Coping with Joy

The best part was Nicole asking me on a fairly regular basis, “Are you doing OK?”  Because I didn’t cry.  Not once during the whole thing.  I mean, I whipped that bandana off, stuck it in my bag, chatted through the foil, teased Nicole during my shampoo, listened carefully to instructions during the fussy part of how to get my hair to look like that again tomorrow, and I was….

Fine.

Until the very end as I was about to step out that door into the street after it was all done. 

And then the tears rushed.  Nicole was pressing tissues into my hand, and stood with me while I stared at that door.  I sensed it was a big moment, and I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

It wasn’t fear.  It wasn’t sorrow.  It wasn’t anxiety.  No, those are big feelings that I am very familiar with.

It was…

Joy.  No, more than that.  It was jubilation.

And I could hear Jesus say to me “WOMAN, THOU ART LOOSED”.

And then I was grinning.

You see, just like the woman in Luke 13:12, I was afflicted with a horrible disease.  And before I even knew I had breast cancer, Jesus answered my need.

But my main need was not to be cancer free.  Oh, I got that too—but the need I really had was to be released from a lifetime habit of living in the slimy pit of Psalm 40:2 and live instead in the joy of being redeemed. 

But for me, that slimy pit was comfortable.  And my bandana reminded me of that slimy pit I was in.  It blanketed me in the comfort of fear, sorrow, and anxiety that came with being a cancer patient.

I know, it may seem backwards to some of you.  But I also know there are more like me out there, too.  People who are more comfortable with their slimy pit epics than they are the joys of a redeemed life.  People who cope with joyful moments, but in the back of their minds are always focused on the slimy pit.

You know who you are.

Make no mistake.  I experience joy and love life.  I am genuinely thankful for the blessings I have.  The smile on my face is not fake.  It’s just that most of the time, I am more comfortable experiencing the slimy pit. 

But in those steps I took from Nicole’s place into the street, I stopped being a cancer patient and I became a cancer survivor.  A woman loosed.  Out of the pit.

It is MY YEAR OF JUBILEE.

I am not sure you can understand what it feels like.  Maybe this picture will help.  You are in a giant box whose walls are covered with paper.  You keep peeling away papers looking for a way to get out, but there is just always more paper.  But you keep on peeling the paper off, and it gets deep around your feet.  But you just know somewhere there must be a door.  Or a window.  Or at least just a little crack of light that you can look out at something else for awhile.  But instead, there’s just more paper, and soon you are shoulder deep in papers that you have peeled off the walls trying to get out.  So then, you stop focusing on getting out, and start focusing on how to organize the papers so that you at least have a spot to sit.  And pretty soon, you are so busy organizing papers, you forget all about the quest for a door to get out, and instead focus on a lower expectation of just a bare spot on the floor to sit on.  And then—POOF!  All the papers and the walls made out of paper are gone.  And you stand in the bright sunlight with green grass as far as you can see and blue skies smiling at you in every direction and part of you is like, “HEY!  Where are my papers?  I worked a long time on that project!” 

You need to learn to cope with joy.

But it takes a while.

It takes a while to realize you are seeing beyond those walls.  It takes a while for it to sink in that you are seeing green grass and blue sky in every direction.  And then you take one step onto that grass.  And then another.  And then your steps get faster, and you are running with all your might across that green grass, pumping your arms and legs with all you are.

And the Father of Heaven who loves you so much is right there next to you running and grinning with you.

It is your Year of Jubilee.

So…new project.  I need to learn how to cope with joy.  Because I desire to run with all my might across that green grass, just as the Lord intended for me.  To get there, I am going to do three things.  First, I am gong to let the Lord know my intentions.  I want to honor Him by accepting the jubilation He offers me with both hands, and to do that, I am going to need His help.  Second, I am going to read the Book of Philippians every morning for the next 30 days.  Paul the Apostle wrote that book while he was in prison, and it is full of joy—what better way to immerse myself in the idea of joy than that?  Third, I am going to read Beth Moore’s book “Get out of that pit!”   There is nothing more powerful than the testimony of someone else who has been a professional pit-dweller.

Who knew a simple haircut could do all of THAT?