If You’re Scrounging for Joy

I was out with a friend, riding along in her parents’ 1980ish Chevrolet Caprice. She turned into my neighborhood and parked along the edge of the driveway, the ol’ car straddling the road and a shallow ditch. As I pulled the handle to open the heavy door, I heard a faint ‘ding,’ and quickly realized my new ring had fallen off my finger. Moving to my knees, I quietly scolded myself for being careless and muttered a hasty prayer as I began to search. 

The delicate 10K gold ring was a rare gift to myself, a tangible reminder of my recent trip to Venezuela, where the price of gold was more budget-friendly for a recent high school grad saving for college. Days before, The Ring had survived a wild van ride through the streets of Caracas, airport chaos and delays, luggage shuffling, a bumpy three hour flight to the States, and a long bus ride home from Miami. Days later, the simple act of getting out of a car had sent it flying. 

I frantically lifted floor mats, pulled the front seat apart, and explored every compartment. When that proved futile, I moved to the grass, raking my fingers through each blade, working in tiny sections, inching carefully along the dip in the yard, hoping to catch a glint of gold in the bright green. 

Even after sunset, Florida’s relentless June heat nudged me along, sweat dripping from my temples, mascara running, my shirt officially soaked. Itchy red bumps covered my ankles, thanks to the quiet work of hungry mosquitoes. I didn’t care. I was desperate to find that uniquely crafted snake ring that held such fond memories of the delightful South American women with whom I had connected across the ocean.  

Thirty minutes passed and The Ring eluded me. Panic faded to discouragement and eventually, resignation. After an hour of searching with the sun tucked in for the night, I quit. It was not to be found. 

Twenty-six years have passed since that night of the unforgettable ‘ding.’ I’ve wondered at times whether extending my search another hour would have led to The Ring’s discovery. 

Would I have found it if I’d borrowed a metal detector? 

Or if I’d rounded up a small search party? 

Did it find its place on another hand? 

I don’t know. 

Many of you are looking for joy like I looked for The Ring. Bruised knees on the ground, you beg the heavens while you claw at the earth, desperate to discover what the well-intentioned assure you is the answer to a simple request. 

“Choose joy,” they say, like it’s a spice in the cupboard to retrieve, a switch to flip in the mind, a quick turnaround when you’ve gone one exit too far. I’m not convinced joy is meant to be be found in a simple command or stroke of luck or desperate plea. 

In your days of exhaustion and overwhelm however, joy may feel less like the result of an easy choice and more like the pursuit of a rare gem hidden in thick blades of grass, daring to be found. You cry and beg and scrounge, only to return to the same place over and over again, your fingertips raw with hope that somehow, this time will be different.   

Losing The Ring as an 18-year old was incredibly frustrating and sad but, unlike a treasured piece of jewelry, joy is never lost. As a beloved child of God, you possess joy because the Spirit of God is within you. Joy exists as a fruit of that same Spirit and like anything with a root, joy is cultivated through receptive soil, intentional care, time, pest prevention, and a blend of sunshine and storms–an evolving Divine process unique to your needs, personality, and circumstances.   

So, may you refuse the prosperity gospel that insists joy is a simple choice (usually for the privileged or those wading in toxic theology). May you also refuse the pessimism that tells you joy is dependent on your desperate prayers, your relentless pursuit, your anxious energy. 

The truth is that the Spirit of God, who dwells within you, promises to help you grow the joy that he planted in your beautiful soul. May you rest in His presence as you discover how to cultivate it.

Featured image by Sixteen Miles out at Unsplash