On Choosing Joy (Or: Why the World Needs More Dance Parties)
The summer after my sophomore year of college, I went on a quest for joy.
The whole year had been rough, but spring semester in particular. I felt under appreciated, unloved, and unnoticed. I was struggling with the weight of my sin and shame and feeling unworthy. It was the loneliest, hardest period I've gone through in my short life. If you've ever seen me cringe while discussing my college experience, know that most of my reaction is tied up in residual pain from that year.
And so, after wallowing for quite some time (oh, you should see the blog posts from that era... except really, please don't look for them), I decided that enough was enough and I was going to look for joy. I didn't want the "happiness" version that seems to invade every corner of our society, though; I wanted true, Biblical joy. I just wasn't quite sure what that was.
I wish I could say that I read a plethora of books, watched educational videos, and listed to many a sermon podcast about the topic. Let's be honest, though: This quest occurred during summer vacation. I just Googled it.
What I stumbled across, thanks to dear ol' Google, was this beautiful definition written by Karen Warren: "Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life, the quiet confidence that everything is going to be alright, and the determined choice to praise God in every situation."
Now that? That idea of joy was something I could get behind. That was something I needed to be reminded of. I painted it on a canvas and pinned it to a wall (along with a reminder about finding God in the middle of nowhere from this Steven Furtick message). I wrote it on my planner. I wanted that word to be ever present in my heart, on the tip of my tongue, evident in my conversations.
I wasn't always perfect at it, but I got better. It was helpful to remember that joy, for me, was a choice.
I've been thinking a lot about that choice lately. The beginning of the semester always brings with it an abundance of changes, but this semester, that feels more true than usual. Relationships in my life have changed lately. Friends that used to be ever-present have moved, some just off campus and others to places around the country. Roles that I normally occupy have shifted. Rather than planning for the whole year, I'm just thinking of what I need to accomplish in the next 13 (only 13!) weeks. Even my personal habits have changed slightly, as I find myself waking up earlier and -- gasp -- keeping my room clean.
Traditionally speaking, I don't respond to change well. I agonize over it, trying to decide if it was the right move or not. I mourn the loss of what once was, even if it's something as silly as a couch (I have been known to boycott furniture changes in my house by refusing to sit on new sofas). Because of that, I was worried that this semester would be a repeat of sophomore year.
In the midst of these changes, though, I've been realizing that I get to choose how I respond to them. I might not possess the capacity to be happy about the changes. For some of my friends, who struggle daily with depression, anxiety, mental illness, or other such situations, I recognize that they can't just simply "choose" to be happy. The idea of suggesting that would be ludicrous. Despite this, though, I can choose to be joyful.
This choice is possible because Karen Warren's definition is not rooted in emotion; it's rooted in response. As I sit here, at 11:28pm on a Wednesday night when I should be filling out study abroad applications, it's helpful to realize I can choose to rest in the "assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life." On the days when I feel lonely or am tempted to panic over choices I've already made, I can choose instead to have "quiet confidence that everything is going to be alright." In the hours after class when I sift through the piles of reading and try to tamp down on my stress level, it's humbling and convicting to remember that I have the capacity to make "the determined choice to praise God in every situation."
Even when it doesn't seem natural.
Even when I doesn't seem like I can.
It's still a choice. It's dependent on who God is, not where I am.
I'm not sure if it's a choice that our society values, though. Yes, we like to be happy, but I think we like to be productive more. Maybe it's a side effect of being a business major, but sometimes -- okay, often -- I find myself bragging about my stress levels. If I'm not stressed, I actively look for something to be stressed about, or just stress that I'm forgetting what I should be stressed over. It becomes this inane competition to see whose to-do list is longer and more complicated. We take delight in the fact that our lives are teetering at the edge of being completely unmanageable, but look at our ability to color code planners and type appointments into iPhone apps and voila! We make the unmanageable manageable.
At least in my experience, I don't choose joy because I don't like to admit that God, and not me, is in control. I don't choose joy because I thrive on the high that comes when I complain about the possibility that something might not be alright but, woo hoo, look at Wonder Woman Mackenzie, I make it alright in the end. I don't choose joy because it would mean I would have to stop praising myself and praise God instead.
Maybe that's your experience, too.
So today, I came home from my classes and contemplated starting the stressful journey of trying to decode Marx for my sociology course. Instead, I threw a one-woman dance party.
I wish people danced more. I wish I danced more. I mean, it's pretty Biblical -- just ask David or Miriam. And yeah, it was kind of awkward at first. Luckily enough for me, I have my own room, so there was no one around to a) make fun of my terrible dance moves or b) get annoyed by the fact that I've been rocking out to the same song on repeat for days now. In those moments, though, I had to stop worrying about what I looked like, about what needed to be accomplished in the next hours, about basically everything else that normally knots up in my stomach. I just had to be. For those 3 minutes and 26 seconds, I decided to live in the moment, root myself in the settled assurance that God was in control, trust that everything would be alright, and let myself remember and praise Him for the fact that, at the end of the day, "It's always been about you."
There was a lot of happiness unleashed in those 3 minutes and 26 seconds. I know there was a bounty of joy, too.
And so, dear friends, today I recommend that you take the time for a dance party. Maybe you take that literally, and go throw a rocking party out at Coburn cabin for all your friends (here's looking at you, Big Newts). Maybe that's just not your thing. That's okay. Find something, though, that reminds you to be joyful, in the rounded, fulfilling, Biblical sense.
It's a choice worth making.
The whole year had been rough, but spring semester in particular. I felt under appreciated, unloved, and unnoticed. I was struggling with the weight of my sin and shame and feeling unworthy. It was the loneliest, hardest period I've gone through in my short life. If you've ever seen me cringe while discussing my college experience, know that most of my reaction is tied up in residual pain from that year.
And so, after wallowing for quite some time (oh, you should see the blog posts from that era... except really, please don't look for them), I decided that enough was enough and I was going to look for joy. I didn't want the "happiness" version that seems to invade every corner of our society, though; I wanted true, Biblical joy. I just wasn't quite sure what that was.
I wish I could say that I read a plethora of books, watched educational videos, and listed to many a sermon podcast about the topic. Let's be honest, though: This quest occurred during summer vacation. I just Googled it.
What I stumbled across, thanks to dear ol' Google, was this beautiful definition written by Karen Warren: "Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life, the quiet confidence that everything is going to be alright, and the determined choice to praise God in every situation."
Now that? That idea of joy was something I could get behind. That was something I needed to be reminded of. I painted it on a canvas and pinned it to a wall (along with a reminder about finding God in the middle of nowhere from this Steven Furtick message). I wrote it on my planner. I wanted that word to be ever present in my heart, on the tip of my tongue, evident in my conversations.
 |
| Sometimes I'm crafty. |
I've been thinking a lot about that choice lately. The beginning of the semester always brings with it an abundance of changes, but this semester, that feels more true than usual. Relationships in my life have changed lately. Friends that used to be ever-present have moved, some just off campus and others to places around the country. Roles that I normally occupy have shifted. Rather than planning for the whole year, I'm just thinking of what I need to accomplish in the next 13 (only 13!) weeks. Even my personal habits have changed slightly, as I find myself waking up earlier and -- gasp -- keeping my room clean.
Traditionally speaking, I don't respond to change well. I agonize over it, trying to decide if it was the right move or not. I mourn the loss of what once was, even if it's something as silly as a couch (I have been known to boycott furniture changes in my house by refusing to sit on new sofas). Because of that, I was worried that this semester would be a repeat of sophomore year.
In the midst of these changes, though, I've been realizing that I get to choose how I respond to them. I might not possess the capacity to be happy about the changes. For some of my friends, who struggle daily with depression, anxiety, mental illness, or other such situations, I recognize that they can't just simply "choose" to be happy. The idea of suggesting that would be ludicrous. Despite this, though, I can choose to be joyful.
This choice is possible because Karen Warren's definition is not rooted in emotion; it's rooted in response. As I sit here, at 11:28pm on a Wednesday night when I should be filling out study abroad applications, it's helpful to realize I can choose to rest in the "assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life." On the days when I feel lonely or am tempted to panic over choices I've already made, I can choose instead to have "quiet confidence that everything is going to be alright." In the hours after class when I sift through the piles of reading and try to tamp down on my stress level, it's humbling and convicting to remember that I have the capacity to make "the determined choice to praise God in every situation."
Even when it doesn't seem natural.
Even when I doesn't seem like I can.
It's still a choice. It's dependent on who God is, not where I am.
I'm not sure if it's a choice that our society values, though. Yes, we like to be happy, but I think we like to be productive more. Maybe it's a side effect of being a business major, but sometimes -- okay, often -- I find myself bragging about my stress levels. If I'm not stressed, I actively look for something to be stressed about, or just stress that I'm forgetting what I should be stressed over. It becomes this inane competition to see whose to-do list is longer and more complicated. We take delight in the fact that our lives are teetering at the edge of being completely unmanageable, but look at our ability to color code planners and type appointments into iPhone apps and voila! We make the unmanageable manageable.
At least in my experience, I don't choose joy because I don't like to admit that God, and not me, is in control. I don't choose joy because I thrive on the high that comes when I complain about the possibility that something might not be alright but, woo hoo, look at Wonder Woman Mackenzie, I make it alright in the end. I don't choose joy because it would mean I would have to stop praising myself and praise God instead.
Maybe that's your experience, too.
So today, I came home from my classes and contemplated starting the stressful journey of trying to decode Marx for my sociology course. Instead, I threw a one-woman dance party.
I wish people danced more. I wish I danced more. I mean, it's pretty Biblical -- just ask David or Miriam. And yeah, it was kind of awkward at first. Luckily enough for me, I have my own room, so there was no one around to a) make fun of my terrible dance moves or b) get annoyed by the fact that I've been rocking out to the same song on repeat for days now. In those moments, though, I had to stop worrying about what I looked like, about what needed to be accomplished in the next hours, about basically everything else that normally knots up in my stomach. I just had to be. For those 3 minutes and 26 seconds, I decided to live in the moment, root myself in the settled assurance that God was in control, trust that everything would be alright, and let myself remember and praise Him for the fact that, at the end of the day, "It's always been about you."
There was a lot of happiness unleashed in those 3 minutes and 26 seconds. I know there was a bounty of joy, too.
And so, dear friends, today I recommend that you take the time for a dance party. Maybe you take that literally, and go throw a rocking party out at Coburn cabin for all your friends (here's looking at you, Big Newts). Maybe that's just not your thing. That's okay. Find something, though, that reminds you to be joyful, in the rounded, fulfilling, Biblical sense.
It's a choice worth making.
(Just in case you want to join my dance party.)
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