Do you feel like you are always failing?
This is where we often find ourselves at this time of year. We had great aspirations, wonderful intentions. But by the end of winter, hope has dimmed and the daily challenge of doing all the things supercedes any grand vision we may have had back when the year was new.
Just after the New Year, I had committed to myself and to you to begin searching for joy. I was going to look and unearth the beauty of everyday life in the midst of chronic pain, mounting depression, and the grief of having lost my sister. I heard from so many of you, especially in February, that you wanted to connect and come search with me. It had to be the right thing to do. If I opened my eyes like I had in the past, I would be able to share insights with others and be an encouragement.
But my determination flagged in the darkness of illness and sorrow. I flailed, I floundered. My mind kept recalling Bible passages on joy . . . Wasn’t I supposed to consider facing trials “pure joy”? (see James 1:2) I felt a sense of loss and as though I was failing you. I saw that others were struggling as well. The search was hard. I felt like giving up. Have you felt this way, too?
Pause if you must, but decide to find a new way
In the past, I would have dismissed my pain, my sorrow and made myself try harder. Instead, I let go. I took a deep breath. I realized with the help of some friends that in the dark night of hardship joy, like the sunrise, can be a long time coming.
I have a couple of friends a bit further in their grief journey than I am. We have each experienced different losses, but their wisdom and prayers have been a lifeline to me. In essence, they shared that healing is not a destination, it is a journey. And knowing that my journey includes the battle against chronic debilitating migraines, I must take care. This is not something I can conquer or a task I should force myself to do. It is a decision to discover that the story of our lives includes pain and loss. As I paused in my search, I discussed my frustration and my fear of failure. What one friend said to me was beautiful. She asked me to consider if perhaps joy was the outcome of going through a trial, not always what one experienced in the midst of the trial.
I thought about this for a long while. In America, we have a phrase, we “chew” on a thought. For days, I kept returning to this thought. What if joy is a seed we plant during painful seasons to be harvested later?
What if success looks strange?
Deciding to look at joy as something that I can’t perceive yet is changing everything. It looks different than I imagined. It is the hard work of waking and getting up in the morning knowing there will be
And what I have is an odd sense of humor about life in general.
I have often remarked that people who have been through hard things are a bit peculiar, slightly “off.” This has brought a great deal of laughter back into our home. We remember aloud the funny things my sister used to say to us. Before you think us heartless, my sister had a brain injury that caused her to be literal and made her already sharp wit a bit sharper. My children and I have also been laughing at how migraines and depression have caused us to live “dark” lives. We look for ways to make each other laugh and that does bring joy.
Thriving instead of merely surviving
Many of us had great intentions at the beginning of the year, but the first quarter is nearly gone. We needn’t panic, though, because our best ideas often need tweaking. What if we take the rest of this month and reassess what we have been learning? What if we collaborate with one another and recognize what our struggles could be growing in us? Perhaps if we do so, we can leave behind survival mode.
I will continue sharing #searchingforjoy across social media. Please join the search as we work together to plant these seeds.
Photo Credit: Volkan Omez, Imani Clovis, and Paz Arando on Unsplash
Graphic Design: JacQueline Vaughn Roe
Special thank you to Sheryl Chan for the chance to link-up with others suffering from chronic illness.
