Hand Me That Shovel. I Accidentally Buried Joy.

While sitting around our breakfast table this morning- early enough that the sun was only beginning to make its ascent - I asked my kids, "Who is the happiest person you know?"

It quickly grew quiet.
Jared stopped eating his eggs, furrowing his brow as he pensively considered the question.  Leah stared at me, tilting her head as though a deep analysis was going on in that seven-year-old head of hers...

Jared broke the silence with a question:  "Does it have to be a person?  Because Jada is always happy; no matter what happens to her, she doesn't get mad and always wants to cuddle." Jada is our cat who, at 15 years old, loves warm laps, head scratches, and laser pointers.

All three of us laughed.
However, I continued to press for an answer.
"No, Jada doesn't count.  Name a person."

I finally spoke up saying, "I think the happiest person I know is Uncle Bill."
The kids immediately agreed with Leah exclaiming, "Oh my gosh!  Uncle Bill is always so happy!"

Uncle Bill, my husband's hilarious uncle, seems to carry a similar disposition to our cat (though he probably won't sit on your lap. Or chase a laser pointer).   Bill's wit, enthusiasm, and genuine sincerity rise above shallow conversations focused on materialism or achievement.  My perception of Uncle Bill and his wife Lori is they bore rather quickly during a parade of ego-centric comments and catchphrases.  They are not surface level people. They are people of deep faith, humility, and joy.

An expensive watch or luxury vacation might slip by Lori and Bill.
But not joy.
Never seeking or finding joy in anything extravagant or fleeing, their kind of joy only surfaces from and resides within.

As Leah, Jared and I discussed what it means to live with joy, I admitted I often must clear away the "junk" of materialism, speed, accumulation, and achievement to get to my joy.
I have found it underneath (not "in") the expensive shirt I bought or behind the money I thought was more important to make than having face to face time with my own children.

Does this ever happen to you?
Do you ever accidentally bury joy - in the pursuit of something you assume is making you happy? 

Often times, it is fear piling things on top of my joy.
I fear not having money in the bank, or what someone else thinks of my worn-out clothes, how fast I run, what kind of job I have, what kind of house I live in, or how my kids are doing in school - the list goes on and on!   I'm not sure it is even a conscious evolution in my soul... it slowly overtakes.  Eventually, I'm caught up in a spin cycle of trying to do more, impress more, and satisfy others more - then one day I wake up exhausted, noticing that joy has left. Again.

I write this not to say that wealth, goals, or the desire to impress are all bad.
We are human after all.
We are not cats.

But we need to wake up asking - before the sun even rises - where exactly does my heart rest on the spectrum of true, unbridled joy today?
Does my joy show up in how I'm interacting with my kids?
Does joy show up in how I'm relating to my neighbor (remembering the beggar on the street is literally, my neighbor)?
Does joy show up in my treatment of the broken-hearted?  Or those struggling with mental illness and/or poverty?

When does YOUR unbridled joy show up?   
At this point in your life, are you able to name it?  
Can you tell someone and hold yourself accountable to it?

If your joy is buried, can I invite you to take some time to reflect?
Take a seat.
Find the quiet.
Journal.
Read something that fills you.
Enjoy a full day off.
Create.
Paint.
Laugh.
Sip slowly.
Let go of that fear.
Believe me when I say it:
You are enough.

In the quietness, allow joy to rise to the top.
Let joy be the priority today.

Joy is intentional.  Everyone who has it - works at it.
They choose to let go of the things burying their joy.
I've noticed a steadfastness to joy that our culture mocks and billboards insist won't work.
But just ask Uncle Bill about his commitment to joy and what HIS billboard would say about it.
Then find a shovel, and dig yourself out.

And may today be a day in which you allow yourself the gift of unbridled joy.

Peace,
Annette