Count it joy is more than a suggestion for the Christian undergoing times of testing. It’s more than a virtue exhibited by a mature believer. Counting it all joy is a vital discipline in the life of the genuine follower of Christ. It is in believing the trial has the more power to help than harm that we find reason to consider any difficult season to be permitted by the sovereign hand of God for our good and His glory.

A gift bag from Maggie

I’m wrapping gifts last week, comfortable in the belief there are no emotional landmines in the task, when I reach for a gently used gift bag from Christmas 2017. The last Christmas. Chosen at random for its size, the small bag proudly proclaims “Joy” in bright red and white peppermint stripes. As an afterthought, I glance at the tag stubbornly dangling from one handle. To: Mom From: Maggie. And like that, a mine triggered causes tears to flow. Worse, because I realize it once held the last Christmas gift from her. As in the final not just the previous. And even worse, I can’t remember what the bag calling itself joy contained. What is the final gift? I need to know, to memorialize this “last” thing among others sure to come.

In James 1:2, we’re encouraged to count it joy when we encounter various trials. A simple command to perform an extraordinary act. For who wants to sit down, in the midst of troubles, and count anything except the visible signs of ones distress? Nor do I believe we’re to number those trials as we add them – one by painful one – to a prayer list of requests for immediate relief. God’s counting more closely resembles a scientist taking the irritant by tweezers and examining its facets; identifying its components; estimating its worth; and judging its purpose. Matthew Henry says, “We should not pray so much for the removal of an affliction as for wisdom to make a right use of it.” It there a “right use” for grief?

A Christmas poem written by Maggie

A sleepless night two evenings past the discovery of the joy bag has me scouring the crevices of a weary mind to remember the gift once taken from the bag. Should I wake Molly to force her to help? No. I give myself a little more time to tease the mental image out. Maggie always gave the best kind of gift, usually in a frame – an original poem, a brightly drawn and colored bird, a painted cross bearing the fruits of the Spirit. What was the gift last year? The last gift. And the light comes on in my mind and then my office as I look on top of the cabinet. The gift is there. The photo taken on a special day of joy in December 2017. The picture of the two of us at the Jingle Bell Jog doing what she loved in supporting the Children’s Cancer Clinic. Counting it all joy. It’s the same photo she kept in the center of her desk.

A special moment with Maggie captured and given as a gift

Count it joy is less an exuberant celebration, more a quiet satisfaction in a balanced equation. As a chemist, I appreciate that all the raw materials I’m given survive the explosive moment when old bonds break and new bonds form without loss of a single atom. And though I can’t totally recognize the products of change, some taking the shape of air, I know they remain. I marvel that finding an empty bag calling itself joy can spark fresh respect for the intricate forging of pain, tears, and grief into an open door.