On Gestating Joy

Advent III

Last week, I ended my reflection with the rather romantic image of me piecing together a dress for Christmas that will fit me just right. Lest you (or I) get swept up in the fantasy of that dress (and the journey it’s taking to make it), I need to make a confession.

During this third week of Advent, the one dedicated to joy, that dress has caused my blood pressure to rise and had me swearing under my breath more than once. The reality is that the dazzling knit velvet fabric I chose is soft and slippery and stretchy and really stinking difficult to sew. Also, my skills are rusty. I’ve been adjusting the tension on my machine and breaking thread and watching YouTube videos to trouble shoot and ripping out more seams than I care to admit, just generally shaking my head. The fabric is gorgeous, but it has been quite hard to pin down.

Kind of like joy. It’s something we all seek but eludes us when we chase it. It’s a spiritual gift that seems to be more the fruit of alchemy than discipline. When it arrives, it has a way of breaking in. Its verbs are a little aggressive: jumping for joy, bursting with joy, joy like a fountain (the gestures for that verse of the children’s song are explosive!). Joy sneaks up on us and upsets the status quo. Even C.S. Lewis noted its unexpected nature in the title of his classic: Surprised by Joy.

The way that Mary expresses her joy in the Magnificat of Luke 1:46-55 is both aggressive and surprising, especially given how many of the images we have of Mary are meek and mild. In an echo of her ancestor in faith Hannah¹, Mary’s song bursts forth from her after her cousin Elizabeth blesses her. A pregnant, unwed teenager, unsure how her betrothed will respond to her story of a child conceived of the Holy Spirit, the embrace of her older cousin and the pronouncement that even John in utero leaped for joy at the sound of Mary’s greeting, this alchemy of events unleashes her song of joy:

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant.
    Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed,
49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name; […]
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones
    and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty. […]”

Mary’s song is joyful – my soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior – and confident – surely from now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me – and has a prophetic edge – he has scattered the proud […] He has brought down the powerful from their throne   and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things   and sent the rich away empty.

Mary sings with authority of what it is to be lowly and fearful and hungry. And she sings with authority of what it is to be so filled with joy that it comes erupting out of her mouth in song. Joy knows something of this edge of sorrow, grief, or desperation. And it seems there’s nothing it likes better than breaking right through all of that to something that makes us laugh and shout and even sing.

My moments of joy the last few weeks and months have been slightly more banal than that of the mother of God. But they have been good reminders for me amidst the dailyness of life that, if I pay attention, I might channel or witness a sunburst of joy flashing through me or someone I love.

It was the week before Thanksgiving, a weeknight, and Lucas had put in a long day at work. We were just sitting down to dinner when the phone rang. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner,” he grumped. “That’s Tommy’s ring, isn’t it?” I asked. “Yeahhhhh,” the exhaled response of exhaustion. I wouldn’t usually push. But his parents had recently flown to Denver to see his sister and family for Thanksgiving. “Let’s just see how they’re doing.” On popped the facetime video and, for the next 30 minutes our tables were joined across time zones as we ate and shared the details of our days and laughed together at the antics of our almost 2-year-old nephew, running around his house hundreds of miles away, playing his favorite new game, “Fumble!” When we finally said our goodbyes, the mood at our table had been transformed. Now Lucas’ grump was a put-on: “Goddamned family, bringing me joy.”²

It was the first time we were intimate after discovering we were pregnant. And it was so good. I don’t know if we actually high-fived after, but that was the energy. Light and joyful and free. I hadn’t realized how much sadness and grief had inched their way into our bedroom over the past three years. Suddenly there was no pressure to perform on a schedule or fear of our bodies failing ourselves or each other. Even when we had been our superlative selves with and for each other, infertility infused a lot of grief and insecurity into our most intimate moments. The freedom to enjoy each other unfettered by those constraints was a step on the path to healing and so very joyful.

It was not quite a week ago. We were hosting our family (Lucas’ parents and sister and our not quite 2-year-old nephew) on Lucas’ birthday weekend. There was a fire in the fireplace, toys strewn across the floor, a toddler and a small dog delighting in a game of chase, general chaos of the best kind. Lucas taught our nephew how to use a kazoo and he got pretty good at it! They marched around the house together, humming and buzzing their focused little tunes, a parade of two. It was impossible not to cast my imagination forward into the months and years to come. Hope catching in my throat, laughter exploding, unmitigated joy welling up.

Some days I wish joy were a little less like the fabric I chose for my dress, a little less difficult to pin down, a little more dependable. But I guess I’m learning that sometimes it’s just when our hearts have been broken that they are most open for joy to break through and shake things up.

I’m going to try to channel some joy as I work to finish that dress. It will take discipline. Forging ahead with patience, humility, and good humor. At my best I’ve been able to take a deep breath, laugh at myself, and press on with lower expectations of what I can accomplish and on what timeline. I’m learning to let go of the fantasy of what I imagined and revel in the joy that surprises me along the way.

I hope some joy surprises you along the way, too.

Much love,

Lindsey

1. 1 Samuel 2:1-10

2. All Lucas stories have been pre-approved for sharing.