This one I also wrote a while ago--I am slow to post these days! :)
Happiness vs. Joy:
So not too long ago, I wrote about the difference between sadness and sorrow. And as I read it again today, it felt so incomplete. I felt like it was missing something—something critical. So I started to think and ask God—what am I missing here…
And I just realized it isn’t that I am missing something, per say, it is more that I left it a bit incomplete. I addressed the sorrow and sadness aspect, but I completely left out the other sides of the coins—happiness vs. joy.
I have not truly experienced sorrow in my lifetime. I am grateful for that. God has spared me that. I have felt sadness—and fleeting as it was, it was real. I have experienced a lot of happiness in my life—and sometimes even joy.
Webster defines happiness as “delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.” Happiness is a good thing. We all need happiness. In fact, we as a culture are obsessed with happiness. There was even a movie called “The Pursuit of Happyness.” (Now, I loved the movie, and it wasn’t what the world would call happiness, which is probably why I loved it so much!) But we are a culture and a world that is obsessed with being happy.
Look at TV ads and magazines—if you just buy this product, you will be happy. No more wrinkles for you. No more _____________ (fill in the blank) for you. You will be happy if you just have this one thing… Really? I have a lot of things, but still am not always happy. Happiness, just like sadness, is like a vapor—here one minute, gone the next.
About 2 years ago, I went out and bought an iPod nano. I was so excited. It was cute, it was green, it was the next big thing. Then, less than a year ago, it was stolen. Out of my car. In my driveway. Yeah. I was ticked off, but mostly that I was stupid enough to leave something as expensive as that just laying about. When I first got the nano, I was so excited—and once buyers’ remorse wore off, I was happy. But did my iPod bring me joy? No—not so much. My happiness with my iPod was contingent on having the iPod. And I didn’t have it for very long. Sigh
So much of life is that way. The only happiness it brings is the happiness you feel when you have it. And too many things can be taken away. Objects—they can be stolen, lost, or broken. Relationships—they can be fractured or broken. Feelings—they can be misleading. Having things doesn’t make life more pleasant. Happiness is based on being “delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.” Wow.
Now joy—that is something I can get behind. Webster defines joy as “to feel joy; be glad; rejoice.” To rejoice. Hmmm… I love that. Rejoice is a verb. It is an action—a state of being, almost. I can be full of joy in the midst of a storm. It is an action that I can choose to do—or not to do. It is like sorrow in so many ways—it is pervasive. It sinks deep within and colors everything that you see, do and say. Joy, very often is a choice. But how does one choose joy over happiness?
Joy comes from one source—God. Without God, you cannot find joy. God fills you to overflowing with joy—if you let Him. People who don’t know God are looking for that source of joy. And unfortunately, they substitute happiness for joy. They think, quite mistakenly, that happiness and joy are one in the same. Happiness is an emotion based on circumstance. Joy is a state of being despite circumstance. How amazing is that?
As I head off to bed, I am both happy and joyful. I am happy that I have a bed to go to. I am tired—exhausted, really, but yet I am joyful. I am filled with joy from God because I think I have glimpsed my life from an outside perspective. I am not perfect—no matter how hard I try, I cannot ever be perfect. And that kills me.
But you know what? No one is perfect. The only perfect being on this Earth died to save my imperfect soul. If I can’t find joy in that, then I am not looking with the right heart, attitude and eyes. I choose to be joyful because when faced with the reality of who I was before Christ and who I am now, how can I not be? God loves me—hairy warts, stubborn heart (that is sometimes two sizes too small!), and all.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Sorrow vs. Sadness
I wrote this about 4 weeks ago and am just not getting around to posting it...
Sorrow… That is not a word we use very often. We say sad or maybe even inconsolable. But sorrowful? It isn’t a word we use very much. Tonight, I was confronted head on with the word sorrow and it got me to wondering—what is the difference between sadness and sorrow?
Sadness, according to Webster, is “affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness.” I am very often sad. I am good at expressing my grief or unhappiness. Sadness, though powerful, is fleeting. It is there for a short time, and eventually fades, like a bruise. I think of it a lot like a vapor—here one minute, but it doesn’t take much for it to be gone the next. I feel sadness—it is in my heart and mind. But there is where it stays.
Sorrow, on the other hand, is different. Sorrow is another ballgame altogether, really. Our good friend Webster defines sorrow as “deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved.” Hmmmm…. It is missing something, though. I feel as though sorrow has much more to do with our soul than with our feelings.
Sorrow sweeps into our hearts—it saturates our minds, and seeps into the very marrow of who we are. Sadness doesn’t seem to be as pervasive as sorrow. I am able to express my sadness—but my sorrow? I am not able to do that. I can honestly say I can’t express my sorrow. To express that which has caused our deep distress, sadness or regret requires vulnerability. And I don’t show weakness… That is one of my weaknesses.
So what do you do when you are confronted with sorrow, rather than sadness? How do you look someone who is so immersed in sorrow that “I’m sorry” or really any other platitude sounds trite? How do you comfort them? My heart cries out for action, for words—anything, really! But unless you know sorrow, you are useless. All you can do is hold a hand through it. Sometimes that is all that is needed.
Tonight, when I was confronted with raw sorrow, God took my words away. He knew that anything I said would sound forced, fake or insincere. I asked for His ears to listen with, I begged him for His heart to feel with, and His words to comfort.
God definitely gave me his ears—I heard the cry of a broken heart. My heart, in turn, was broken. My heart—my selfish little Grinch-like heart—that sometimes IS two sizes too small, was filled with compassion and love for a friend’s sorrow. God gave me His heart to feel with. But His words? They were nowhere to be found. And I think that was ok…
Well, two out of three isn’t bad! ☺
Sorrow… That is not a word we use very often. We say sad or maybe even inconsolable. But sorrowful? It isn’t a word we use very much. Tonight, I was confronted head on with the word sorrow and it got me to wondering—what is the difference between sadness and sorrow?
Sadness, according to Webster, is “affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness.” I am very often sad. I am good at expressing my grief or unhappiness. Sadness, though powerful, is fleeting. It is there for a short time, and eventually fades, like a bruise. I think of it a lot like a vapor—here one minute, but it doesn’t take much for it to be gone the next. I feel sadness—it is in my heart and mind. But there is where it stays.
Sorrow, on the other hand, is different. Sorrow is another ballgame altogether, really. Our good friend Webster defines sorrow as “deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved.” Hmmmm…. It is missing something, though. I feel as though sorrow has much more to do with our soul than with our feelings.
Sorrow sweeps into our hearts—it saturates our minds, and seeps into the very marrow of who we are. Sadness doesn’t seem to be as pervasive as sorrow. I am able to express my sadness—but my sorrow? I am not able to do that. I can honestly say I can’t express my sorrow. To express that which has caused our deep distress, sadness or regret requires vulnerability. And I don’t show weakness… That is one of my weaknesses.
So what do you do when you are confronted with sorrow, rather than sadness? How do you look someone who is so immersed in sorrow that “I’m sorry” or really any other platitude sounds trite? How do you comfort them? My heart cries out for action, for words—anything, really! But unless you know sorrow, you are useless. All you can do is hold a hand through it. Sometimes that is all that is needed.
Tonight, when I was confronted with raw sorrow, God took my words away. He knew that anything I said would sound forced, fake or insincere. I asked for His ears to listen with, I begged him for His heart to feel with, and His words to comfort.
God definitely gave me his ears—I heard the cry of a broken heart. My heart, in turn, was broken. My heart—my selfish little Grinch-like heart—that sometimes IS two sizes too small, was filled with compassion and love for a friend’s sorrow. God gave me His heart to feel with. But His words? They were nowhere to be found. And I think that was ok…
Well, two out of three isn’t bad! ☺
Crumble
Crumble…
Casting Crowns has a song out right now—Slow Fade. The chorus goes like this:
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade
People never crumble in a day… Hmmmm…. How true is that statement?
When I was in about the 7th or 8th grade, we had just moved back to Korea from the States. I was in a new school, and it was ok. I hated middle school, but what girl didn’t? ☺ Anyhow, none of that has to do with this story. It was either spring or early summer—the wet season in Korea. We had been hit by a typhoon, and there was massive flooding all around Seoul.
In Korea, we lived on a compound. No—not the David Koresh/Waco type compound, but a community of missionaries. We just happened to have a wall around our property. I honestly don’t know why—I just know that was the way it was in Korea when I was growing up. So our compound was set up on a hill—we were probably half way up the mountain. (I guess it was a mountain…) There was a wall that separated us from the family who owned the house above our compound.
One night, in the midst of the terrible rain and storm of the typhoon, the wall between their property and our compound gave way—their house fell into our property. I don’t remember it—I was a good sleeper then. But I do remember waking up and finding a strange Korean family in our house. I also remember the scene—there were pots and pans, laundry, and furniture scattered down the side of the hill. All they held dear was washed away.
The family in the living room was so embarrassed. I guess that is just something cultural. They couldn’t control the landslide—it was well beyond their means of control. The wall that had been built 20+ years before had finally crumbled and gave way. It wasn’t an instant thing—it was something that had happened over the course of the life of the wall. One little raindrop didn’t cause the foundation to crack. It was the culmination of thousands of raindrops over the course of years.
I look at my life like that wall. My foundation was built—like the wise man that built his house upon the rock. But as I have lived my life, I have been hit by storms, and by trials… and by poor choices. And each time I have been hit by the storms of life, my wall seems to have gotten a little bit weaker, and a little bit weaker. Until there is a landslide, and I have crumbled.
The song Slow Fade continues:
The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking
The main thing, though, that causes me to crumble is my mind—and the choices I make. “The journey from your mind to your hands is shorter than you’re thinking…” And that is how Satan gets me… He puts a sinful thought into my mind—at first I am shocked by it because that is NOT of God and shut it down before it even hits the soil of my mind. And sometimes, I am shocked, but don’t shut it down immediately. The seed hits the fertile ground of my mind.
And then, Satan tries again… and again… and again… raindrop after raindrop, storm after storm, until I give in and entertain that thought. Not actually to the point of acting on it, but entertaining it. Then the “What if’s…” syndrome sets in. “Well, what if I did that? It’s not as bad as X…” And once the what if’s set in, I am a goner. My wall takes a hit, and Satan chips a little bit out from underneath me. And it starts all over again…
And suddenly—or not so suddenly, really, I start to slip and fall down the side of the mountain until I hit a roadblock, or rock bottom. And I look back up the mountain, and see the laundry of my sin strewn on the ground for everyone to see. And I am embarrassed. But unlike the poor Korean family in our living room that morning, this landslide wasn’t beyond my control—I willingly took each step closer and closer to the edge. And fell. No—tumbled down the mountain. Leaving the evidence of my sin and sinful life scattered behind for all to see.
People never crumble in a day…. No—it is truly a slow fade.
Casting Crowns has a song out right now—Slow Fade. The chorus goes like this:
It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade
People never crumble in a day… Hmmmm…. How true is that statement?
When I was in about the 7th or 8th grade, we had just moved back to Korea from the States. I was in a new school, and it was ok. I hated middle school, but what girl didn’t? ☺ Anyhow, none of that has to do with this story. It was either spring or early summer—the wet season in Korea. We had been hit by a typhoon, and there was massive flooding all around Seoul.
In Korea, we lived on a compound. No—not the David Koresh/Waco type compound, but a community of missionaries. We just happened to have a wall around our property. I honestly don’t know why—I just know that was the way it was in Korea when I was growing up. So our compound was set up on a hill—we were probably half way up the mountain. (I guess it was a mountain…) There was a wall that separated us from the family who owned the house above our compound.
One night, in the midst of the terrible rain and storm of the typhoon, the wall between their property and our compound gave way—their house fell into our property. I don’t remember it—I was a good sleeper then. But I do remember waking up and finding a strange Korean family in our house. I also remember the scene—there were pots and pans, laundry, and furniture scattered down the side of the hill. All they held dear was washed away.
The family in the living room was so embarrassed. I guess that is just something cultural. They couldn’t control the landslide—it was well beyond their means of control. The wall that had been built 20+ years before had finally crumbled and gave way. It wasn’t an instant thing—it was something that had happened over the course of the life of the wall. One little raindrop didn’t cause the foundation to crack. It was the culmination of thousands of raindrops over the course of years.
I look at my life like that wall. My foundation was built—like the wise man that built his house upon the rock. But as I have lived my life, I have been hit by storms, and by trials… and by poor choices. And each time I have been hit by the storms of life, my wall seems to have gotten a little bit weaker, and a little bit weaker. Until there is a landslide, and I have crumbled.
The song Slow Fade continues:
The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking
The main thing, though, that causes me to crumble is my mind—and the choices I make. “The journey from your mind to your hands is shorter than you’re thinking…” And that is how Satan gets me… He puts a sinful thought into my mind—at first I am shocked by it because that is NOT of God and shut it down before it even hits the soil of my mind. And sometimes, I am shocked, but don’t shut it down immediately. The seed hits the fertile ground of my mind.
And then, Satan tries again… and again… and again… raindrop after raindrop, storm after storm, until I give in and entertain that thought. Not actually to the point of acting on it, but entertaining it. Then the “What if’s…” syndrome sets in. “Well, what if I did that? It’s not as bad as X…” And once the what if’s set in, I am a goner. My wall takes a hit, and Satan chips a little bit out from underneath me. And it starts all over again…
And suddenly—or not so suddenly, really, I start to slip and fall down the side of the mountain until I hit a roadblock, or rock bottom. And I look back up the mountain, and see the laundry of my sin strewn on the ground for everyone to see. And I am embarrassed. But unlike the poor Korean family in our living room that morning, this landslide wasn’t beyond my control—I willingly took each step closer and closer to the edge. And fell. No—tumbled down the mountain. Leaving the evidence of my sin and sinful life scattered behind for all to see.
People never crumble in a day…. No—it is truly a slow fade.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Things that make you go hmmmm....
No--I am not going to break into song and sing "Things That Make You Go Hmmmm...." It is too late at night for that and I am putting off dusting by writing this blog. I was reading my friend Dan's blog and he was writing about things that confuse him. So, I started my own list... Here goes:
OK, so the one thing that really gets me is the Braille on the drive through ATM at the bank. Really? If you need Braille to help you get money out of your bank account, then MAYBE you don't need to be driving. Just a thought... :)
Another thing that makes me laugh is the directions on how to use a western toilet on the seats in rural Korea, China, Japan... fill in the blank. It just cracks me up!
One of the things that really baffles me is change stealing... I was at a restaurant with my family recently, and my tab came to something like $9.22. I gave her a $20 and she gave me a $10 back. I was thinking "Really?!" it's not the $0.78 that bothers me. It is the principle of it.
To borrow one from Dan--stupid book covers. When I pick up a book to read, I don't want to see some quote from the New England Lobster Fisherman's Weekly that I need a thesaurus to translate--"Mr. Doe's brilliant masterpiece brings together a subtle message with a brash and irreverent sense of humor." Huh? So what is the book about? Give me names, basic plot outlines.
Skinny jeans: Unless you are Heidi Klum, buy a baggier cut. And there is only one Heidi Klum.
Eyebrow piercing: I was at lunch yesterday with a friend and this guy across the restaurant had one. I will admit to having shiny object syndrome, but honestly, it was all I could focus on until he finally stood up and left the restaurant... It was insane.
Anyhow, I could go on and on, but then it turns into complaining when in reality, I am just confused--not whiny! So, now that you know the things that make my eyebrows furrow, what are some things that make YOU go hmmm?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Homeless
The old saying “Home is where the heart is” has been ringing in my ears for the last hour or so. You see, I am on odd breed—I am never “home.” If I am at my house in Calera, my house in Korea is home. When I was living in Korea, Pelham was home. I am, in essence, homeless. Maybe part of it is my semi-bohemian childhood—never the same house for more than 4 years. Maybe it is an indication of my souls’ condition. Maybe… I was “created for a place I've never known” to borrow a quote from This is Home, by Switchfoot (thanks, Lindsey!). This sense of homelessness is tiring.
Home, truly, is where your heart is. And my home should be in the embrace of God—my savior, father and life’s breath. And yet, here I am—homeless. Seeking the place that keeps my soul at rest. Why is it that I can’t seem to find my home? Is it because finding my home means giving my heart—part and parcel to God? Is it because it means that I will be giving up the control over my life?
The song continues:
And now after all
My searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me—I am homeless by choice. I have chosen this life of semi-servitude. I have chosen to take the world’s unstable promises built on desperation instead of the promise of His everlasting shelter. It is MY choice to call Him home.
Choice is a dangerous thing. I am free to choose every last detail of my life—because Jesus chose to redeem me on the cross. At any point, Jesus could have left the cross and the tortuous pain that was separation from God. And yet He chose to stay. He chose to give me the freedom that I now use to walk away. Choice has brought me a lot of joy—I know my God and creator of all things. But, choice has gotten me into a lot of trouble, too. Why is it that I can’t allow my heart to find its’ way home?
In Psalm 61, David cries out to God—he says:
Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against my foe.
I long to dwell in your tent forever
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.
My heart continually echoes David’s cry. I long for God to be my “rock that is higher than I,” and my refuge, my tower. I long to dwell in the tent of the Lord forever. I long to go home.
Home, truly, is where your heart is. And my home should be in the embrace of God—my savior, father and life’s breath. And yet, here I am—homeless. Seeking the place that keeps my soul at rest. Why is it that I can’t seem to find my home? Is it because finding my home means giving my heart—part and parcel to God? Is it because it means that I will be giving up the control over my life?
The song continues:
And now after all
My searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me—I am homeless by choice. I have chosen this life of semi-servitude. I have chosen to take the world’s unstable promises built on desperation instead of the promise of His everlasting shelter. It is MY choice to call Him home.
Choice is a dangerous thing. I am free to choose every last detail of my life—because Jesus chose to redeem me on the cross. At any point, Jesus could have left the cross and the tortuous pain that was separation from God. And yet He chose to stay. He chose to give me the freedom that I now use to walk away. Choice has brought me a lot of joy—I know my God and creator of all things. But, choice has gotten me into a lot of trouble, too. Why is it that I can’t allow my heart to find its’ way home?
In Psalm 61, David cries out to God—he says:
Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against my foe.
I long to dwell in your tent forever
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.
My heart continually echoes David’s cry. I long for God to be my “rock that is higher than I,” and my refuge, my tower. I long to dwell in the tent of the Lord forever. I long to go home.
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