Foreboding Joy
Robert Barnes’ Girl at a Window, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
One of my favorite sounds to hear ringing through our house is the laughter of our children. So often, the pure joy of their laughter stops me in my tracks, stirring something deep in my heart, calling me out of my melancholic brooding into their world of joy and wonder. It brings tears to my eyes simply writing about this experience; tears that are part happiness and part pain, those two emotions being intertwined and feeding off one another.
I cry at their joy because it is untainted by the upheaval and uncertainty that lay just under the surface for most of my childhood. They have only ever known a world in which their parents are married—and quite happily so. Joy flows freely in their lives, unhindered by worries about if, or when, their world might be turned upside down or their hearts might be broken to pieces by the people who are supposed to love them most in life.
And I cry because I mourn the loss of this joy in my own heart, both as a child and as an adult. My dad left when I was two years old. I have no active memories of my parents together and there was no reconciliation to be had. Within a few short years, my dad was dating, then remarried and then they had a son. There was some consistent every other weekend visiting schedule at the beginning, but, for the majority of my life, my dad has not lived close to me and he has flitted in and out of my life: doing so at his convenience. Sure, I have happy memories from childhood; it would be absurd not to recognize that fact, but even those do not contain the freedom I hear in my own children’s laughter. As Dan and Bethany write in their book Life-Giving Wounds: “Having something good and stable implode without warning, and perhaps without clear reasons why, teaches the heart that any good thing can be taken away without notice—a recipe for increased anxiety not only in relationships but in life in general.” (LGW, 129) I learned, as most children of divorce learn at an early age, that joy is not to be trusted.
I have heard this behavior of distrusting joy called foreboding joy. I think that term is accurate because it provokes for me an image of a child enjoying a gloriously sunny, seemingly perfect day, but when she looks up, above her own head, she sees a dark raincloud, always following, always threatening to ruin the beauty and joy around her.
One of the biggest struggles in my healing journey has been combatting foreboding joy. I say “combat” for good reason. It is often a battle and an immense struggle to push back against this ominous feeling that at any moment, even at the most joyous of moments, the other shoe could drop and something horrible could be just around the corner. That being said, I have hope because, although the battle is fierce, I am not alone in fighting it. None of us are.
I have no definitive solution to share that will ‘fix’ your foreboding joy, but I would like to offer a three step ‘plan’ that has unfolded in my own life, which God has used to soften my heart to the gifts of joy and wonder He still wished for me to experience.
1. Recognize Foreboding Joy and Name It
I find that step one in almost every part of my healing journey is naming. Being able to give voice to my experiences helps contain the difficulty I am facing. Without a name, the pain seems out of control and ever-expansive. Once it is named, I can face it. And I almost always find other people who are struggling with the same experiences. Naming it helps me to understand my own heart and then also helps me to connect with God and with others. In short, I no longer feel powerless and alone.
In this case, naming the pain as foreboding joy also means facing the wrong that was done to me as a child as well as my own responsibility in continuing the cycle of distrust in my own heart. I have to face the wounds that were inflicted upon me while also rejecting the idea that I am merely a victim. I get to see that I have a choice. I always told myself that I was merely being ‘realistic’ in planning for the worst case scenario, but recently it struck me that was simply my way of defending my distrust of joy.
Practically speaking, another part of this step has been examining my own heart both for ways I have said ‘yes’ to foreboding joy as well as identifying the ways that these wounds have shaped my idea of who God is. I find I can often assent on one level to beliefs such as: “God is a good Father who wants to give good gifts to His children.” But what happens when I bring that down to the personal level? My question here has often been: Do I believe God is a Good Father to me? Does my Father really want to give me good things? With no strings attached?
2. Bring it all to God.
In recognizing and naming this ‘self-protective behavior’ (LGW, 129), I am often left with questions, such as those posed above. Step Two then comes into play. I have a choice when the questions arrive. I can try to answer them myself, try to fix my own issues, or I can bring them God in prayer.
I think we often have the impression that God might be offended by these questions, these doubts, these aches we have in our hearts. I know I get nervous that maybe I will offend Him because these questions do not seem like trusting Him.
But, what shows more trust than honesty? I think of my own children yet again. I want them to be able to come and talk about ALL of their struggles with me. I want them to know that, although I am human and make mistakes and only occasionally over-react (hem-hem), I love them unconditionally. I want them to trust me with everything and to come to me, even or rather most especially, when they are feeling ashamed or hurt.
And if I, as a flawed human being, can feel this way about my children, how much more God must feel this way about us.
The Bible says, “But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8) I have never regretted bringing my heart, in whatever shape it may be in at the moment, to my Heavenly Father. I may go in hesitant and fearful, but He always responds with Love and Mercy. He is “slow to anger and abounding in mercy.” (Psalms 145:8)
The times I have been most hesitant to share my heart—because I fear He will be offended or upset—are always the times when I experience the deepest acceptance and love.
It takes humility to come before God and admit we are struggling to trust Him, to tell Him about the pain we may still be experiencing, even thirty odd years later over our parents’ divorce, and to ask Him with honesty and openness to heal our wounded, tattered hearts.
His response is always the same: “It is good that you are here.”
3. Practice Expecting Good Things
This is where the rubber meets the road, as the saying goes. And to be honest, this step and the step above are really two sides to the same coin. I find I cannot really practice expecting good things without actively bringing my struggles to God along the way.
I was able to put words to this step recently when on a date with my husband. My mom and step dad had taken the kids to an Orioles game and also, generously, given us money to go out to a nice restaurant for lunch. The rest of the details are not important, but, as we were driving to the restaurant, I had this thought: what would it be like to live life expecting God to give me good things?
My husband, who comes from an intact family, seems to have this as his default setting in life. When I look at Scripture and Tradition, his way of expecting good gifts lines up perfectly with what Jesus teaches us:
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Which one of you would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf of bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish? If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him. (Mathew 7:7-11)
In our relationship, I have often teased him, and sometimes gotten angry with him, over his ‘optimistic’ outlook on life. The deeper God takes me into my own heart, the more I realize that all of my ‘realism’ is just self-protection. I have been disappointed by my dad more times than I can count, and I simply do not want to risk trusting anyone too much because I fear I might not be able to handle disappointment anymore.
When I bring this part of my heart to God, I hear Him tell me: start small.
I think this step will probably look different for everyone, but I will offer one small suggestion. I often get overwhelmed by big, complicated practical steps for things, so I hope you find this as helpful as I do.
When you wake up in the morning, thank God for the day and be honest with Him about where your heart is at and the struggles you are having to trust the good things in your life. Tell Him you are excited to see what He has in store for you. And then watch for those good things. Check in at the end of the day and list for yourself (in your head or on paper) the good gifts you were given.
No part of these steps is easy. They all require vulnerability and risk. Be patient and gentle with yourself as you continue this healing work. Stay on each step as long as you feel you need to do so. Overall, I pray that my own story, a small part of which is shared here, will help you to feel seen and known. Know you are not alone. The struggle to experience joy is real and difficult and you should feel no shame in it. We all have a Father who is kind and patient and who is waiting with open arms to draw us in and heal our broken hearts.
Prayer:
Father,
I love you and I know you love me. I want to trust you and your promise to give me, your child, good things in this life and the best of all things—Heaven in the life to come. My heart has been wounded. I am afraid of being disappointed again. I need your help to be open and honest and to trust you. Thank you also for the gift of your son, Jesus, to show me always the face of your goodness and your kindness towards your children. Thank you for the gift of your Holy Spirit to guide me and bring me ever closer to you. I choose, here and now, to pause and thank you for the good things in my life (pause to add your own list of blessings). By your grace, I choose also to look forward to the good things you have yet to give me, today and every day of my life.
Amen.
About the author:
Stephanie is a wife and mother of three boys. She and her family live in Pennsylvania. Her husband works for their local parish and she homeschools their boys. She likes reading, watching documentaries, playing board/card games and going for walks without her phone.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals
Have you ever experienced a distrust of joy?
Ask yourself: Do I believe God is a Good Father to me? Does my Father really want to give me good things? With no strings attached?
What do you think of Stephanie’s steps? Anything you would add?
What thoughts come to your mind when you think about foreboding joy?
What would it be like to live life expecting God to give me good things?
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