REsources for Living
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Unitarian Universalist minister Bill Clark tells a story about being at the beach after a long, hard day. And by long, hard day, I mean that Bill was then doing AIDS ministry in a time and a place (Provincetown, Massachusetts) in which the people he was working with were dying on pretty much a daily basis. It hadn’t just been a long, hard day; it had been month after month of walking people through the valley of death, and Bill was exhausted and sad and wondering how he could possibly find the strength to go on.
Then, across what he thought was an empty beach, Bill heard something—a woman shouting. But it quickly became clear that she wasn’t in trouble. In fact, what she was shouting, over and over again, was “Joy! Joy!” All of a sudden, something shifted in Bill’s heart, almost a revelation. It was possible to choose joy, even in the midst of tragedy. It was possible to be so committed to joy, so overwhelmed by joy, that you would need to shout it to the very wind and waves.
Touched as he was by this stranger’s declaration of joy, Bill decided to join in. “Joy!” he called to the woman. “Joy!” he called to the seagulls. “Joy!” he cried to the sand and the sea and the invisible horizon. “JOY!!” And each time he called out, he felt his heart lifting. Each time he called out he felt more connection with this stranger, and through her to the whole world of people trying to find their own joy.
And then a damp and sandy Golden Retriever came running from behind a sand dune and dashed up to the woman. “Joy! There you are!” she said. “Time to go home.” And with that, the woman leashed up her dog Joy, and headed off.
There are a lot of reasons why I love this story, and not just because it has a dog in it. Although it’s about a kind of mistaken identity, I think it really has a lot to say about finding Joy.
For one thing, Joy doesn’t always come when it’s called. There are lots of reasons, many much smaller than Bill’s, that make us feel as if Joy has fled the scene. Illness, whether temporary or chronic; injury; lost friendships or lost loves; boring work or no work at all; teachers or bosses who don’t understand or appreciate us—the list of things that can rob us of joy is pretty much endless.
And when we’ve lost our sense of joy, it doesn’t necessarily come rushing back the instant we notice it’s gone. And it certainly doesn’t help for other people to tell us to smile, or that we should just get over whatever is bothering us, or that our problems are small compared with what Syrian refugees are facing. You can’t be bullied or argued into feeling joy, and sometimes it just doesn’t respond when you call.
But maybe calling makes a difference. Believing that Joy is out there, knowing that you want to walk together, finding a way to let Joy know that you’re available, might just eventually work. Maybe not by hollering “Joy!” at random strangers, but by remembering and turning toward the things that have given you joy in the past. You can actually make a list of ways that calling for Joy has worked for you, and just try those things.
For me, that list would have dancing and singing along with my ukulele and training my dogs and going for a walk and reading a good book and talking with friends either live or on Facebook and eating chocolate. Everyone’s list is different, but all that matters is that you know what’s on your list. And that you take the time to call out to Joy by doing some of those things. Joy doesn’t always come when you call, but it comes sooner if you let it know where to find you.
And if you can’t find Joy, you could maybe start by looking for some of its friends and relatives. For instance, Gratitude often hangs out with Joy, and if you can find your way to Gratitude you will often find Joy hanging out at the same café. Also Wonder, and Amazement. If you go out for a walk and meet up with Wonder on the trail, you will likely find that Joy appears and starts walking with you.
Surprisingly, Detachment, while not a relative of Joy, lives in the same house. You will not be able to get through the door unless you leave behind a whole bunch of expectations about how things need to be. The house of Detachment has a very narrow front entry hall, with no room to bring your baggage about how the world needs to follow your rules. But if you can leave that baggage at the doorstep, you will not only find that the house is, like Dr. Who’s Tardis, “bigger on the inside,” you might also discover that Joy is drinking tea in the kitchen.
I can’t guarantee that any of these suggestions will lead you straight to joy. There are times you might very well feel as if joy has run off entirely, and moved in with someone else. But generally speaking, if you are willing to call to Joy long enough, eventually it will show up, wet and sandy, tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth, ready to romp with you all the way home.
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