it’s joyful somewhere. which sounds sadder than I mean it.

I have a friend who once told me that he was thinking about Jesus a lot. I asked him what it was that he was thinking, and he told me that he liked to think about the things Jesus did on earth. The practical things. Like eat strawberries. He said that he wondered if Jesus ate strawberries while he was here.

And I don’t know if Jesus preferred figs or strawberries, or if he could even choose when it came down to it cause maybe both were his favorite, but I know it’s good to wonder about God. I think it’s a good thing to ask questions.

And lately I’ve been wondering how God balances joy with sadness. How he manages to keep them from being mutually exclusive. I don’t quite understand how he can see the whole world, all the messes we make and promise to never make again and then go and make just once more this time, seriously, while still being confident in the way good will conquer evil.

And I’m tired of bad news. But I’m even more tired of it stealing something from me. Like today, for instance. It had been going lovely. I auditioned and it went well–aside from accidentally setting off the fire alarm–and well, I was wearing my yellow pants. I also ate one of my favorite things: an almond pretzel from Auntie Annes. I was listening to some songs that I am currently obsessed with and so the drive back from Trenton didn’t feel so long.

And then I got home to bad news. Really bad, dumb news. The kind of news that I thought was behind me; the kind of falsity that I thought I was DONE FINDING OUT. Oh, but just kidding. And then I was angry. And then I was sick inside. And then I was like, Where’s my day? Because even the sun had hidden itself behind the gathering storm and I looked at the sky and thought, You too?

And I know, it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel sick. But I didn’t want my day stolen, you know? So I did what I do a lot of lately. I went running outside and I talked to God and I talked to myself and between those two conversations I started to feel better. And at one point I came across a chubby little groundhog and laughed because I couldn’t tell which one of us was more surprised by the incident. And that felt good. Laughing, I mean–not necessarily scaring a groundhog.

And maybe there is a part of me–something that feels so small it’s hard to miss at times–that is so deeply me, that no thief can steal it. It’s where my thoughts and my spirit and the way I reach though I might not even be moving at all meet. And maybe it’s strong, but maybe it’s just like saying oh, that color is so purple; because it’s either purple or not and I’m either me or not; whether bad news comes or whether I am startling a groundhog or setting off fire alarms or wearing yellow pants or crying because look, I slept a whole night and woke up to a life that still looks like this.

And so, that small part that is still me, no matter what? Well I think that God is all that part. And yeah, I do think he probably likes strawberries too. But I think that he is all himself all the time; that nothing can change that, and that’s part of the way he can balance such evident tragedy with true joy. Somehow he’s not dependent on what’s happening around him, though he cares, I do believe; somehow the ebb and flow of life can’t steal from him.

And I think I need more of that.

And I am grateful that someone, even if it’s not me all the time, is that way. Because I need to know it’s happening. Like that cheesy little sign you see in bars: it’s five o’clock somewhere, I like to think that someone is consistently joyful somewhere. That someone, somewhere, isn’t shaken by this.

And now I need to sleep.

Badly.

I’ve been up too long today as it is.