No matter what your circumstances may be, you can find Joy in My presence. On some days Joy is generously strewn along your life-path… other days are overcast and gloomy… yet Joy is still attainable. Search for it as for hidden treasure
Begin by remembering that I have created this day; it is not a chance occurrence. Recall that I am present with you… then, start talking with Me. Awareness of My marvelous Companionship can infuse Joy into the grayest day.
Psalm 21:6; Proverbs 2:4
Daily devotional excerpt from Jesus Calling by Sarah Young.
This devotional by Sarah Young reminds me that joy is possible even if most days feel gloomy. The heart is open to receive . . . and my mind went back to a previous creation below. Read it for the first time or reread it again. Not because of something I have done, but because of what God wants to do. It may take lots of time, but He’s always patient. Eventually we will embrace the hope and feel the joy sprinkled along our journey.
* * *
“The Downton Abbey characters are probably accurately portraying the English in the early 1920’s with their habit of holding emotions inside. I have grown quite fond of the Crowley family, currently preparing their 4th season. Quite long enough to have grown attached to each member of the family. I could not even turn away as the youngest daughter slipped away due to eclampsia after giving birth to a baby girl. They should have hired me to shed some tears for each of their shocked and stoic faces. I had plenty. I became an embarrassing puddle for the one watching with me. (who can understand the ways of a woman, right?) But seriously, the director should keep a an eye dropper of water handy to use at such moments to at least give evidence that the English have tear ducts.
Of course this tapped into a sordid supply of feelings long since spent and yet as current as yesterday. We dine on sitcoms and reject reality. We feast on reality shows and create a famine for truth. I don’t get it. Just consider this a lamenting drivel of pointless thought about life and the constant quest to understand the cruelty of death; the robber that keeps the need for head stones in old, ordinary church yards long overdue for a gardener’s touch or hugging the ground in the pristine garden green that from a distance looks like a lovely place to build a home, but it’s not.
Strange. Time has helped me get used to living without my first child. Tears don’t pour down my face as often now. But the deep pain is always within arm’s reach, intending to reel me back in when I least expect it. As many words as I have poured unto paper which filled a book, one would think there would be nothing left to say. But my words are not your words. Your words are not my words. Today’s words are not tomorrow’s words. There are always more. The depth of one’s heart cannot be measured. Perhaps it has no bottom, but it has stairs ~ a winding circular staircase edged with railings carved by nail-scared hands. The railings are smooth to my touch. It is dark as I enter my heart. My eyes are blurry so I grip the railings for support. Perhaps they were carved by one who has an intimate relationship with wood for they are silky smooth.
I wipe my eyes, trying to see. I hear the rhythmic beat of my blood pumping soft and steady. It’s reassuring. I sit down on a step to rest. As my eyes adjust to the darkness I realize I’m not alone. He’s there, sitting beside me. I’m not startled by his presence, but drawn to snuggle next to him. We are quiet. Neither of us speaks. In the soft light I can see further down where I came before to sit and weep and think. He came then too. I remember he held me close as I cried. Per usual I had no tissue with which to blow my nose. He smiled and offered the edge of his wide sleeve. I smiled at the prospect of blowing on pure whiteness, but one does what one must at such times. I blew on the soft linen of his sleeve. He put His other arm around me, saying softly, “Don’t worry. It will dry. I have plenty more where it came from.”
I wasn’t sure how long I wanted to stay. These visits, working down into the unknown depth of my shattered heart, are painful and make me deeply sad as I remember the sweetness that once rested on my heart . . . listening to it’s comforting, steady beat while floating in a warm bath inside my tummy. That was the beginning for a child loved since conception and God had already loved and longed for his arrival throughout the ages . . . long before the short years we had together . . . which ended way too soon.
It doesn’t feel like I need to explore deeper this night. He understands and draws me to his breast for one more reassuring hug. We stand together for a moment longer before I retrace my steps. The curved stairway disappears from view and my touch. Perhaps next time we will meet here again and arm in arm, descend a few more steps into the chambers of my broken, but mending heart.”
The Lord is my Strength and my [impenetrable] Shield; my heart trusts in, relies on, and confidently leans on Him, and I am helped; therefore my heart greatly rejoices, and with my song will I praise Him. Psalm 28:7, amp