Joy

My consciousness swims to the surface and breaks into waking as I return from some far off place and time. I take a slow, deep breath; my eyes open and begin to focus. A red blur sharpens into lines, forming numbers – 5:17 am. I stare at the numbers for a few moments, trying to recapture the dream I was having, but like threads of spider silk it comes apart at my grasp.

I’ve now almost perfected the process of lifting the sheets and rolling out of bed and onto my feet so as to avoid disturbing my wife. After retrieving my glasses and phone, I pad softly out of the room. Down the stairs, carefully stepping on the spots that will creak the least. My friend John assures me that when my boys are just a little older I will be thankful for those creaky stairs, but for now I try my best to ninja my way down them to let my family keep sleeping. This is my daily challenge.

I descend to the basement and sit down at my computer, say a prayer to start my day. Open the verse of the day, take a moment of meditation, then begin checking my messages. Lots of junk mail in the inbox. What’s new on Facebook?

My heart sinks. More bad news. Another article about why someone is wrong, or wicked, or needs to change. A surge in COVID cases. An argument between friends, accusations piling up. An analysis of every blunder in the President’s last speech. Another shooting. Another car accident. Another missing child. Another politician’s invective tweet. More arguing.

Stop.

This is no way to start a day.

---

I pull out my Bible, open to the section I’ll be covering in my devotion later. Spend a little time digging into the words behind the translation. Make a few notes.

I open my Word processor, spend the next fifteen minutes in a writing sprint, letting whatever creativity I can muster flow out of my head through my fingers and onto the screen.

Deep breath.

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New notifications. I look. A few new things in the feed – the face of a friend, smiling for the camera. A family full of adorable children. An update on how schools are planning to reopen. A devotional post from a pastor. An article about ministry in the wake of the pandemic. An article about a protest. A conversation about race. A list of the top 17 movies to watch before they disappear from Netflix. A video explaining that the pandemic is a hoax. A video from a dad whose kid committed suicide. A video of a mom whose son was killed. A video from a politician who wants me to vote for him because he’ll bring real change. An article about why we need to wear masks. An article about why we shouldn’t wear masks. More arguing. More accusations.

Stop.

---

I hear the stairs creak as one of my sons comes down from his room. Maybe my friend John is right about those stairs. I close my computer, go up to the kitchen. My teenager is standing by the stove, preparing a couple of eggs for himself. I put a hand on his shoulder; he looks up and smiles at me. Another set of feet on the stairs, and I turn around to my almost-teenager, who always likes to start his day with a hug. He smiles and sighs happily while I hold him.

Joy. It isn’t found by scrolling my news feed.

I don’t want to blame social media too much – it isn’t to blame for what’s happening in the world, and it connects us and brings us information we need. It’s a tool. But like any tool, it can be used against us. To steal our joy. To throw distraction and division in our path. To keep us from the joy God has in store for us.

But as I stand with my boys in a kitchen slowly brightening in the sunrise, I don’t need to think about that.

I can think about sitting at the table and eating breakfast with my family. I can think about making a pot of coffee for my beautiful bride. I can think about opening our Bibles together as a family and remembering the ways God has kept his promises.

That’s joy.