To say the least, it’s been a difficult time. And yet, I have found myself thinking more about joy, generosity, and appreciation—not as feelings that arrive like the weather, uncertain, unasked for, but as choices. As spiritual acts. Perhaps even acts of quiet resistance.
I have pondered darkness giving way to light in the dawn. No great announcement. Subtle, relentless, incremental. I have pondered the gentle, careful task of placing the little twigs to light a fire.
When St. Paul said, “Rejoice in G*d always; again I will say, rejoice,” he didn’t write those words from a place of comfort. He was imprisoned. Still, he saw joy as an act of defiance against despair, a discipline of the soul.
Zhuangzi, when told his wife had died, banged on a pot and sang. He wasn’t heartless. He was in union with the natural cycle of life and death and found peace within it.
Thich Nhat Hanh taught that when we meditate, we should smile. Not because everything is fine, but because the ability to smile—even gently—is itself a practice of awakening.
So today, I choose joy. Not because all is well. But because I realize that joy enlarges the spirit.
I choose generosity, too—not because I have an abundance of ease, but because I’ve realized that giving enlarges the world. Jane and I have been amazed at the generosity of folk when they learn of our difficulties.
I’m also choosing appreciation—not just gratitude for the good, but a quiet attentiveness to all that is: clouds on the hills, cherished memories, the gentle warmth of hands held. We are so deeply grateful to everyone who has helped us over the past several months—from medical staff to our veterinarian, from building contractors and tree specialists to family and friends. Their presence, care, and kindness have sustained us. Appreciation is the soil in which joy grows. It helps me see what is still here. It shapes my own generosity—not merely as a duty, but as an act of love.
Joy, generosity, appreciation—these are not feelings that arrive fully formed. They are spiritual choices, practiced in small ways, nurtured like early fire. They are not naïve. They are resistance to despair. They say: I choose not to collapse into bitterness. I will not be defined by loss.
Today I make a choice.
+Ab. Andy