Painful Joy

Painful Joy. This was the expression I saw on Anna’s face as she awkwardly clutched the chains of the swing, as I pushed her into the wind. Her one hand gripping the chain, while the other arm was wrapped around half touching the other chain. She was not fully aware of the correct way to feel secure—but oh the joy, to feel the push. She started to laugh so hard that sound stopped coming out, and it was then I saw a look that could have passed for pain. It is a mixture of both fear and pleasure. This painful joy state is not uncommon for those of us who have special needs children. Our children can become over simulated by the simplest things. It’s like happiness without the benefit of full understanding. While others watch the joy of it, we are aware of the pain. It’s a stimulus that has no shut off regulator, and we become responsible for the pacing of it.

Anna’s spontaneous laughter flows often lacking understanding. We smile and laugh with her, but its superficial. Sometimes we stand as a silent witness, as others look for understanding, wanting to simulate her more, because everyone loves laughter. Quietly we wait, and in the moments when all have gone, we offer her something much more valuable than fleeting fun; Commitment. 

Sorrow has presented to us opportunity to learn lessons of commitment that only come in the trenches. There is one thing I’ve learned in these places, and that is very few can walk with you in them. Laughter and Joy take on a much deeper meaning, because sorrow has plowed deep. You see beyond the surface, and do not always feel like the answers are necessary for going on.

It’s nice to be on the playground now and then, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Laughter works like a medicine, but pain carries with it the enduring quality of patience. Anna’s uncontrolled laughter is a reminder of how everything is not as it appears. I stop the swing and calm her and the significant of our day at the park will be more about my presence with her, than what we did. A.B. Simpson expresses beautifully the fruit of painful joy in this way, 

“There is a shallow, superficial nature, that gets hold of a theory or a promise lightly, and talks very glibly about the distrust of those who shrink from every trial; but the man or woman who has suffered much never does this, but is very tender and gentle, and knows what suffering really means. This is what Paul meant when he said, ‘Death worketh in you.’”

We can not separate ourselves from the shallow things of life. There presence with us points us to the painful things we can not change. How we respond to them, is more important for the present, than finding answers. I will continue to push my daughter on the swing, because these simple exercises of play show my other children that we choose to participate in LIFE, even though life does not always give us back an equal return for our efforts. We are learning that commitment has a price, and it will not be supported by anything less than Faith. This painful joy must have been what Paul also experienced in this life when he wrote;

“As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing, as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.” 2 Co 6:10

We will go as far in our faith, as we seek to want more than what we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, or touch with our hands. Anna offers this gift daily to us. In her non-verbal way she shouts, “I believe and trust you!” Her only requirement is our nearness. Does my own heart say this to my Heavenly Father, even in the midst of troubles and trials? When swung into the air of unexpected circumstances can I rest in my heart in the faithfulness of the One whose pushing my swing?

Anna will be turning 18 years old soon, and when most young ladies are growing in understanding and maturity, learning how to handle the complexities of this life. Anna could probably be seen at our near by park, being pushed on a swing, simply holding on tight in rapturous joy. Her mother is coming to appreciate the beauty of this painful joy and this keeps her pushing, while resting in His love.

The above was written right before Anna turned 18 years old.  She will soon be turning 24 years old soon.  Oh what a beautifully painful joy it has been.  It was good for my own heart to re-read it, and be reminded of my need for a SIMPLE devotion of trusting my Father today.