“Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.” Karl Barth

I have been remembering joy—the exuberance of youth, the thrill of nature’s beauty, the energy of feeling connected. I have missed joy, her delight with both the spectacular and the ordinary. Anxiety, fear, and doom have permeated the last several years. They roll in like a morning fog refusing to lift. Wars. Storms. Floods. Pandemic. Deep divisions. It saps a sense of joy.

Brené Brown describes joy as “an intense feeling of deep spiritual connection, pleasure and appreciation.” It is the intensity that allows us to relive the joy as we remember the experience. The spiritual connection, while not tangible, is very real. We recall and return to that place and time. Happiness and joy are related, but happiness is more of a state of being rather than a feeling, and doesn’t carry the exhilaration that marks the intensity of joy.

I experienced the aliveness of joy at two recent reunions. The first was my college reunion, gathering friends who knew me when I was young and fresh and full of promise. We look back and recall adventures, each of us carrying our own details to add to the stew of memories. One person can still sing the songs of our sophomore skit, another remembers the nickname we had for a saintly professor. We recalled our rule-breaking antics, hours of playing bridge, late night scrambling to assist our procrastinator with her rough-edged term paper. We came together to relive the joy of our shared experience.

The next reunion was the first ever gathering of first and second cousins. My grandmother and her brother emigrated from Germany in the early 1900s. They left a large family and a country with few opportunities to sail to a land of promise and prosperity.  She worked as a maid for a St. Paul family. He worked as a farmhand in Iowa, both for room, board, and meager wages.

They learned English and made their way in the world, marrying and creating their own families. Our reunion gathered the children of those children.

We met, 85 of us, in a small-town community center. I knew my first cousins and delighted in re-connecting with them. Many I had not seen in decades. I also knew a handful of second cousins. Family resemblances allowed me to sort several into appropriate groupings.

Each of the offspring of the brother/sister emigres had a table for family artifacts. There were 12 tables, six for him and six for her. Old wedding pictures, family albums, worn work boots, an early milking machine, a journal with delicate script were displayed for browsing.

The opposite of joy is fear. Fear steals our joy.We talked. We hugged. We laughed. We commiserated over losses and exclaimed in amazement that we were all here, the result of two brave young people who had no idea of what they were getting into.

I wondered, as we gathered grandchildren of this brave brother and sister team, how they would see us. What would gratify them, surprise them, honor their lives and their sacrifice in leaving country and family? Surely the love, care, and curiosity we shared would have delighted them.

A third source of joy was the Paris Olympics. Shared joy crossed international time zones. We were thrilled to see young athletes excel as their family, friends, and an exuberant world cheered. I was especially touched as we celebrated Simone Biles’s return after her pause for self-care. Her Gold medal felt like a win for all of us. Similarly, our Minnesota Suni Lee dared to return to the mat after her own health issues, winning another Olympic medal. In a gracious demonstration of sportsmanship, fellow Olympiads celebrated the winners even when they didn’t get a medal themselves.

The opposite of joy is fear. Fear steals our joy. It, too, is an intense feeling. Brown describes fear as “a negative, short-lasting, high-alert emotion in response to a perceived threat.” Both joy and fear grab us here and now. It is hard to feel joy when I am afraid, even if the fear is ill defined and distant.

We might think the opposite of joy is sorrow, but sorrow and joy can co-exist. At a funeral I feel the sorrow of loss as I remember a dear friend. At the same time, I experience the joy with laughter and delight as I recall our time together. Tears of sadness mix with tears of joy.

I planted two white pines last fall. One is doing very well, reaching to the sun, healthy and vigorous. The other drooping, needles hanging more than reaching. I called a horticulturist who suggested watering it, which I did. It seemed odd, the two trees were only ten feet apart. We have had bountiful rain this summer, why would one thrive and the other not? When we dug up the ailing tree, we found that its roots were entangled, growing inward, into a small mass, rather than outward into the open space. Since it had been held in a pot, it needed to be stretched when it was planted. Even with all the watering and rain, the roots were dry. There was no room for the water to enter the snarled mass. We spread the roots and replanted it. Now the water can seep in and nourish the tree. The roots have space enough to spread and take the moisture in.

Fear is like those entangled roots. When I dwell in fear, my world gets smaller. Rather than reaching out, I reach in, blocking the flow of life. I am entangled with my own thoughts and imagination that cut off joy rather than welcome it. Joy is the water that cannot find its way in.

Whereas joy and fear cannot co-exist, joy and gratitude are entwined. They feed each other. When I am joyful, I am grateful. When I am grateful, I am open to joy. They move in an upward spiral, supporting each other. Fear and anxiety have a downward spiral. Fear reinforces our anxiety which leads to a sharper focus on fear.

Joy is most enjoyable with others. Celebrating together, sharing memories together, imagining together, appreciating together, playing together. I am not willing to give up my joy, even when life is hard and fear pounds at the door. I choose joy.

Will you join me in reclaiming joy?

Mary Lou Logsdon is a Spiritual Director in the Twin Cities. She teaches in the Sacred Ground Spiritual Direction Training Program. She can be reached at Logsdon.marylou@gmail.com. 

Last Updated on September 14, 2024