Your Joy Will Shine

I’m looking a friend in the eyes, listening to her heart, simultaneously wishing I could take this pain from her and not regretting any of mine.

Four years ago, I could never have imagined such a truth. There’s no way I can convey this right now, when it’s all just beginning for her, but our journey has been one of the richest of my life. Even as we still wait: for answers, fulfillment, patience, clarity - I am thankful. I am just as overflowing with praise as I am with anything else.

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I remember it like it was yesterday: down the center of the stadium seats, a sea of black caps and gowns.

Music pulses through the speakers and my heart beats in sync with the drums. Tears form rivers down my cheeks as I lift my hands in the air, singing with my whole heart: I’ve seen you move, you move the mountains… My years at Nyack held so much joy and sorrow. In that moment though, standing in the darkened Pardington Hall, the only memories racing through my mind are the ones where I experienced God’s presence and knew His character more. They’re overwhelmingly good, settling on me the way the sun feels warm on a cold day.

Those memories weave together like brightly colored threads to form a gorgeous tapestry, symbolic of all the darkness and light I’d encountered across the years. The collection of them is stunning because of, not in spite of, the varying shades of joy and pain each thread represents.

Now, I think back to that weekend, the one where I graduated and reflected on all that God had done during my undergraduate years. I remember the pain distinctly, but it’s mostly overshadowed by the lasting joy and peace I found as I grew in intimacy with Christ.

I’ve let myself wonder more often recently, if I’d known then what I know now, would I still have worshiped the same way? Would gratitude have been the overwhelming feeling as I closed one chapter and entered into another? If I’d had a sense of all that was waiting, perched around the corner, just out of view for my graduated self, would I still have chosen lifted hands?

There’s no sure way to tell. All I know is that I have and I don’t regret it.

It’s a knowing that’s sprouted leaves and grown taller this year because now, when I consider the same sentiment, my answer is “yes” every time. If more depression came, if our desires were never fulfilled, if life continued in it’s symphony of pain and pleasure - I would lift my hands now and worship the way my sweet college self did.

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This is what I want to share with my friend as I listen to her.

Let this be a pain that brings you to the feet of the cross. Let the uncertainty bring you straight into Jesus’ embrace. May the longing remind you daily how much you long for Heaven, how you were made for eternity. I’ve been there and this is the only thing I don’t wish I could do differently now.

This month’s Selah song is like the sun on your cheeks even as the cold autumn wind blows your hair. It’s the Truth we need to remind our hearts of every day. It’s a declaration if you needed one.

His joy will shine, friends. May we be overwhelmed by His love and moved to lift our hands again and again.