Why Happy Isn't Always Best

In our Sunday School class, we're working through a book called Faultlines. Our pastor wrote it, and there's an accompanying DVD series we've been watching. Last week, it featured some families from within our church {families I know in real life} who have gone through really gut-wrenching losses and hurts.

I knew their stories, but to hear them share aloud some of the underlying thoughts of their heart from that time was new for me. It was hard to see their tears and hear their hurts, but they said good and encouraging things I needed to hear. One said something like this: If we don't suffer, we're lesser for it.

It reminded me of the days when I was in the desert, and I'd call my mom in the evenings, after work, and I'd miserably pour out the confusion and hurt of my heart. I told her, not to hurt her, but because I needed to process out loud, and I was single then, with no one here at home to hear my words. So many times, she'd say to me, "I just want you to be happy again."

Even in the darkness of that time, I had enough light shining on my soul to know that happiness wasn't God's agenda for me right then. That season, as painful as it was, was necessary to grow me, and I knew it. I couldn't see how, but I could see that it was true. It was black and hot and solitary...that desert...but I knew I had an intimacy with the Lord that was worth far more than momentary happiness.

I knew what Mom meant. I wasn't a mother and didn't know what it was like to watch my child suffer, but I knew it was probably hard. Excruciating, even. I knew she just wanted to see her Bekah back. The one who smiled and laughed and cared about things like cooking and showering. That's what she meant by saying she wanted me to be happy.

As I remembered those conversations with her, I was hit with conviction about some other conversations I'd had recently. Conversations with one of my own friends who is going through a desert of her own. One that seems endless. One that seems hopeless. She's walking through things not of her own choosing and I hate it for her. Time and time again, I've wished I could yank her from her circumstances and plop her down in a happier place where she could be free to smile and live with joy.

Right in that moment of conviction, the Lord whispered to me, "What if it's the same for her? What if I have a reason for her in this time and your only comfort to her is I sure wish you didn't have to live in this?"

Gulp.

During our next conversation, I told her I owed her an apology. I told her all about Sunday School and the line from the video and my memories from my desert, and then I looked right at her and said, "I think I've been saying the wrong thing to you. Of course I want you to be happy. Of course I think this whole thing stinks and it makes me mad that you have to deal with it. But I think the real conversation I should be having with you is encouraging you to seek the heart of the Lord to see if there's something He wants to teach you in this time. To encourage you to hold tight to Him and wait as He works and moves. To know that this is hard, but you might be stronger for it on the other side."

She wasn't mad. She hadn't thought of it that way before, and she appreciated the idea, even if it seemed a bit daunting.

So I'm throwing it out there to you today. Sure, we want to be happy, and we want to see those we love happy, too. But sometimes happy isn't always best in the moment. Sometimes bending to God's Hand and letting Him work in us is what we need more than momentary happiness.

On the other side of that desert, I can tell you without wavering that I'm glad I spent my time focusing on learning my lessons instead of pursuing a fleeting smile.