I was in a particularly good mood for a Monday, especially the Monday after Christmas when I knew gathering news would be a Herculean challenge and parts of me that I didn’t know existed were hurting.
Still, the morning was bright and sunshiny, although not as cold as I would prefer. I spoke to the fellow walking across the parking lot, since I greet most every person I encounter.
“Howyadoin,” he muttered, a grimace permanently plastered in place on his face. He half-nodded, then picked up his pace a bit.
It bugged me a little too much, I guess. I wasn’t being happy-puppy friendly, nor was I singing Zippity-doo-dah as I skipped into work. Indeed, I don’t skip well, what with needing my walking stick to walk more than 50 feet. I was just being friendly – but that seems to have gone by the wayside in the past couple of years.
The grumpy fellow in the parking lot reminded me of some of the folks we saw whilst heading to see Miss Rhonda’s family on Christmas. Until my back and knees are repaired, driving in anything smaller than my truck will continue to be painful. The store where we stopped was one of the few open on Christmas Day, and I am sure its proximity to the interstate played a major role. We had a need or two other than gas and coffee, and the folks there were friendly, even with working on Christmas. I hauled myself out of the car to stretch while my bride dashed inside.
Some of our fellow travelers looked like they needed a hug from their mama more than a break from the road. The last time I saw faces so pinched and screwed tight was when I slipped someone a green persimmon.
I don’t expect everyone to be cheerful as the village idiot every single day – I certainly am not — but there seems to be an awful lot of grumpiness going on all the time. Of course, it’s understandable. Just look at everything that’s wrong.
The political party in power seemingly hellbent on destruction of the Republic. Politicians and bureaucrats using major media outlets to assault us with Covid Fear Porn on every channel, all day, every day. Others have weaponized those in the public service to silence any who dare disagree with their ever-expanding power. Rioters and rabble rousers go free, while grandmothers are jailed in solitary confinement. Gas prices and the cost of everything else is climbing through the roof . Young people in their 20s not wanting to work, and employers begging for workers. Russia and China, plus some minor states, sneering at America.
Shoot, I guess I could justifiably be a bit grumpier than I appear, what with my ongoing back and knee issues, a couple days in the hospital with the aforementioned Wuhan Flu, a misbehaving truck with a mystery ailment, dangerously dry pastures and the loss of a beloved old horse. There are some days when it really doesn’t seem worth getting up.
But then I remember the good things in life, the simple things that, far from being overshadowed by the bad parts, shine through when you need them the most.
There is utter and complete joy in knowing that, no matter what this world holds, I am a child of God, and someday I’ll be with him in a place where nothing hurts and nobody cries. There is so much joy at knowing a new name is written down in glory as someone you’re prayed over gives it all to God. There is happiness in having a church family that I love, people whom I know mean it when they say they’re praying for us.
There is happiness in baby goats, of which we have two right now. Annie and Honey are growing like the weeds they love to devour. They’re still small and young enough not to care about the world, as long as their mama Sally is a few feet away with a full bag of milk, and the rest of their flock is close by, ready to go to war against predators.
There is joy in having a circle of friends who share your humor, and share in your sorrows when need be.
There is more happiness in a dog than any non-dog person could understand. We have six dogs at home – Walter the Wonder Dog, Toni, Casey, Smidget, Jack and William. There’s happi ness everywhere, from Toni snoring on my shoulder to William and Jack chasing coon and possum scent across the yard, and ignoring the fat doe at the end of the driveway. Smidget actually smiles, and poor old Casey’s sweet sad eyes are full of love. A statue would smile at Walter’s sheer exuberance over rolling in the yard. I admit it: dogs make me happy.
I am married to a wonderful, generous woman who loves me, would have my back in a fight, calls me out when I am wrong, worships our Lord, and enjoys rubbing my creaky shoulder and brushing my hair. There is true joy there.
There is joy in a blue-back night sky spotted with stars, and joy as the sun breaks through the pines to burn off the fog first thing in the morning, when the last of the owls question the meaning and purpose of life while the squirrels cuss and the doves mourn and the hounds break trail in a joyous chorus.
There is joy in sitting in the back of a pickup on a warm Sunday afternoon in December sharing with a buddy.
There is joy in feeling a catfish dispute the forces that will turn him into supper. There is joy in the smell of pines and swamps, the rifle in your hand the only thing that raises you ever so slightly above the other apex predators.
There is joy in seeing a job well done, even when nobody but you will ever see or understand its importance.
There is joy in having a job that you love, with people who are more like family.
There is still the joy of living in the greatest country on Earth, despite all her problems.
Indeed, if you get right down to it, you could spend days counting the blessings, both the easy ones and those that required blood, sweat and tears.
The more I think about it, I wonder if I don’t need to clamp down on the bone-twisters and blood-pullers trying to make me better. I likely need to ride them a little harder about getting me off my walking stick and back on my feet again.
After all, I have so many reasons to be thankful, I ought to be dancing down the street, whistling Zippity-Doo-Dah and trying to brighten someone else’s bad day.
