Steadfast Joy

By Jaime Tischler, mom2mom committee member 

Joy. What does that look like? What does it mean to you? Many of us at mom2mom are also attending the Beth Moore Bible study at RMCC on the book of James. During the first week, we read James 1:2-3. Yes, that passage. The verses that tell us “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” (ESV)

I do not type this post lightly. For I know there are many who have gone through unimaginable trials or may even be in the midst of varying levels of heartache right now. It would be easy to give a pat summary and say “buck up, be happy, don’t worry. Everything will all work out. This will produce perseverance.” And while these may be true sentiments, does that erase the pain? Or the reality of the harsh sacrifice and anguish that may follow us? Of course not. What I will tell you is what this passage means for me personally. 

As a child, like many, I lived a generally care-free, happy life. There were birthday parties, family road trips, and colorful tales of how my dad “traveled to America with only $500 in his pocket” from Thailand in order to put himself through graduate school to become an architect and an US citizen. My dad’s strong-work ethic, humor, delectable Thai cooking skills, and generosity provided for my mom, sister, and me. My mom was a true people person. She home schooled my sister and me from day one till high school. She was always eager to talk to her kiddos (and our friends too). These were years filled with happiness and maybe a little sheltering as home schoolers well ;-). It was a good life. I can truly say both my parents were filled with true joy--joy that came from conquering hardships, and the victory of handling said trials with gentle grace and dignity. 

And then one Sunday afternoon, when I was 19 years old, my world literally flipped upside down. A defective back tire blew-out on my dad’s white SUV as we drove home from Tucson. Right before the SUV rolled onto the dusty side rail of the I-10, I remember seeing my mom reach out her hand and say, “it’s going to be okay.” These were her last words. She died at the scene of the accident. My dad a few hours later. 

My sister and I walked away with only a few minor cuts and bruises, and yet, with a whole new world to navigate. We were not without hope. We knew we would see our parents one day again as their Faith was a cornerstone of their life. And their warmth, left a legacy and large community of supportive friends. Yet, our college graduations, my wedding, the birth of my kiddos... all happy--joyful--occasions, were tinged with sadness. These events were all truly bittersweet.  We were missing what so many take for granted--what I myself had always taken for granted and thought would be a given. 

It is a weird, weird thing losing not one but two parents. There is the big picture items for sure that cause one to weep from losing them. But what does your day to day look like? As some of my friends headed to the mall to shop for their senior prom, I was trying on itchy black skirts for my parent’s memorial service.  Whenever I battled a cold, all I wanted was my dad’s spicy Thai lemongrass soup. How often did my mind literally think, I’ll just call him and ask him to whip me up some, as if suffering from a strange form of amensia. Yes, just weird. 

Over time, many people that went through similar losses shared that they felt guilty when they were happy. I often felt the opposite. I felt guilty when dealing with hardships. I felt as if I had to wrap my life up in a pretty-little-bow. I felt as if I should just downplay rough circumstances because they were nothing in comparison to losing my parents. That line of thinking even crept into my loss, causing me to skip over the mourning process and project ‘everything is okay’ on the outside front, when inside I was totally--utterly--devastated. I could pretend to be chipper, yet it was not always genuine. I always felt thirsty.  Figuratively and literally, thirsty. My mouth would go dry trying to sum up my feelings in a way as not to offend anyone or put anyone out. And yet how I longed to have the turbulent feelings of loss, betrayal, and confusion, quenched. 

It was not until one day, as I was planning out my wedding, about two years later, sobbing as I thought of the long walk down the aisle without my dad’s steady arm to hold, that I came upon the above passage in James and also a song on surrendering all to Him. That meant surrendering the pain, not passing it over, but truly feeling it in order to hand it over. To count the loss as something more than heartache. More than a senseless tragedy. There is a Charles H. Spurgeon quote that truly resonates with me.  Spurgeon once stated, “There is sweet joy that comes to us through sorrow.” 

I do believe that one begins to know true unrelenting joy when you walk through the fire of earthly trials. Yes, I still feel the ache even after 12 years. Believe me, random--and not so random--moments will cause the tears to pour out. I miss them every day. I wish I could pick up the phone and tell my mom about the crazy--cute way Blake and Ryker interact or get her much-needed advice on what to do when both kids are on the verge of a very public meltdown in the middle of Safeway. 

However, as I watch my little munchkins grow, and see reflections of my parents’ personalities and features in both Blake and Ryker, I feel joy. Not a fleeting burst of happiness, but a deep sense of gratitude and awe. I have been carried by the Lord’s steadfastness. It is God’s steady hand that allows me to persevere through the various hills and valleys of this earthly life. 

Whether it be relationships gone array or the every day battle of dealing with a strong-willed three year old (believe me, I am not joking when I state that I count this as one of my biggest trials to date!!!), God whispers--err, sometimes shouts--this passage from James into my heart. He allows me to know that our time here is oh-so-fleeting, and that while the trial itself may continue on, my perspective can change. Bobby, my husband, also knows how to spin some not so great situations for the best, reminding me that while the situation itself might totally and royally stink, it is how we handle it that matters. (And how crazy is it that the guy I married works for a tire company, and thus takes tip-top shape of my tires. So practical. So divine!).  

I can feel joy through it all, because as my mom so lovingly, and perhaps knowingly, whispered, “it is going to be okay.”