Guilty. I am guilty. I’ve held joy as a prisoner, a hostage to my circumstances.
Chained to my perceptions, it could only be experienced when the situation was joyful.
And even under the perfect conditions joy had its limits.
After a year of unwrapping joy, the realization saddened me. Joy ought not to be contained! It should burst forth like a song…a masterpiece played by a full orchestra, sang by a choir of voices. Not pushed into a corner and warned to keep quiet and wait until the right time…whatever that means.
Come to think of it, this year, I have seen joy waiting but not for the happiest, most exciting moments. It was waiting for the darkest moments to release a kaleidoscope of lights.
The hurt was still there but it wasn’t cloaked in fear and bitterness. Somehow looking for joy in the sorrow changed me. This kind of joy wasn’t a feeling as much as it was a realization, a deep knowing that I am never completely alone. I am never abandoned. And in that revelation death lost its sting. The grave of dreams lost its hold on me. And Joy brought with it Hope… Little by little.
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