When I say happy

"Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts." - Wendell Berry

I told someone the other day that what I wanted to be when I was older, was happy. And, like most things that come out of my mouth, it was true, but with a host of meaning behind it that I had neither the time nor the wit to communicate immediately. There are worlds ands stories behind what I think and say, and it can be hard for me to know just when to expound, before the moments and the words get away from me.

I don't want to be happy at the expense of being real and strong and brave. And I don't want happiness without a shred of sadness. I don't know what that is, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it. I reach for happiness because I have experienced the other: sadness, pain, loss, discouragement, loneliness. But numbness is the worst part of any depression, and to me, happiness is the spark that happens when I'm out of the dark.

Happiness is being able to appreciate the moment. It's not being more blessed, but being able to feel the weight of blessing I already have. It's gratitude and appreciation for the lives and world around me. It's having the ability to see, love, and pursue the people in my life that care about me, build me up, and bring me joy. It's having energy and passion to fuel my days. It's having enough time to notice and savor the big, staggering beauties, and the small glinting ones. It's shining eyes, grateful sighs. It's making and treasuring peace with the ones I love the most, and fighting for peace and justice in the broken world around me.

I've heard people differentiate happiness and joy so much that I think of joy more like faith. Joy is like the coal burning in the pit of my stomach that won't go out even during the darkest days of depression. It sits in the pain and declares the goodness of God, his care, and his arms beneath me. It's a lifeline wrapped around heaven's gates. It's a cord tying me to hope, insisting that I am loved, insisting that even if he cuts me down, I will still love him, and still trust him. Please God, I will never lose that.

But if I am granted another wish, it will be what I have not-quite-carelessly called "happiness": I ask to stay an optimist. To recognize goodness and beauty, potential and strength, in those around me. To see God in every stretch of sky, and every swaying tree, in every sidewalk flower. I want to be broken by beauty more often than pain. I don't want to drown in the to-dos and busyness of life, I want to gaze into the eyes of my (future) kids and just get giddy with gladness. I want to enjoy, live, laugh, participate, remember, appreciate.

And when I'm old and grey, I want to be twinkly and grateful. I want to pass on wisdom and laughter. This world can be an ugly place, and I would never want to shut my eyes to the truth. But I want the happiness with which to wage peace in this world. I want the happy ending of God's story to be painted into every corner of my soul. The part of the story that hasn't happened yet, but has been bought in full and set in stone. The deeper glory from before the dawn of time. And we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. And he's a happy God.