Joy Is a Choice

You are on a journey leading down a pathway strewn with boulders and loose gravel.  With every step, there is the possibility that you will end up face down in the dirt, nursing your wounds.  Yet you do not have to make your way through the pitfalls alone.  You can choose to accept or reject the assistance made available to all of us.  However, when you reject the loving hand reaching out to catch your fall, do not complain to Him when you are lying in the sand covered in your filth and shame.  You made a choice.

No one is free from suffering.  We all hurt.  We all bleed.  We all cry.  The choice comes in how you deal with disappointment.  If you choose to focus on the negative, your life will be full of negativity.   Joy is a choice.  I chose to accept the joy offered to me when I repented of my sins and became a Christ follower.  I still have to choose that joy on a daily basis.  It requires focus and faith.  Why do you assume that affliction is particular to you?  It is not!  “Oh, but I can’t choose to be happy!  I can’t remember the good!  Too much pain stands in my way!” You moan and whine, convinced that your miserable life is quite unlike any other.  However, have you suffered to the point of death?  Most likely, you have not or you would not be able to wail so heartily.   You have closed your eyes to the light which wants to flood your soul and remove your agony and grief.

I have as much right as anyone to bemoan my life.  I could focus on being thrown up against a wall when I was six years old by an intoxicated relative and punched in the face.  This was only the first of many abusive encounters.  I could focus on being repeatedly raped from the time I was eight years old until I was ten by a close family friend.  I could focus on being neglected and unloved by those who were placed on this earth to shelter and love me.  But I won’t!  I can’t!  I have been set free.  I have been saved!  There is a life time of joy in just that incident alone.  But if the source ever runs dry, I have been blessed beyond measure since that day.  Is my life perfect?  Far from it!  I have three teenagers, after all, and an unemployed husband.  Yet, I am blessed.  I have made the choice to accept the hand, to lay down my burdens, and to focus on the One who saved me.  

Perhaps, it is time that you do the same.

Saying Goodbye...

My first memories of Pat bring warmth and comfort. I remember visiting her with my dad as a very small child and her kind words accompanied by a smile brought comfort to a very shy little girl. I remember loving her baby boy who would eventually become my brother, as if he were my own. It was easy to discover love in a home where I felt welcomed and appreciated.

Although my relationship with the woman who would become my step-mother grew strained as I hit my teen years, I know much of the fault was mine. I was difficult to love; yet Pat continued to welcome me into her home and continued to profess her love for me. As I matured into a woman, I appreciated Pat much more than I had as a child. I loved the happiness and care she gave to my father. I will never forget how my dad looked at her and spoke to her, especially as he was dying. One moment in particular stands out to me; it was an opportunity that let me witness a demonstration of their unique bond. Pat leaned over my dad’s hospital bed, and with her face inches above his, she gently wiped away a strand of hair from his forehead and softly declared her love for him—a man I knew from all of our lengthy conversations, she had loved since she was 16 years old.  Although their journey back to each other was not without a few bumps and bruises, they had an extraordinary bond, and for that I will always be extremely thankful.

I know I will forever hold fond memories of the stories Pat told me about her youth. I enjoyed being transported back in time by her vivid descriptions. I could almost feel the wind racing through my hair as she bolted around a barrel on the back of her trusty steed. I felt the pain and wanting of her injury from a horse fall that left her body broken. Her stories never ceased to entertain, and through them I learned to love her more.

And who can forget Pat’s love for animals? She always knew I was the person to call with a sympathetic ear when she had rescued yet another stray. We shared a desire to protect the unprotected—God’s weakest, unlovable creatures. In fact, it was the rescue of abandoned kittens shortly after our dad’s death that brought her some joy and purpose. We united over more than one wandering animal which would find its life blessed by Pat’s loving care.

I could share countless memories, impart words of wisdom I received, and continue to dole out demonstrations of affection for a woman who has shared much of the journey of my life with me. However, I know we do not have the time. So the words I wish to express now I give perhaps as a warning.  Life is too short to let the business of our days get in the way of speaking the words we need to say.  You never know when that phone call may come. Our days are numbered before they begin and every day should count for the edification of others. I was given the chance by God’s grace to make the phone call and speak all of the words I wished Pat to hear before she left this earth. But we do not always receive such a chance.  Choose today to make that phone call. Do not assume that tomorrow will come and you may express your love then. The moment is now.

When I asked my children to share their memories of Grandma Thompson, I found that although they could not name a specific time or place, they all could describe the way they felt whenever they visited Grandma and Grandpa Thompson. It was a feeling of love and acceptance. Grandma’s graciousness always ready to give them soda and cookies (like all over indulgent grandparents). If I protested, Pat would look at me and firmly state, “Oh, Kim, a little bit won’t hurt them,” as she would relinquish yet another cookie or piece of candy. Indulgent…loving…protecting.  I quickly realized how similar my children’s memories were to mine. The grandma they knew was the same woman I remember from the time I was a toddler, and I imagine the smiles they were so familiar with were the same smiles that grace my memories. The warmth and comfort that brought me out of my shell are the same feelings which they will treasure in their hearts as they recall their Grandma and Grandpa Thompson.

Thank you, Pat. I know I didn’t make it easy and I am so glad I grew to know and love you. You will be missed more than you could ever imagine.