Rx: Joy

By all the usual metrics, it was a quintessentially beautiful late-May morning. But my first surgery had just officially been scheduled and my mind was playing pinball with a thousand thoughts. Out of the blue, as it usually is, a friend called and asked if he could drop by the house to talk. This is a man who had experienced great loss a couple years earlier. In the aftermath of that loss, he fully yielded to the surgical hands of the Father, choosing patient endurance over shortcuts. In return, the wielder of the blade and the balm rewarded him with a well of wisdom few possess today. So, whenever this friend offers to share his insights, I know that spiritual meat is on the menu.

I was on a tight schedule that particular morning. But it wasn’t a problem because he came bearing a quick prescription in the shape of a six-word Bible verse—

Proverbs 17:22: 

“A joyful heart is good medicine”.

Truth be told, I couldn’t help but feel a little underwhelmed this time. Instead of bringing the meat or the heat, he came with a flannelgraph VBS chorus.

Peter, for the disease of your flesh—Rx: Joy.

At that he tipped his cap and drove off. Well, he had some other things to say, but the gut-punch had already landed. It didn’t hurt at first, but the longer I sat with it, the more uncomfortable it felt.

A joyful heart? Hmm…Would I describe my heart as such? 

A peaceful heart, at times. An anxious heart, maybe. Courageous? Once in a while. Discouraged? More often than I’d care to admit.

But a joyful heart? A cheerful heart? A glad heart? 

Strike one, strike two, strike three.

Folks who don’t know me that well may say, “c’mon Peter, you seem like a happy enough guy”. I may even be able to peep at my reflection and convince myself that I am sufficiently joyful. But here’s the thing. Some of us, before striking a pose in a mirror, will squint and reposition our bodies so that our best side is showing, at our best angle, in the best light. This curated self-reflection facilitates self-deflection for the purpose of avoiding self-correction. And, boy, did I have that pose down.

Pop quiz— what do we call someone who poses?

Yes, a poser.

Now, that’s a word that carries nostalgic baggage for some of us. For instance, if you were a boy with Airwalk shoes and a skater haircut in 1989 and couldn’t produce an on-command ollie during recess, you knew that word well.

Thirty-seven years later and there I was, wearing that lame-brand label again. Thanks to that six-word sucker punch from King Solomon, I was forced to acknowledge my imposter posture. I realized I had to stop blaming my inner distortion on an imaginary circus mirror and start calling it for what it was: an acrobatic attempt to appear as somebody that I wasn’t, namely a joyful person.

The question for me was not “do I ever experience the emotion called happiness”, because I did and I do, for sure. The problem was that my happiness historically has a low melting point.

Because I have a PhD in circumstantial happiness, with a Master’s in microwaved joy. Life is good when I’m feeling heathy and strong. And my kids are obeying my commands and my wife is polishing my ego. And I am succeeding at work and advancing in life. And there’s more money coming in than going out.

In other words, I’m a vibes guy. If they’re good, I’m good. Unfortunately, for a vibes guy, trials and smiles hold inverse proportionality. External circumstances control the strings of their smile and the reigns of their heart.

That was me, and speaking this truth aloud was straight wormwood to my already-afflicted tongue.

But let it be known that the sin God reveals in us, He intends to heal in us. The pivot for me began soon after my friend’s visit, when I woke up in the middle of the night. During those days, waking up in the middle of the night was a curse that would often summon a chorus of critical voices in my head. Voices that felt obliged to remind me that I had a scary disease and that there was nothing I could do about it. They spoke in noxious death tones.

But not this time. There were no offensive voices to be heard. It was only peaceful, like a gentle stream irrigating my brain. Gradually, within that wild and unregulated semi-conscious space between dreams, a still small began speaking:

"My son, your healing will come in the throes of your joy”.

“Your healing will come in the throes of your joy”.

“Your healing will come in the throes of your joy”.

It echoed in my mind, over and over, until the words found safe passage to my heart. And, suddenly, I just believed message. In fact, I shouted it, in my head while lying in my bed, at 2:30am.

“Yes, joy is my prescription!”

Wait, hold up… what does this even mean?! Hey, Mr. Still-Small-Voice, you still there? How do I fill this prescription? How do I find it? Alas, I was given no roadmap to locate this supposed healing joy. Nevertheless, a hope had awakened in me. And every day since has been a relentless (and clumsy) pursuit of her. For someone who has long buttered their bread with circumstantial joy, steady-state Joy is a Sasquatch riding a unicorn.

I confess, seeking her has not been easy. The closer I get, the more I realize that the price of possession is high. She demands that I demolish strongholds and idols that I don’t even know I have. Generational lies and ties must be excised. Hiding behind a cloak of “hereditary” stoicism is prohibited. Employing a “joy-buffer” as a protection mechanism against future hurt is forbidden.

The path to Joy requires regular surveillance of God’s faithfulness in my life. The findings have been spectacular in their consistency. Turns out, He has never left me nor forsaken me, not even once. My wretchedness and recklessness have never scared Him away, nor did any of my prodigal seasons. God seems to have an endless supply of robes and rings. And there’s always a fatted calf in the crock pot for a wayward crackpot. 

So, why would I imagine He’d suddenly start distancing Himself from me now? Does the affliction of my flesh have God biting His nails and moonwalking toward the exit? Does the Great Physician have no answer for cancer?

I don’t claim to know the ways of God, but I’m more convinced than ever that nothing on Earth or beyond Earth, whether inside my body or outside the realm of my understanding, can ever separate me from the purifying presence and remedial love of Christ.

When we wholeheartedly believe this to be true, supernatural things are conceived within the marrow of our being— things like greater faith and freedom and peace and hope. These are the stem cells of true Joy.

And true Joy cannot be destroyed. Not by storm, not by fire. In fact, when the fire’s hottest, a joy that’s true turns a golden hue. Not because the heat is pleasant but because He is present. The cruciform Jesus is right there, scarred-hands-and-feet-deep in our sufferings, with a beard-collection of tears (ours and His) and a promise that He ain’t going anywhere.

That’s why, ultimately, to pursue Joy is to pursue Christ. He is the undiluted, unpolluted Source of True Joy. The Devil will offer a billion cups of his imitation happiness from a million poisoned wells. But drinking from his ladle is ultimately fatal. Once you switch to the Lord’s cup, you will indeed “thirst no more”. You will be satiated. You will be satisfied. Supreme satisfaction in Christ is the soul’s smile we’re after. And I am grateful God is using this momentary affliction to reignite my affections.

I’ll finish with this observation. The longer I seek the rugged, narrow path toward Joy and walk in her fragrant, luminescent wake, the more I find myself appreciating her faithful disciples. I think spending quality time with joyful people is a surprise active ingredient of this cure I’m after. I used to be skeptical of joyful people. Like, do they even know how awful the world is outside their little joy-bubble? Have they never heard of human trafficking or microplastics or factory farms or politicians? I carried my nose high over their naivete. Them smilin’ simple folk, tsk-tsk.

Now I want nothing more than to join their ranks.

I realize now it’s not naivete but a genuine, rich faith that says, “Even in life’s greatest trials and tribulations, God is somehow working all things for our good and His glory. Somehow, all madness is a means to a more beautiful end.” It’s a peaceful and patient elation.

So, it’s this kind of faith that produces:

Joy!

And it’s this kind of Joy that reduces:

Stress and anxiety and fear and anger— all of which are scientifically-proven to rob the body of vitality and contribute to its dis-ease.

So, when Solomon says, “a joyful heart is good medicine”, no lie is detected.

It’s not just a symptom-masking medicine, but a cure! The Hebrew word for medicine used here is “gêhâh”, which refers to the removal of a bandage to reveal a fully-healed wound. Fully healed!

My journey to a full-embrace of sustaining Joy is far from over. But I’m working to get a step closer each day. And I still believe that, in some way, shape or form, my healing will come on heels of a smiling soul.

Amen.