christmas celebration with their grandmother. We were an hour late and we were hungry. We were standing there with the tire we had purchased three months prior–the tire that was now flat. I had called before we drove up there in our one remaining vehicle to ensure we could get it fixed. You see, our two other vehicles are broken down and have been for several weeks(another story for another day). I had been running a quick errand when we inadvertently ran over a strip of roofing nails. The tire was ruined. Thank goodness my husband thought enough to keep a spare handy.

It was about 5:00pm and the woman behind the counter was flustered. She was helping the customer in front of me and taking a very long time doing so. In between friendly gesticulations to her, she would shout at the long line of customers(myself included), “We close at 7:00pm! I can’t take any more vehicles tonight because I want to leave at 7:00pm.” I looked over at my husband and he at me. The ridiculousness of our situation was maddening. We just wanted to drop the tire off and be one our way. Instead, we were standing in line listening to a crabby, underpaid Sam’s Club employee refuse to take care of us. And she was adamant about it. She proceeded to start doing paperwork and even went so far as to call other customers on the telephone. She insisted on acting as if we weren’t present at all. But I continued to wait. Because I was darn well going to leave my tire there(because I bought it there) and she was darn well going to help me. I am certain my face was pinched. My husband was one pulsing vein away from a brain aneurysm. But we stood our ground and refused to be turned away.

And then suddenly the woman behind me said, “Hey, are you Margaret?” And I turned to see an old friend from Ferguson, a woman I used to chat with frequently and who knew me before I began my journey to live a healthy lifestyle. She began to say all manner of nice things to me, including that she loved reading my column, Ferguson by Foot. And I was instantly grateful that I hadn’t made a scene by poking the Sam’s Club employee in the eye or cursing her cat, or stomping like Rumpelstiltskin. And so we stood there and had a nice little chat about Ferguson and neighbors we loved and lost. And finally the woman behind the counter decided she did indeed have time to take care of us. I said goodbye to my friend and we began the trip back to Ferguson to see family.

Let me start by saying I don’t believe in bad luck. AND! A lot of stuff has broken down on me this year. Between laptops, phones, cars and tantruming children, I have every reason to dance the “poor, poor pitiful me” jig. On top of that, we have seen my niece robbed and run over with a car, my grandmother break her leg and spend time in rehab, and numerous friends receive a diagnosis of cancer. It is not without a sense of irony that I watch as people grieve the death of celebrities. And then I stop and reflect that I too have every reason to be “done” with 2016. But, as I told my friend in line at the Sam’s Club Tire Department, “I still have joy.” And that means that regardless of my circumstances, I can celebrate.

How, you might ask, is that even possible?

If you read this blog regularly you might know where I’m going with this…

But it’s because of Jesus. I truly delight in Jesus. When I rest fully in Him, I experience joy and peace that have no measure. He is the greatest gift of all. And so when all of the circumstances in my life lead me to misfortune(broken cars) and illness(cancers), I look to him and I smile. Because He has been with me all along. He has never left my side. He is a faithful friend indeed.

Today we are celebrating the end of 2016. In the middle of our family celebrations I received some news that cut straight to my heart. Little do people sometimes understand how deeply words can wound or how desolate the word-hearer can become after the word bomb has exploded. And there was literally nothing I could say in return. So I just sat there. And I sobbed internally. And then I prayed. In distress and in sorrow, I can call out to my Heavenly Father for help. And this matters. It is important. Because God is not a figment of my imagination. He is not an imaginary friend. He is real and He is absolutely present in my life. He hears my cries for help and He answers me. And no one and no thing can ever steal Him away. I am His and He is mine. And that means joy is always an option. I can have have joy always–even when the worst news comes, even when all the vehicles break down, even when my heart is broken. Because God is the source of all joy. I am His child, He gives it to me freely so I am never in need of it.

Some years back I was grieving a particularly difficult period in my life. The desolation was so complete I could do little other than sit in my house and cry. One day as I lay in bed, I heard a bird singing. I looked out of the front window to find the source of the song. It was the dead of winter. Cold, gray clouds swam by overhead and even the thermometer shivered. And there I was, listening to this strange, happy song. I was surprised when I found the source: a little Carolina Wren. It was pecking through the woodpile on my front porch and singing intermittently. I sat and watched it for a long time and marveled. Now every time I see a wren I am reminded that we all have a choice. We can sigh or we can sing. Today, I choose to sing.