11 Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content: Philippians 4:11 NKJV
Prisoners of Joy
Click For Audio Version
The couple burst in as they always did, laughing and talking rapidly with that slight accent that fascinated me. It seemed so exotic, romantic, exciting. Back then, my fifteen-year-old life, split between high school and working part-time at the library, did not seem exotic, romantic, or exciting.
They had something, but I had no clue what it was. They glowed. They grasped life with both hands.
While I sat perched behind the desk and checked out books, they chattered on to me of the walks they took to get there. Had I noticed the colors of the leaves, the sky, the smell of winter in the air? Had I read that book? Wasn’t this the most beautiful sunset? Wasn’t it wonderful to be alive? Wasn’t God good?
Something from their spirit set off something in mine, though I was too young to understand what it was.
I just knew it was contagious.
I wanted to be alive
I wanted to be as alive as they were.
Sometimes I pondered that their lives must have been lacking some of the troubles I dealt with in teenaged living. They must have had an easy, perfect life. I bet they didn’t ever struggle with feeling shy or looking too skinny, or history exams. I bet they’d had it easy. I was thinking those things as I waited for them.
In came the other regulars for Friday night. The quiet veteran who always sat by himself reading. The kids who noisily argued through homework before weekend fully began. The old lady who always wanted back issues of old magazines I could never find. So many lonely, sad, or angry people, I thought.
At last, my favorite couple arrived, smiling as always…
And that evening, that began so much as usual,
in a brief second,
changed my thinking entirely.
At last, I understood.
I saw the numbers
It wasn’t an easy life that produced their joy, but a determined faith in God and faith to hold to the good in the midst of troubles..small..and great…
For that night, for the first time, when husband and wife reached toward me across the desk to return their books, the long sleeves they always wore had been turned back
and I saw the tattooed numbers
given prisoners of Nazi concentration camps
across their arms.
Wordlessly, they taught me, despite our circumstances, we can each choose to cling to joy.
Please add your comments below!