"I want to believe in the possibilities of joy. I want to believe, even in the dark and dread of this particular winter, that joy is abundantly accessible, and not only if I find the right places to dig for it (drill, baby, drill!), but that we are actually created to BE it. That joy is our primary identity.
Well, anyone with half an eye open can see that the stuff we call “reality” is a bit darker, a bit gloomier than what we usually think of as joy. That we are made to bask in God’s joy—to BE God’s joy—can be difficult to believe. But let’s say we did begin to believe it, even in spurts, and then maybe for a couple of minutes on several mornings in a row for starters, what would happen then? What would it require of us? What would it give to us? Would anxious striving cease? Would we see/act/listen differently? Would our inner fists begin to unfold like the petals of a long-dreamed-of flower into something of rare beauty? Would we be so intrigued by one another’s quirks and oddities that we’d yearn to know, really know, each other and the very things that used to set our teeth on edge?"
I think I might go outside and watch the sunrise on this unseasonably warm morning.