Joy vs. Happiness

I did not want to go to the Passion conference. Tens of thousands of people that I didn't know? Close quarters for a few days? Next to no personal space? No thanks.

But God got me there regardless of my personal objections, and it's a good thing He did because I would have missed out on a refreshing, invigorating four days that changed and matured me as a follower of Christ.

As unappealing as it sounded to me, sixty thousand college students worshipping together is an experience unlike any other. It's truly amazing to be surrounded by so many people that believe the same thing you do, that worship the same God you do, that are singing together, with one voice, an anthem of praise and trust and hope in Christ. It's an experience that I would relive again and again.

But one of Passion's hardest-learned lessons didn't even surface until after Passion.

I came home full of joy, full of new resolutions about my faith, full of excitement. I started journaling again. I devoured my Bible. I tried my very, very hardest to serve as Jesus would have served within my family and within my community.

For about a week.

And then I realized that something was not right. The excitement started to fade. My sudden love for the music of Lecrae dwindled into next-to-nothingness. I found myself choosing to sleep fifteen more minutes rather than get up to read my Bible. I snapped at my brother. I felt the haunt of anxiety creeping back into my spirit.

I was confused and rather disappointed. In myself. In God. In Passion. Had it meant anything, then? The things I learned at Passion - did I really learn them, or did they just pass through one ear and out the other? Wasn't I supposed to feel like I felt at Passion all the time?

No.

Our culture and even the church itself have forced the belief that you should be happy all the time. It wasn't a very hard thing to convince people of. I mean, let's get real, I'd love to believe that what God wants for me is to be happy all the time. For my life to be perfect. For things to go my way.

But it's not.

God never promises that we'll be happy all the time, even in our walk of faith. He does promise that we'll have suffering (John 16:33).

Many people also mistakenly think that you have to be happy in suffering. When you have struggles or trials or tribulations, God isn't sitting up on His throne thinking to Himself, "I cannot believe they're not having a party about this. What is going on?"

I think He does wish that we could understand. That we could understand His purpose for everything. But because we live in a fallen world, and we can't, He weeps with us (John 11:33-35). He bottles up our tears; not a single one falls without His knowledge (Psalm 56:8).

What we can have is joy.

"Isn't that the same thing?" you say.

Perhaps according to Merriam Webster. But unlike happiness, joy is not an emotion. Joy is a state of being.

Joy is when your mom is diagnosed with cancer and you have to trust God with her life or death.

Joy is when Corrie and Betsie ten Boom were in a concentration camp and thanked God for the fleas and lice in their barracks even though they didn't feel very thankful for them.

Joy is when your child is diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and you still trust that God created him perfectly.

Joy is not a feeling that can go away. It's not dependent on circumstances. It's not an excited feeling you get when you come back from Passion.

Joy is when you suffer, when you live in a fallen world, and yet you have hope, you have trust, you have the knowledge that Jesus is risen. You are enabled to live with joy when you realize that not only is He risen, but He is coming back.

Trusting and believing and hoping in the Lord when you don't feel like it, that's true joy.

Heroes

   

   

   

Everyone loves a hero.

There have been so many wonderful ones too. Unlikely heroes. Heroes that are larger than life. Heroes that don't even know they're heroes.

The stories of the world are saturated with them. Atticus Finch of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockinbird. Katniss from The Hunger Games. Indiana Jones. Robin Hood. Eowyn from The Lord of the Rings. Superman.

We love heroes, each and every one of us.

And, in our lives, there are two opposing forces: the need to be rescued by a hero and the desire to be one.

The foundation of humanity, admitted or not, is that, fallen, depraved and utterly base, a Hero came to our rescue. An unlikely Hero, but that's what made the story all the better. A Hero that was humble, kind, forgiving. One who fought battles not with angry words or lashing weapons, but with excruciating sacrifice. A Hero that fought hard, fought bravely, and won.

Our story of redemption is the original story of a hero.

As a child, I watched The Lion King so many times that eighteen years later my parents still know it word for word. One of my favorite scenes was the one where young Simba and Nala go to the elephant graveyard. I was extremely imaginative and rather liked to think that I could be a lion if I wanted to. In fact, I could be whatever lion I liked. So, in this particular scene, I would switch back and forth from pretending to be Simba to pretending to be Nala. I always loved the part where Nala gets stuck in the bones, being chased down by the hyenas, and calls to Simba for help, and he responds, giving the vicious hyena a good, hard scratch on the face.

This particular moment was such a hard one for little me to decide who to be that oftentimes I would completely miss it while trying to choose. On one hand, I very much wanted to be the courageous, albeit reckless, Simba, dashing in to save his friend. On the other, Nala was a girl, which turned the tables considerably in her favor. And there was something I relished about Simba saving me. But then I did enjoy doing the saving... And so I would argue with myself until another scene arrived and the character of choice was easier to determine.

Even as a child, this fundamental question haunted me. I wanted to be a hero, but I needed to be saved.

We forget sometimes when we're living out our stories that the role of hero has already been cast.

We are minor characters, extras in the sea of civilians who were saved from an impending comet by Superman. Not Superman.

We are the lowly peasants, given food and money by Robin Hood, who has forfeited wealth and power to provide for us. Not Robin himself.

Heroes are brave. Heroes are noble. Heroes can and should be emulated, just as I emulated Simba as a little girl.

But we must always remember that we are Nala too. And, of course, just after that scene in the movie, what happens?

Mufasa rescues them all. Even Simba, the little hero.

Somehow, I could never pretend to be Mufasa.

There is only one true Hero.

The rest of us are just pretending.

Value

Lately, I had someone ask me why I care about people with special needs so much.

The answer that came to mind was simple: my brother and sister have special needs. I can't just sit around and do nothing while kids like Levi and Evan are being horribly mistreated and misunderstood.

While that answer makes the most sense, and came the most naturally to me, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there had to be something more.

Of course having siblings with special needs made it an area of particular interest for me, but having siblings with Down syndrome doesn't necessarily reshape your life into a mission for orphans with special needs. I think of Levi and Evan as a kickstart.

But what's the real reason? There's something that drives me to special needs orphan care that is not so simple and easy as being related.

Reading my Bible last night, I realized with amazement for the millionth time that God does not love me because I've done anything special. He loves me because He chooses to love me. He sees worth and value in me that are completely unrelated to what I am and am not able to do.

And then it struck me.

How can I accept the worth and value God places on me by no merit of my own and yet be unwilling to extend that same worth and value to others?

I can't. It would hypocrisy at its finest. To accept the love that God has for me is to accept the fact that I am just as broken, just as "disabled," just as helpless as any other person on the planet. If this is the case, I have no right to judge the abilities or shortcomings of others. Whether they have a special need, are in prison, or are addicted to drugs. There is nothing I have done that can rise me above anyone else.

Even as I am saved and become a daughter of the Almighty God, His will for my life is not for me to stand above all of my spiritual siblings, but to walk alongside them, loving them in their imperfection as God loves me every day in mine.

For my value is not in what I can or cannot do, but in what God says of me. And that truth is for everyone who believes. Everyone who holds Christ dear to their heart. The convict. The prostitute. The alcoholic. The liar. The popular girl at school. The man in a wheelchair. The child with Down syndrome.

All can find value and worth in God. You just have to accept it.