Pure Joy
"Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy." 1 Peter 1:8
This morning I had a long list of things to do. The house needed cleaning and our refrigerator was almost empty. I felt weighed down. I had been awake since four o'clock, wondering how we would take care of several things, turning them over and over in my mind and finding no immediate solution.
It used to be that when I felt that kind of anxiety grip my stomach, I would throw myself into everything, trying to make all the pieces fit. By the time my husband would come home from work, I would be as crazy
as a starved pit bull.
Not anymore. Now I run away. "OK, Bentley, we're out of here."
I pick up my golden retriever's leash and head for the car. His tail wags with wild abandon. I open the passenger door for him, and he jumps in. He takes his usual place, sitting upright with his nose against the side window. As we get closer to the beach, I roll down his window so he can enjoy the fresh sea air and say hi to every passerby.
This being a weekday, I am able to find a parking spot close to the ocean. I take a deep breath of the salty air, cool for California. I stop to pick up a cup of coffee and fill B's bowl with water and then we head for the boardwalk. The surf is high and two young men in wet suits ride the waves with the passion of rodeo cowboys. I can see the outline of the island of Catalina like a cutout from a magazine pasted to the sky. An old man stops to talk to us, "Fine-looking dog you have!"
"Thanks," I reply. "His name is Bentley."
"Well, hi there, Wesley," he says.
Bentley licks his hand, prepared to let the name thing go.
"Used to have one of these myself," the man continues. "You get a lot of love from a dog. I had a cat first, but she was very stuck on herself."
I smiled in agreement, thinking of my cat Abigail, who is indeed very stuck on herself.
"Saw a poster one day," he continues. "Picture of a big ol' ginger cat saying, 'If you want a friend, buddy, buy a dog.' So I did!" He walks away, laughing at his own joke. I wrap him in a prayer as I watch him shuffle down the boardwalk.
A toddler points to Bentley, and his mother brings him over to pat the dog's head. I hold B's collar. He is still a puppy, but at 62 pounds his enthusiasm could bowl a boy over. "What a beautiful little boy," I say to the woman.
"Thank you. We think so, too," she says with a warm smile. "We almost lost him when he was born. He is our little miracle." The little miracle sees a bird on the sand and is off for his next adventure.
I watch two children build a castle and think back to my childhood in Scotland. My brother, Stephen, and I used to build formidable forts and castles with intricate turrets and moats. I would decorate the walls with seashells, but of course our work of art was always gone the next morning. I would cry out in disappointment, seeing the little pile of shells alone on the sand. And then we would start all over again.
As I said, this morning I was running away. When life seems overwhelming, I've learned to take myself out of the situation, go to the ocean, and let God touch me. I don't take my list and pray over every item; I let God find me through old men and children and a waggy-tailed dog.
When I sit in despair at home, all I can see is myself and all the things that I need to do. When I weave myself into the tapestry of my town, I feel my selfish focus drift away. Sitting on the boardwalk, I think about the old man and wonder if he is alone. I make a mental note to look for him next time I am here. I think about that precious child gifted back to heartsick parents and pray that he will find his home in Christ at an early age. I consider the bird that evaded his sticky little hands; God knows its flight.
I feel the companionship of Jesus. It's as if we are both smiling at the wonder and beauty of his work. I take a deep breath of the salty air. I know that my list still exists, but sitting here side by side with the Lord, I remember more important things. I remember his love, his grace, his timing.
Down on the sand the little boy runs to catch another bird and falls flat on his face. He is laughing, his mother is laughing, the bird is laughing, and so are my soul companion and I. I take another breath of the ocean spray. Joy is a gift.
In moments like these, as I watch the parade of life before my eyes, the emotion that sweeps over me goes far beyond happiness. It is pure joy. When you welcome God's companionship in the darkest hours of your life, when you keep on walking by faith on the darker parts of the path, you are gifted with moments of wonderful elation -- as if you are joining with heaven in a celebration that is a tiny shadow of what it will be like when we get home. The closer we push into the heart of God, the more we are swept away by the joy that is his breath and life and gift to us all.
Singing through the roaring ocean,
dancing on the crested waves,
all creation joins in telling
heaven's never-ending grace.
Sunshine spills across the water.
Seagulls rise on summer air.
Lord of Glory,
This your story
told to all who gather here.
Originally published October 03, 2001.
