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Gargoyle Joy
by Camerin Courtney
April 13, 2005
It was one of those moments when all is right with the world.
I was driving home from work for a lunch of yummy restaurant leftovers. The sun was shining. The first buds of spring were finally peeking out of the earth (this is huge in Chicago, where winter lasts roughly 27 months). I had my window down for the first time all season and was singing along to some random '80s hit that had drifted onto my car radio.
And then it got even better.
There's a house I pass on the way home from work. It's in a quaint little neighborhood of unique older homes with well-manicured lawns and big trees. Very Leave it to Beaver. The house I often look for has a white picket fence around it. Such a touching little bit of Americana, no?
But it's not the Americana that draws my eye. No, my favorite part is the twin gargoyles that sit atop the fence on either side of the gate leading to the front walk. They're only about six inches tall each, so I drove past them many times before noticing these quirky little twins. I just love the juxtaposition of Americana and quirky eclecticism.
Today the twins, whom I've affectionately named Boris and Natasha, were in full regalia. Bunny ears. You know, those headbands little kids wear with bunny ears sticking up about four inches off their head? Boris and Natasha were wearing bunny ears for Easter. Of course.
I started giggling and almost honked my horn in admiration. And as I had this little self-contained moment, I felt a wonderful emotion: joy.
Ten years ago this emotion wouldn't have struck me. It would have gone by unnoticed. But as one who's since weathered a season of depression, when joy was elusive no matter what I tried, I now savor it whenever I feel it. I now know joy isn't a given, and I'm not naïve enough to think dark days won't ever return. So whenever I do feel joy, I often stop and thank God for this moment, this feeling, this little burst of joy.
Likewise, when I was home recently for Easter (nope, no bunny ears in tow), I discovered my two-year-old nephew, Carson, has a new obsession: trains. If I heard him say "train" once during that three-day weekend, I heard him say it 537 times. At least.
Unfortunately for my family (fortunately for my nephew), there's a train track about three blocks from my parents' house. Many times throughout those three days I'd be sitting on the floor playing with Carson and he'd suddenly perk up and say "train!" Sure enough, I'd listen and there in the distance would be the faint sound of a train whistle.
If you stand on the sidewalk outside my parents' house and peer down the street just right, you can even see the train. Carson knows this quite well. So, many times we all made our way outside to see the train, all the while Carson prattled on, "Train! Train, Mommy! Train, Daddy-Bob! Train, Grandma! Train, Grandpa! Train, Cam! (my favorite part of his ramblings, of course) More train! Train! Train! Train!"
After my mom assured me he wasn't turning into RainMan, I found his excitement delightful. Easier for out-of-state me than for the rest of the family, to be sure.
On Easter, when we'd returned from church and were piling out of our cars in our Sunday best, we all heard the magic whistle. "Train!" Cue the cute ramblings. The train must have been moving at a snail's pace, because we all stood in the driveway at least five minutes before the thing came into view. "Finally!" we adults muttered under our breath, as Carson made sure we each individually knew that there was a train down the block.
As much as we joked about the new obsession, we also gladly stood there in the driveway with our little bundle of joy—joy that was a long-time coming after miscarriages, seasons of infertility, and lengthy international adoption processing. Because we knew many years of doing without our little train-lover, I think we were all the more grateful to stand there in the driveway and let this little one who was once an orphan in a third-world country point and wave and be excited about something we never knew was so wonderful. Yes, Carson, a train. How wonderful indeed.
At the risk of sounding like Pollyanna, I've noticed a similar "absence makes the heart grow fonder—or at least more grateful" phenomenon in my singleness as well. While I can only imagine that if there's a spouse in my future, I'll be all the more grateful when he finally arrives (at least I hope my first words won't be "You're late!"). But I've also found this phenomenon to be true in smaller snatches along the way as well. Whenever I travel home, I'm oh-so-grateful that my dad always schleps my luggage for me. I'm normally the schleper, so I notice this and appreciate his kindness. I appreciate those moments when I carpool to a group outing with a guy friend or am on an actual date and get to be the passenger-seat filler while the guy drives. I don't know why, but there's something about being the woman riding around in the front seat of a car with a man that's just nice.
I also find myself mindful and grateful for hugs, friends who sit next to me at church, chances to hang out with my family (who won't get married or have kids or divorce me or move and completely change the shape of our relationship, as often happens with other relationships), the simple thrill of holding hands, men who hold doors open for me, friends who let me ramble on and on as I contemplate big life decisions and then help me come to actual conclusions, people who send me thoughtful e-mails or cards just because.
Doing without a spouse has given me eyes and appreciation for these little blessings that often come from having one. And in our extreme-everything, bigger-is-better society, I'm grateful for a love of the little things. I have a feeling this is part of the secret of living in the moment, of claiming our abundant life (John 10:10), and of "being content in any and every situation" (Philippians 4:12).
So now whenever I drive by Boris and Natasha (I can't wait to see if they'll get graduation hats this June) or see a train (a train!), I send up silent prayers of thanks for joy, for our little wonder boy, for a God who's in the details. And though my life may never have all the things in it I want or at least not in the timing I think I need them, thanks for today and the blessing of now.
Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com
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