It is not uncommon for people to comment on my spirit of joy. Becky, you are so full of joy. I see joy in your eyes. Your joy is contagious! Their words resonated with the joy I felt in my own spirit.
In the last few years working with my leadership coach, she noted the presence of joy that she named “the giddiness factor” as a sign of my next steps. She defined my “giddiness factor” as an energy, a lightness and a joy in my voice and spirit. As I would weigh out choices for a decision with her, she would pause me and say, “Wait, I hear it! The giddiness factor is there when you talk about that choice.”
The presence of joy has long been familiar and known to me. It is a marker of God’s presence inside beckoning me to pay attention. Joy, that true fruit of the Holy Spirit, is a pure gift. I have long known and savored the presence of God in my life through joy.
Until it disappeared this last year. Or at least it felt like it had when grief consumed the space that joy used to.
Our family lost a close young person in our lives to suicide near the end of 2022. It shook my faith to its core. It still does at times. This death came on the heels of three close family members and friends deaths in years prior. It came at a time when I had already named that I was feeling compassion fatigue from the in depth and intimate listening to so much pain and sorrow in the years since Covid in spiritual direction and retreat ministry. It came after years of fighting to keep our ministry doors open as we pivoted from primarily in-person offerings, to entirely virtual, back to a blend of in-person and virtual. I was already emotionally drained, feeling empty, clinging to the last ounces of joy and hope I felt, and the death of this young person swallowed any last feeling of joy or hope that I had.
Losing joy felt like losing my identity. I grasped to make sense of everything. I didn’t know who I was. My heart ached for my children in ways I have never experienced as Chris and I sought to accompany them in their grief. I vacillated wildly between hope and fear, anger and trust.
I felt confused. Confused with life, and confused that this was the time that God was calling forth the birth of Ignatian Ministries. It did not make sense that this would be the time of new life being brought forth when I felt I was in darkness. When all markers I used to lean on to help guide me were no longer there in prayer or in feeling. I felt sad. More like a deep sorrow that could swallow me at any moment.
With the help of my spiritual director, I grasped for new guideposts and markers of God’s presence. Counselors supported all in our family. Close friends refused to give up on me, and heralded hope in the moments I could not find it myself. I clung to wisdom I shared with others in the past. I took a lot of hot soaks in the tub desperately needing to feel the warmth of the water around my body. I stood outside in my backyard multiple times a day and turned my face to the sun and begged God to fill me with light again.
Months passed working daily to put the next foot forward. To make the next decision with the help of our team and newly gathered board to bring Ignatian Ministries to life. And as Jesus was, as my Black brothers and sisters so dearly call him, “the way-maker”. He made the way. He walked the way with me. He was the way as he so clearly proclaimed in John’s Gospel, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
And one day not too long ago, I stood outside in my backyard looking at the winter trees barren without their leaves. I turned my face to the sun asking for God’s light to pour into me, and I felt that all too familiar feeling of joy well in me again. It was not loud or clangy. It did not arrive with great trumpet, but it welled like a spring from within. It surprised me so much it brought tears to my eyes. I wrapped my arms around my chest in thanksgiving and welcomed my old friend home again.
And while I might remember this day as the day I felt my joy return, this is really the day I began to see that joy never really left in the first place. It was here all along abounding in the path of life that was full of God’s presence this past year. There are many signs of joy as I look back and remember.
This new year brings a season of renewal of belief for me. A year that I know God is calling me to stand firmly in a renewed sense of faith, anchored even more firmly in God’s promises. It is a year that I seek to savor the grace of joy that always shows up on the path of life. My verse these past weeks and the one I will cling to with renewed hope this year is Psalm 16:11: “You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever.”
I invite you to join me in savoring God’s presence on your path of life. Because it is there, right there in the middle of your life, that you, too, will be surprised by the joy of being in God’s presence.
Going Deeper Together:
- Read, re-read, and savor the words of Donna Ashworth’s poem “Joy Choose You”
- Listen to Harry Baker’s passionate viral reading of this same poem and celebrate the delight of joy choosing you.
- Pray with the full text of Psalm 16.
- Consider creating a Spiritual Plan for 2024 with this free resource from Ignatian Ministries to help you figure out what God is inviting you to.
Becky Eldredge
Becky is an Ignatian-trained spiritual director, retreat facilitator, and writer. She is the author of the Busy Lives and Restless Souls (March 2017, Loyola Press) and The Inner Chapel (April 2020, Loyola Press). She helps others create space to connect faith and everyday life through facilitating retreats and days of reflection, through writing, and through spiritual direction. With nearly twenty years of ministry experience within the Catholic Church, Becky seeks to help others discover God at work in the everyday moments of people’s lives by utilizing St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises and the many gifts that our Catholic faith and Ignatian Spirituality provide.
Comments
Loading comments...
Leave a comment