Joy
At our weekly Trauma and Dance therapy, one more forum in the litany of my mental wellness and self-improvement diet, Doctor Julie asks us to remember an incidence of joy. Identify it, embrace it, experience it but first find one. But what is joy? How to fathom an experience of Joy without becoming mired in swamp of cynacism within this cranium? But wait, there’s one emerging. Fifty years of me melts away to expose one busy evening at the St Columban’s youth group gathering.
Bryan, you organize the party declares Father Charlie, subbing in for the deacon Paul who is on a non-date with a parishioner. He states it unequivocally, allowing no option of dissent. Me! Why me? My dire need to please Charlie overrides my fears. I ask (did I plead?) with the other members of the group to alternately, clean and setup the room, obtain the snacks and drinks, imagine the music out of thin air, gather the group and bring it all together. Lisa will sweet talk the Monsignor to give up the key to the sacristy storage area. He likes her, perhaps she reminds him of a non-existent grandchild. Dan will run over to the corner store for the snacks. Easy, his dad and mom dote on him and they own the store after-all. I envy his closeness to his parents, his father. Kevin and Paul, our resident cool members know where to scare up a record player and they can secure the tunes if only they can find our local hippie rocker Alex, a famous DJ, at least in his mind.
One by one, as if by magic, they disappear to their allotted tasks. I sweep and pray, place chairs and pray, clear extra furniture and pray, then pray and pray a little bit more. My heart in my stomach, churning and throbbing away. The team returns at staggered intervals, each one trumpeting their success in completing their assignments. Father Charlie pops in several times, surveys the scene and nods his approval. I crave that approval.
I do not remember the final assembly of my brothers and sisters with their tasks completed. Memory fades except for that quiet time before the party commences. Several private minutes to pass in contemplation in the rear of the church. Elapsed time does not exist…. All has gone well. Party not for another 30 minutes. No need to share this moment of success. I sit at the rear in a pew at the rear of the church next to the confessional and I profess my thanks to God… no realization that god did nothing but comfort me. I take a deep breath, let it out, and feel Joy for the first time in my short life. I belong! I am part of a greater whole. I am accepted. Father Charlie is appreciative of us all but I will hold this appreciation in a small chamber of my heart far longer than it merits.