To often, I look around at those who profess to follow my Son, and their lives seem joyless. They bide their time in misery while hoping for heaven someday, but even their hopes are gray and colorless. Listen, eternity begins now. Start practicing joy-filled living. Have fun. Be creative. Let your true colors shine. You honor me when you are faithful to who I have created you to be.Letters to the Beloved
Speaking About the Sun
Joy is contagious, just as sorrow is. I have a friend who radiates joy, not because his life is easy, but because he habitually recognizes God’s presence in the midst of all human suffering, his own as well as others’. Wherever he goes, whomever he meets, he is able to see and hear something beautiful, something for which to be grateful. He doesn’t deny the great sorrow that surrounds him nor is he blind or deaf to the agonizing sights and sounds of his fellow human beings, but his spirit gravitates toward the light in the darkness and the prayers in the midst of the cries of despair. His eyes are gentle; his voice is soft. There is nothing sentimental about him. He is a realist, but his deep faith allows him to know that hope is more real than despair, faith more real than distrust, and love more real than fear. It is this spiritual realism that makes him such a joyful man.
Whenever I meet him, I am tempted to draw his attention to the wars between nations, the starvation among children, the corruption in politics, and the deceit among people, thus trying to impress him with the ultimate brokenness of the human race. But every time I try something like this, he looks at me with his gentle and compassionate eyes and says: “I saw two children sharing their bread with one another, and I heard a woman say ‘thank you’ and smile when someone covered her with a blanket. These simple poor people gave me new courage to live my life.”
My friend’s joy is contagious. The more I am with him, the more I catch glimpses of the sun shining through the clouds. Yes, I know there is a sun, even though the skies are covered with clouds. While my friend always spoke about the sun, I kept speaking about the clouds, until one day I realized that it was the sun that allowed me to see the clouds.
Those who keep speaking about the sun while walking under a cloudy sky are messengers of hope, the true saints of our day.
-Henri Nouwen, Here and Now
Recently, while making up a song on the spot, my son asked me why I was so weird. I said, “I’m just expressing my #joy.” He said, “why must you express your joy so differently?”
I told him, “in a world filled with dandelions, I’m a balloon.”