I've been thinking a lot about joy recently. I mean, that's my name, so it’s kind of hard not to think about it. I hear it every day! Just because someone calls you something though, or gives you a name, doesn't always mean that that’s who you are or who you’ve become. You have to agree with what's being said, and partner with it, in order for it to become a reality. You have to choose.There’s a song that has become a regular on our church’s worship set list over the past nine months or so and there is a line in it that always gets me thinking,‘there’ll be a season for joy and weeping / in everything our God is faithful’. To be honest, every time I sing this, it feels a little uncomfortable for me. I'm fine with the joy bit, but weeping too? I'd rather pass on that thank you very much. I've been wondering though, do our days or seasons of shedding tears allow us to experience a deeper, potentially more precious encounter with joy?I love this quote by Brené Brown, author of ‘Daring Greatly’ and ‘Rising Strong’. She talks about this idea of leaning into joy rather than giving into the fear that something might go wrong, and therefore trying to diminish it. Joy is actually meant to be our strength and an element that we can pull from in times of hardship. It is cultivated by gratitude and becomes something that we practice; a way of life.I can relate to this idea very tangibly, purely from walking through the last ten months of my life. As many of you will know, my husband and I experienced two miscarriages within six months of one another. Following the first one at Christmas of last year, I felt no joy, but I also expressed no gratitude. I couldn't find much, if anything, to be thankful for in the weeks that followed, and wallowed in my sorrow quite determinedly.A friend of mine pointed out to me this week though, the importance of the names that we chose to give to both of the babies that we miscarried. Our first, we named Promise Joy and our second is Victor Peace. She gave attention to the fact that in naming them both in this way, we were also depositing seeds of hope and truth in those moments. I didn't feel joy in losing Promise Joy, but I did feel that was an important part of who he/she was. Since losing them and sharing our story with others, we have experienced a deeper joy and peace than we have known before.A few months following losing Promise Joy, as Phillip and I held a pregnancy stick in hand, with the ➕ for life clear to see, we felt joy, but there was probably also an element of foreboding joy, a fear that this life would be taken from us also. I practiced gratitude but maybe I also left room for fear, so I wouldn't be taken so completely by surprise if tragedy should strike again.We miscarried two months later and once more grief came knocking, but this time I found myself being able to recognize what I did still have, what I hadn't lost. I gave thanks every day for my husband who is more than enough for me, whatever turmoil might be happening. Every day someone new would reach out, with a token or word of love and comfort, and again I found myself pouring out thanks to those around me. I had no bone to pick with God, but instead I felt thankful that the author of life cares for every being, whether here on earth or on the other side of eternity. I found myself being able to laugh freely in a time where much had been lost. Weeping gave way to joy and joy lead me home.So I think maybe the lyrics of that song aren't so crazy and doomed after all. Joy can be present in the midst of weeping when we make way for it with gratitude. Joy is emotional and it is also something that we can choose to stay in, to be joyful, regardless of whether we find ourselves laughing or crying.My name is Joy, it's who I go by and who I’m called, but Joy is also who I choose to be.[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8hhr1Oz0iw[/embed]
