A Quiet Truth

And a Defiant Pursuit of Joy

I walk with an invisible limp. Perhaps you do too.

Like Jacob, I have wrestled with God (Genesis 32:24-32). I have stumbled through dark seasons, struggled with questions, and wondered at answers.

But I have never stopped talking to God.

I have poured out my heart to him, time and again, lamenting what rightfully needed to be lamented, and through it all, God heard me. He never let me go. He stayed with me in the dark.

But I still walk with an invisible limp. You cannot see it. On the outside, I walk just fine, but I carry inside me all the memories of every fire I have walked through. I also carry with me the memories of those times when God’s presence was palpable, so whenever my hope and joy start to falter, my faith remains in a God who promises to be near (Psalm 34:18).

I began this year by sharing how I wanted to grow in joy. While some pick a “word of the year,” I like to pick a “fruit of the year.” And this year, I purposed to grow in joy.

In the summer, around the halfway point in the year, I thought about writing a piece called “Checking in on Joy” — like a mid-year checkup. Then the floods swept through Texas, taking the lives of little girls and so many others. Then more children were killed while praying at mass. Then right here in Charlotte, a young Ukrainian refugee was murdered on a train.

So, I quietly put away joy, like a letter once started, but then folded and tucked into a drawer and never finished.

As I’ve said before, sometimes joy seems more like a cruel taunt than an actual possibility. And the wrestling with God continues. But my wrestling is of a different sort. I don’t wrestle with whether God is real. That was settled in my soul a long time ago. I don’t even wrestle, as much, with whether God is good. I trust he is good, even when circumstances don’t seem to show it.

These days, if I wrestle at all, it’s more about whether God is going to act or not. Is he going to intervene in a particular situation that presses deep?

One never really knows. His thoughts and ways are so much higher than ours (Isaiah 55:8-9).

This past Sunday, many churches lit the third Advent candle — the candle of joy — as we remember the Joy that came to the world as a helpless baby wrapped in simple cloths and laid in a manger. While singing “Joy to the World,” I thought perhaps it might be time to pick up the pen on the theme of joy again. Then the headlines continued this week with more death and sorrow on beaches and campuses and even in Hollywood mansions. It’s like a never-ending merry-go-round that is anything but merry.

How can one write about joy in such circumstances?

Then I remembered a quiet truth, nestled in handwritten pages long ago — that true joy isn’t found in the here-and-now, but in the future-when. Real joy looks not to the past or to the present, but to that future day when Christ returns. Joy is anchored in the promise that God not only came once, but he will come again. Until that day, we can wrestle and lament and grieve, while still holding onto God’s promises that this long dark night will one day turn to morning.

And while we wait . . .

We can pray. We can light a candle. We can remember. We can read again the words of promise. We can hold our loved ones close. And we can keep our eyes on the horizon, knowing that Joy personified is coming again in glory, and he will wipe away every tear and restore every lost hope and fill us with his peace (Revelation 21:3-5). This is our defiant pursuit of Joy, knowing he pursued us first.

Shalom.

Denise

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A Few Notes…

*For more on Advent and this strange mingling of grief and joy, please read “Some Non-Googled Thoughts About Joy” by Thomas Allbaugh.

*While Waiting for Morning: An Invitation to Pray is available. If you’re like me and you prefer to hold a printed book in your hands, you can pick up a copy at Barnes and Noble or Amazon.

*Thank you for your vote of confidence when you tap on the “heart” at the top of each post. And, as always, you are welcome to share these words with a friend.

*And lastly, no part of this newsletter — nor anything I have ever published — has been made with Artificial Intelligence (AI) or ghostwriters. All of my words, including any accidental typos, are my own, except for when I quote others with appropriate citations and links.