It is a beautiful thing to look
back and see that what has changed your life is not experiences, but rather,
people. Seemingly random, much of the time. Like God handpicked me and another
person out of all possible corners of the earth, had us share the same piece of
ground, and already knew what glorious things would spring up from that
communion.
I want to
tell you about one of those people.Kaetlyn and I met the first day of camp. She sassed me with a smile, and I wondered how I could be so intimidated by someone four years younger than myself. Regardless, the entire camp loved her, and I was struck by how she carried herself, and how well she loved on others.
On Monday,
we were put into groups to begin work on a collaborative project. Having done
the “Fab Collab” four years in a row, I knew how stressful and painful it was
by nature. Throwing wildly (and diversely!) talented kids into a group to
create one product spells death to an
artist. The camp director always says that if there are not tears about the
Collab by Wednesday, something’s wrong.
Kaetlyn was
in my group, and immediately took on a leadership role. When frustrations
arose, for some reason that can only be explained by the divine work of God,
she sought me out. And we clicked.
Something switched in my brain, and in a heartbeat little Ms. Kaetlyn
transformed in my brain from an intimidation factor to a friend.
Picture the most joyous person you’ve ever met. Visualizing someone in your mind? Now. Multiply that image by one million smiles and miles upon miles of joy and you have Kaetlyn. She was spunky and sassy, true, but only out of pure love and joy for the people and the world around her. I admired her spirit, and was excited to see her artistic gifts.
On Thursday
night, Kaetlyn stood up during Open Mic to share a book she had written for
school. I shifted in my seat in the back, excited to hear whatever work my
young friend had created. I did not expect what came next.
Kaetlyn
started talking, eyes glued to the pages, voice unwavering as she read about
how her dad left when she was three years old. Home became a struggle,
especially when Kaetlyn’s mom fell into deep depression. Eighth grade rolled
around, and Kaetlyn was ready to start the day at school. Her mom had already
left for work, and Kaetlyn opened her backpack, and saw a wad of cash, a debit
card, and a credit card sitting on top. It seemed out of place, but she
continued to school like any normal day. During school, Kaetlyn was called to
the main office, and saw the look on the principal’s face. Her mother had
committed suicide, he told her. Kaetlyn went to live with her youth leader and
his wife, who she refers to as her family. She bravely finished the end of her
story, still even-voiced and dried-eyed.
I wept.
The minute
Kaetlyn mentioned the backpack, I knew where the story was going. My hand flew
to my mouth, and I spent the next half hour trying to hold back my tears, to no
avail. My Kaetlyn had broken me. I have done my fair share of grieving, but I
have never grieved that hard for someone else. My soul felt shattered, and I
tried to make sense of the horrendous things this high school sophomore had
gone through.
Most of
all, I tried to make sense of Kaetlyn’s joy.
I wept,
because never in my life had I seen the truth of the Gospel illustrated so
clearly as I did now, written across the face of a fifteen year old girl.
Kaetlyn is not a little girl, but something in her has held on to that childlike faith that Jesus so desperately wanted his disciples to understand. I saw Kaetlyn at some of her breaking points at camp, and I can safely say that she is not always happy. But her unhappiness never veils her joy. Regardless of what the thesaurus may say, happiness and joy are not synonyms. Happiness is temporal, something that feels excellent, but is self-sustaining. Eventually, the self tires, and the happiness runs out. That’s where the beauty of joy lies. The beauty of joy is that it is fueled by an eternal source.
One of my favorite pieces of music is the little tune sung by Christian preschoolers all over America: “I’ve got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart…” However, I like the version by Page CXVI, a Christian band who specializes in revamping hymns. The music video opens with one woman sitting at a piano as she begins to play a series of mournful chords. Her voice warbles “I’ve got the joy joy joy joy…” as she pours her soul out through her lips, the tune full of mourning and sorrow and anguish. I was initially turned-off by the heaviness this version of such a cute little song carried. What I didn’t know was that the woman had created "Joy" the night her dad died from cancer. I shared in this woman’s grief in a very personal way, and I listened to the song again, the haunting tune seeping into my heart, hearing that unmistakable unearthly joy.
“…Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning” –Psalm 30:5. I’d like to think the psalmist also wanted to write, “Joy comes in the mourning.” Mourning? Joy? The seemingly oxymoronic nature of these two words is evident. Because people go through mourning without joy every day. And it is exactly what it is suppoed to sound like: a dark pit of despair.
But I can’t
imagine mourning without joy. I hear it in Page CXVI’s song, I hear it in
Kaetlyn’s book, I live it in the daily routine of my family. And in every case,
it is because of Jesus. The Bible overflows with truth about joy in trial.
James 1, 1 Peter 1, Psalm 27, the list is practically inexhaustible. The entire
life of Paul is a testament to the idea of joy in mourning. If there isn’t a
greater proof of the existence of God than joy in mourning, I don’t know what
is.
By Wednesday of camp, before I had heard Kaetlyn speak, I was still resistant to being dragged down to talk about my sorrows, again. While I was a camper at Masterpiece, I spent years processing my grief, and I was ready for a happy theme. But during personal time with God that morning, I was encouraged to be quiet and open to hearing from God. As I baked under the Kentucky sun, I silenced my mind long enough to hear the words “Be still, and know that I am God” ringing through my head. I did have sorrow, regardless of how much personal grief I was processing at the time. I hurt for the world around me, pained by the news stories of blood and cries that keep me up at night.
“Be still, and know that I am God”
Very rarely have I taken that command seriously. How often
am I truly still? But when I was quiet in that moment, I understood. Through
sorrow, through pain, God is still God. That is something I had forgotten, and
makes all the difference in the midst of grief. For it does not fill you with
an immediately dose of happiness, but it moves you towards joy.
My Kaetlyn is a special lady. I love her dearly, and I marvel at the fact that God taught me so much about Himself through a young girl I had only known for four days. She has joy, she gets it, and it is a truly overflowing thing.
So I
conclude with one question: Are you taking the time to know who God is? If the
answer is no, you’re not taking the time to know joy.
Clothed
What does it look like
To be clothed with
joy?
It is a process?
A product?
A product?
A Prayer?
I’ll tell you what it isn’t
It’s not a shotgun wedding happiness
A piercing, screeching sudden smile
In a heavy stream of pain.
The famous line “God has a plan…
…right?”
Being clothed with joy is choosing to see God
For who He is.
Learning to finish your sentences.
Move them from
“I want”
“God, please”
to the final clause:
“…but if not, He is still good.”
Do I get that?
Do I believe
That sorrow’s flower does not bloom from my state of mind
But from God’s state of being?
Why do I doubt when the very name of God is
Counselor
Comforter
Friend.
The morning brings joy
But so does the mourning.
