Joy
Since 2015 we have heard about how incredible Hamilton is. We have had so many friends tell us how much we would love it. My husband and I were never able to see the show in person, despite several attempts. When it arrived on Disney+ we eagerly watched. Our boys quickly fell in love with the soundtrack. They loved the music! They loved the rhymes and rhythms. There was plenty of laughter in our house listening to them try to memorize all the lyrics. I am not sure that Lin-Manuel Miranda could have known the impact he would have on our culture when he wrote Hamilton. I am certain he has no idea of the profound effect his work has had in our home. The impact of his beautiful rendition of Hamilton’s story would bring our family some of the most unexpected joy; and I am not just talking about the colorful language our kids would learn.
Joy.
I have struggled with this word for a long time. Growing up it was always used in phrases to mask pain. How can you be joyful in sorrow? How do we rejoice when everything in our world feels broken? Why are we acting like things are not really messed up?!
A few years ago, a different and fuller meaning of the word was explained to me. Joy is not the masking of pain, but the resistance to it. It is the outward expression of peace while resting in the promise of hope. Joy is active, an agent against all that is wrong in this world. It’s a battle cry that sin will not overcome this world and death will not prevail.
As much as I was enjoying the singing in our home… and my kids new love for Hamilton… and hearing the same verses over and over… all while in quarantine… during the hottest Arizona Summer ever… there were times that all of this combined was a bit too much. Still, I bit my tongue and tried to enjoy my son’s singing. “How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore….” I am sure he will repeat this at an inappropriate time in public, just waiting for it.
Occasionally, we would get questions about what something meant, or fits of laughter that we let them say words we typically would not. But this day as my son sat singing, he stopped and asked, “Mom what is an orphan?”
I love this new stage of being able to have full conversations with my kids, their curiosity and desire to learn has been my favorite stage by far. I explained that an orphan was someone without a family, most times used to explain someone whose parents had died. I mentioned the friends who were orphans and explained pieces of their story. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed what I was saying.
I am not sure why, but before I could process it, I heard myself telling him our foster teen was somewhat of an orphan. I held my breath- regretting my choice of explanation and worried I would trigger him. Instead he asked how the teen was an orphan. I explained the separation not just by death but also, abandonment. I explained to him that was why our family had stepped in, to possibly be a new family for the teen. We talked about how that had not been possible because of what had happened. We were sad that this teen still had no new family, but I emphasized how we would always prioritize the safety of our boys. He asked a few more questions about where this teen was now, and I tried to answer as best as possible without overwhelming him with “the system.”
He was quiet as he stared at his feet. I was so worried I had opened the door to a conversation that was not helpful to his healing. Would Hamilton now have a bad connotation attached to it? Would one more sweet thing in our home be ruined?
After a few moments he looked at me and said, “I feel kind of sad for him. I mean what he did was very bad, but it’s kind of sad, right Mom? I feel sad for him.”
“Mom, aren’t there more kids that needs families? We should be a foster family for them.”
I couldn’t help the tears while my heart was overwhelmed with joy. Empathy and hints of forgiveness were flooding out of my child’s mouth. I felt joy spilling over in a battle cry against all the injustice that had robbed my little boy.
The pain was with us and we were not masking it. Instead, we were speaking true joy with its real hurts and resolved hope. We talked about the sin committed and also the real abandonment still present for this teen. His words of empathy proclaimed hope over our broken circumstances and I felt at peace.
Joy.
I wonder where you have found your joy in this Advent season. Not the cliched, pain-masking joy, but the active battle cry against all that should not be in our world. Unexpectedly, we found joy in Hamilton, in empathy for one who has wronged us, in the promises of Jesus who came and is coming again. I cling to joy as we continue to walk this journey of healing with a resolved hope that Jesus is restoring all that has been broken.
Father is a title layered with complexity. Some of us have great fathers who love us and keep us safe. Others have had different experiences. Despite this reality, Isaiah describes the promised Messiah, Jesus, as an “Everlasting Father.”