It had not been an easy week. Competing needs crowded me like mad shoppers on black Friday, jostling and tugging, refusing to queue up or take a number for service.
Then my computer, which had been suffering some maladies for the previous three months, sank into a dark screen coma. I felt abandoned. My co-worker against the mad onslaught had gone down for the count. If I had been in the US, I could have called Apple for trouble-shooting assistance.
I wasn’t in the US. I was in Beni, eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. This was ten years ago., before WhatsApp and 24/7, reliable electricity. As only one of three international staff (and the oldest by a couple of decades), I felt alone, exhausted, weary, and frustrated.
There were still more hours in the workday. I checked off a couple of items on the “to do” list, wrote newsletter content, graded papers, prepared the next day’s lesson, and coached a colleague on the basics of facilitating effective learning groups. But my heart still sat heavy. I couldn’t look beyond my own feet.
That evening my despondency compounded. We ran out of fuel for the generator at our house, so couldn’t charge phones or batteries. Our night-time guard showed up late and drunk. A rat invaded the pantry and chewed on the bread.
My discomfort was so great the next morning that I knew the only way out from under was to take personal inventory and admit my part. My part included massaging a gloomy attitude, setting expectations (which are really unplanned resentments), and craving control. I needed to ask God (my Higher Power) to remove those character defects. Thank you, Al Anon.
The morning scripture reading ended with Psalm 16 that concludes with, “You will show me the path of life; In your presence there is fullness of joy; At your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
I had been waiting for a miracle that would clear the to-do list, fix the household problems, and resurrect my computer. I had missed the miracle and my opportunity. God made available God’s own presence and “fullness of joy.” I had a choice: choose to live into that joy and unclench my fist to receive the hand full of pleasures. Or not.
The to-do list kept growing. We got a cat to keep the rats away. The computer, by miracle (?) returned to life.
The real miracle? I shredded the self-pity, stepped into “the path of life,” and accepted “the fullness of joy.”
For that day.
Yes, living into joy and unclenching my fist is a daily—and sometimes hourly—decision. I’m about 30% consistent. I’m continuing to learn how to do it.