The sharp crackle of the
pine log snaps through the darkness and echoes willfully into the blackness of
the hallow winter sky. The unsuspecting glow of the fire draws the energy of
the night air through its flaming nostrils, burning fervently as it whispers
spirals of smoke, entwining the strings of constellations above my head. The
limbs of the tree under which I’m sitting, struck with the barrenness of January,
wrap and knot together, casting a net of twigs across the navy expanse of
Heaven. It’s as if the tree were fishing for stars. What a persistent little
tree it is. The fruits of its labor, leaves that it once nourished, grew, and
matured, now lie dead at its feet, stripped by the harshness of its world. An
entire year’s labor shriveled into piles, cyclical reminders that all things ultimately
must come to an end. Yet, in the midst of the barrenness, the tree throws its
nets heavenward, fishing for stars… glory spots that live on, even in the
impermeable blackness of night. I think how sometimes the human experience can
resemble that of a tree: the harshness of this world leaves you stripped and
barren. All you can do is cast your net heavenward, searching for the joy that
can still be found. And joy can always be
found, because there’s always something
to be grateful for.
Joy is different from
happiness. Happiness is fleeting, based on circumstances. Joy isn’t
circumstantial. Joy is a decision. And that decision isn’t always easy. Yes,
last year was a hard year. And no, I’m not necessarily where I thought I would
be. Joy hasn’t come easily in this place, but there is value in this place that
I am. I’ve spent the trails of my life telling myself that I will be happy
again as soon as whatever stress, anxiety, or challenge I’m facing passes… as
if I’m allowed to live my life with a poor attitude whenever it’s not going the
way I had hoped. But what an incredible opportunity is missed when you hurry
through the desert. You never learn to pitch a tent, and survive. Life is about
pitching your tent. Casting your net, even if that’s all you have left, and
being willing to fish for little blessings in your darkness. Gratitude isn’t
something that comes easily. It’s against our human nature. We throw ourselves
to the ground, throw a fit, and blaspheme the opportunity for personal growth that
has been presented us. But what if both trials and triumphs inspired an equal
degree of gratitude? How much purer would our lives be? How much more infinite
our joy?
So this year, I’m
practicing pitching my tent. And though I’ve had to pitch it somewhere I often
want to leave, I’ve pitched it just the same. There is joy in this land, because
there is gratitude in this land. And there is gratitude in this land, because
there is no land in which I will not be blessed. And there is no blessing on which
I cannot find the finger print of my Father. So today I will be grateful for
snowflakes. For Earl Grey tea and the way it smells like the color lavender, if
it had a smell. For the velvety, flannel feel of the air as the furnace turns
on. For a Jesus that draws me in when I shamelessly blaspheme the trails He gives
me that are for my good, and quiets me with His love. Because, “His mercies are
new every morning.”
-Maddie
