Living Into Joy

It’s often said that for those of us who live in North Dakota, June is our reward for January.

On our farm, June is perfection. The days are long and warm, and the evenings are cool. The landscape is green, growing, and lush, and our sheep and cows graze belly-deep in grasses and forbs. The gardens grow rapidly, flowers bloom, and we harvest our first vegetables. We also exchange our snowsuits for swimsuits.

There’s no better place on earth than North Dakota in June. But as wonderful as the month is, my neighbors often threaten me with winter terror.

“Well, just wait until January.”

“We’re going to pay for this come the end of the year.”

“You’d better take what you can get now, because I heard it’s going to be awful this winter.”

I’m rooted like a turnip to this land on the high plains in the center of our continent. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m well aware of the severity and length of our winters. That very awareness, however, leads me to revel in the loveliness of June.

I work barefoot in my garden, and I lie in the warm grass and watch my livestock graze. I take a blanket outside and read, and I have sleepovers with my kids on our trampoline. I enjoy every minute of June, for I’ve tasted the cold and bleak winter and I rejoice in the goodness of summer.

Hard times and difficult people come to each of us. They are our winters, and we’re to stretch and grow through those times. But how do we celebrate the Junes of our lives?

Psalm 30 talks about joys and sorrows, triumphs and sufferings. In verse 5 the psalmist says, “His anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime! Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (NLT). And in verses 11 and 12 he says to the Lord, “You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” (NLT).

We often call out to God in our winters. The diagnosis, the divorce papers, or the death we don’t expect all lead us to mourn, to weep, to be silent in our suffering. But do you rejoice in your Junes?

Do you dance with joy at the word remission, or do you live expecting the disease to return? Do you rejoice in a small step of reconciliation, or do you live as though it won’t make a difference? Do you reach out to others in love and joy, or do you avoid loving relationships so they can never leave you in sorrow and grief?

It’s easy to live in fear when we’ve been hurt and suffered the cold, but the glorious warmth of our Junes seeps into our souls, healing and nourishing us as we rejoice.

We can live a life of joy—a full joy. Not a joy that looks over its shoulder at the winter past or ahead in dread at the winter to come, but a joy that’s full and complete and is perfection. Even if that joy lasts for just one day, it’s worth it.

Stretch out your arms to the sun, wiggle your toes into the warm soil, and bask in the abundant joy. In John 10:10, we’re told Jesus said, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give [those who come before him] a rich and satisfying life” (NLT).

Someone wants you to live in fear of recurrence, of papers, of loss. He wants you to cower, even in your good times, because you know they might not last. But that’s not God’s purpose. He longs for you to live in joy and bask in the warmth of his love and his care for you.

In the forty-two years I’ve lived in a land with four distinct seasons, I’ve learned that each one will pass. And winter may be longer one year and shorter the next, but there is always a winter. We will always have times of trouble and sorrow.

But just as winter always comes, so does glorious June. It may come slowly, warming by a degree or two each day, or it may come in a rush, but it always comes. Again, Psalm 30:5 says, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (NLT).

I have a calendar, so I can literally count the days until the next winter. But I refuse to do so. Instead, you can find me outside from dawn to dark, living in every moment of the joy that is June. I refuse to let my neighbors dim my love for it by threatening me with winter.

We won’t “pay for this”; we’ll live it, fully and joyfully. June is your reward for January. Joy is your reward for sorrow. Singing is your reward for silent suffering.

Enjoy your June, friends, whenever it comes to you. Rejoice!

Annie Carlson is rooted like a turnip to the plains of North Dakota where she raises great food, large numbers of farm animals, and three free-range kids with her husband. You can find her with either a book or knitting needles in her hands as she dreams up her next adventure.

Photograph © Pascal Debrunner, used with permission