Happiness, for the longest time, eluded my grasp. I wanted to be happy and tried to induce my own joy in the popular ways of the culture of the 1970s. Inevitably though, my pseudo utopia, or drug induced trips, always came to an end. 

     Source of Delight

I suppose like the lyrics from Joni Mitchel’s song, Woodstock, I tried to find my way back to the garden, or more specifically, back to feeling the sense of security, belonging and acceptance I’d once felt when my dad was alive. 

I tried convincing myself that if only I tried hard enough, and looked long enough, surely, I’d be capable of reproducing that same sense of lightheartedness I’d once felt within myself.  

I made attempts to speak to Dad a few times after his suicide. I’d skip school, walk to the cemetery, sit in the grass beside his grave. And similar to those seances my girlfriends and I did during sleep overs, attempted to make contact with him.

 Of course Dad couldn’t speak to me from the grave any more than I could raise him from the dead. Consequently, after a few visits and failing to find any comfort from the silence beside his grave, I concluded that my happy, high spirited and joyous self was just as dead as my dad. The future held no hope. 

Growing a little older, graduating from high school and moving far from home, I realized that what I missed mostly was not just Dad’s physical and tangible presence, but the sense of joy and contentment that came as a result of my relationship with him. Would there ever be a similar type of relationship for me?

Then I fell head over heels for the man who later became my handsome. But, our relationship was far from what I’d expected. Instead of being perfectly understood like I wanted, he was at times, taken aback. Instead of feeling content, I felt muddled. 

Oh where oh where could my happiness be, I wondered. Would I have to settle for something much less? 

But, then in my darkest moment, when I nearly succumbed to ending my life just as my dad had, Jesus offered me an immediate, actual, and first hand relationship with Himself. Crazy, but true, unexpected, but accepted. 

Have I found the acceptance, sense of belonging and security that I lost with my father’s death?  Yes, I have. But this time, what I’ve found is perfect, eternal and inseparable from anything; death, demonic influences, personal distress, the past or the future. 

Why bother being happy? Being happy is within our reach when we reach for the One who created joy, contentment and lightheartedness for us to enjoy.