Joy

This last weekend came and passed as so many do, quietly, unobtrusively, gliding away almost before I’d realized it had begun. I’m at that stage in life where one day blends beautifully into another, and you have to stare intently at each day to separate the brushstrokes that determine the conclusion of each day. (The Impressionists always were my favorite painters.)

My boys, the nephews, apparently vetoed their father’s to visit the Desert Museum and chose the University of Arizona’s Spring Fling. I’m pretty much game for anything when it comes to my boys. So, we loaded everyone, even Jug, into my deployed sister-in-law’s SUV, and off we went. It was two hours of hot carnival fun. (Did I mention it was hot?) We strolled up and down the midway while the boys carefully chose at which booths to hand over their tickets to win stuffed animals. Then they rode the Ferris wheel, and after that they were done. My brother, M, and I had been done much sooner (Jug even sooner than that.), but, hey, the day wasn’t about us.

By the time the boys had had enough carnival fun it was lunchtime, and M, always up for pizza, had spotted a pretty widely known franchise for brick oven pie across the street from the campus. So, that’s where we headed. Because nothing is ever easy with boys, Auz was thrilled but Z refused to eat. (Suddenly the kid doesn’t like pizza. If he didn’t look so much like the rest of us, I’d be slightly concerned they brought the wrong baby home from the hospital 7 years ago.)

The pizza came about the same time that the hostess sat a large party of former Univ of AZ football players at the table behind us. While Z was busy not eating, M and I sedately ate our delicious lunch. Auz, however, was ecstatic over his pepperoni pizza, and he absolutely didn’t care who knew it.

“Dad, dad! This is the best pizza EVER!” Auz exclaimed as he chowed down on his ordinary choice.

M answered him, “I’m glad you like it, buddy, because there’s a lot to take home.”

Auz wasn’t content to end the exchange there. He took another few bites then practically shouted, “I can’t believe how good this pizza is. This is the best restaurant. We need to always come here.”

By now the football players were looking over at us and smiling, some even laughing. There was no malice in their smiles or laughter. I think they genuinely enjoyed Auz’s glee. After all, is there anything as innocent as a kid’s honest excitement over something as benign as pizza? Auz’s delight was beautiful, and everyone in that little restaurant felt it.

As I was driving home later, I contemplated that scene, and I began to wonder when the last time I truly felt that much delight over, well, anything. (That two-hour drive from Tucson can be a real bear for introspection.) Now, I am well versed in finding happiness in small things: sunsets over Picacho Peak, running just to the point that I’m sure I can’t take another step then pushing past that wall, my boys, my niece, even my dogs. But when was the last time I wanted to exclaim over something so loudly that everyone around me turned to look, AND I DID NOT CARE? Honest answer? I don’t remember – maybe never. How sad that is!

Shouldn’t our lives be lived in constant small moments of great joy? Shouldn’t we live those moments out loud? Isn’t sharing those moments worth every step that brought us there to begin with? Those moments are gifts, yes? As gifts, they’re not meant to be hidden away, hoarded, never to feel the warm flash of love again, because that is really what joy amounts to – the recognition or reflection of love (and Love) in our own hearts and lives on some (potentially sliding) scale.  And those moments reflect His glory in our lives, witness to His goodness and His desire for the best He has to offer.  Those moments, bottom line, really aren’t about us at all.  We just get to be the beloved, wrapped in His warmth as we reflect His light.

So, maybe knowing this, seeing this in action in that tiny pizza place, will remind me that joy, in all it’s forms, deserves, perhaps demands, to be shared.