Invest in Future Happiness

Emptying the dishwasher late at night does not make me very happy.  I'm tired.  But I do it, night after night, because when I wake up to a clean kitchen and an empty dishwasher, I feel so happy. 

"I'm investing in future happiness!" I call out to the family.  I'm picking up toys, straightening pillows, and organizing for the next day. 

I realize that when I don't want to do something (exercise, cleaning), it's because the payoff often comes later and not right now.  But right now isn't always the most important thing. 

I have to remember that living with flair means we learn to invest in future happiness too. 

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How do you invest in future happiness?

Hearty, Hearty Joy

I love mums!  We buy some at the local grocery store, and my husband transplants them.  I can't help but smile when I look at these mums. 

Every time I pass by, I think to myself, "Hearty, hearty mums."  They withstand the bitter cold; they love the sun; they love water.  I want to be mum-like: hearty, well-nourished, and blossoming even against the cold. 

Happy Deep Pink Mum

Welcome Autumn Season!  Let it be one of great blossoming, vibrant living, and hearty, hearty joy!

Happy Dark Orange Mum

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Journal: What about autumn makes you happy? 

Cut Out the Unhappy

Today my friend sends me the results of a study that suggests older folks--in their 80's--are the happiest.  The report published in the American National Academy of Sciences claims that as we age, we "become more selective with how we use our time, focusing more on doing things we enjoy and cutting out parts of life that make us unhappy."

It seems like such a simple prescription:  Focus on what we enjoy, and cut out what makes us unhappy.

While I'm not sure it's possible to simply "cut out" what makes us unhappy, I wonder what life would look like if we did indeed focus more on doing enjoyable things.

And what if we stopped doing things that make us unhappy?  Not getting enough sleep makes me unhappy.  Drinking too much caffeine makes me unhappy (why do I keep doing this?).  Not exercising makes me unhappy. 

And what if we learned to turn unhappy circumstances (the ones we often cannot change) into moments of flair?  

So (of course), I ask my students to tell me one thing that makes them really happy.  Diet Coke, travel, musical solos, penguins, driving with the windows down on a warm night, watching Hello, Dolly!, playing the game Angry Birds. . .

It's a nice reminder to enjoy life today.  It's a challenge to stop doing what makes us unhappy.  And when we cannot change our circumstances, we learn to find the flair.  Maybe it is that simple. 


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Journal:  What makes me happy?  What thing that makes me unhappy can I stop doing? 

Give Your Life Away

My arms are sore from turning double-dutch jump ropes. 

From 6:30 PM-7:30 PM, 30 (yes, thirty!) parents and children came out to the parking lot for Monday Night Neighborhood Fitness.  Imagine a swarm of children riding bikes and scooters or playing football and Frisbee.  Imagine a car blaring music from an iPod so a group of children can dance.  Imagine moms and dads walking together and connecting in their own neighborhood. 

Imagine a little boy tugging on my sleeve to announce he rode ten times around the lot which I clocked for him as one mile.  Imagine another little girl finally learning to jump rope. 

I need more kites!  I need more cones for obstacle courses!  I want hula hoops and another set of ropes! 

Why am I so happy when I'm turning jump ropes?  It makes no sense that something like this would so deeply change my life. 

Over the weekend, I hear Larry Crabb (a Christian psychologist) talking about the goal of Christian therapy.  As someone who battled depression all those years and reads everything I can about finding happiness, I drop everything to listen. 

Crabb tells me that, typically, we think about counseling and our own happiness as answering the question, "How much can I get out of my life?"  But therapy in the truest, Biblical sense asks, "How much can I give of my life?"  In practice, I have found my own happiness bloom fully when I'm involved in tasks that serve others and let me forget myself.

I want to give my life away.  Turning jump ropes isn't glamorous, and it doesn't generate any revenue.  But something about this task has secured more happiness for me than anything else I've done this year. 



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Journal:  How is God asking me to give my life away? 

Why We Still Need Road Trips

Interstate 99 South.  You're only driving to another town to see a new doctor.  It's just 45 minutes from home, but you're all alone, and in mother time, 45 minutes is an eternity of quiet space. 

You leave one town and enter another--county after county--and when you crest that hill, the tree line looks like day-old stubble on a smooth white face of a mountain.  At the throat, a little town of houses warmed by wood-burning stoves exhales. 

You can take in the whole county in one glance. You imagine all the lives lived there.

You remember other road trips: stretches of highway promised, in the distance, hopes and dreams and greater versions of you.  You were young and fresh, and you believed that happiness was just over the mountain.

But not today.  Today, the older and wiser you holds the wheel.   You know that happiness was never outside of you.  It was never down the road in some other town, in some other life.  It was always inside of you quietly waiting its turn to reveal itself--if you welcomed it.

By the time you reach the doctor's office, you're already healed.




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Journal:  Is happiness something we find outside of ourselves--in our circumstances? 

How You Know You're Happy

A friend tells me that Oprah will feature a quiz today to determine if we are happy.  The radio also announces a seminar I can pay for that will help me realize whether I'm happy.  I also learn from a blog reader that certain countries actually try to measure the happiness of citizens.

How would we know?   What tool can measure it? 

All morning, I wonder how we know if we're happy.  I ask my husband, and he answers that he knows he's happy when he feels connected to God.  I nod, realizing the truth of that one word: connected. 

What if we measured happiness by how connected we felt to ourselves, to God, and to others? 

As somehow who felt deeply unhappy for so many years, I evaluated what contributed most to that state.  Indeed--and not to simplify mood disorders--my unhappiness related directly to disconnection.  I lost connection to my true self.  I wasn't relating to God, and I wasn't in vibrant community.  Unhappy people often describe their profound loneliness.  They experience isolation and a fractured sense of self.  

My journey to discover lasting happiness began with discovering myself and who God made me to be.  I learned to put boundaries between myself and oppressive, toxic environments or people who couldn't celebrate or encourage the true me.  I learned to connect with God authentically--not with a false self that performed some religious ritual--but by radical honesty, frailty, and need.  I embraced my weaknesses, delighting in failure because it opened the door to grace.  

In the midst of this journey, I devoted myself to building community wherever and however I could.  Maybe it was a walk-to-school campaign to connect with neighbors or a Fitness Group to love the children.  Maybe it was a potluck dinner or a pancake breakfast with the family down the street.  

Why does that freezing walk to school increase my happiness every day? 

My well-being depends upon connection.   I have to invite folks in, enter into their story as well, and realize we belong to each other.

I also learned the forms of counterfeit connection.  Fame, prestige, and wealth create illusions of happiness, but they fail to ever fulfill the heart's true cry for belonging.   I'd rather walk the children to school than be on Oprah today (unless, of course, we were all there together).  Or, better, Oprah could come to us.  

I guess I've learned that even though fleeting moments of attention seem like fun (Oprah would be fun!), they really don't contribute to our lasting well-being. And even when I have lots of cash in my pocket, it doesn't connect me with anyone.  It just gives me something to buy that can't love me back. 

I've been happy for many years now.  It's connection.  And I didn't realize it until this morning.


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Journal:  Is happiness directly related to my connection to myself, God, and others?  If one of these relationships suffer, does it contribution to unhappiness?

Layer Up

On a cold day like today, with temperatures below 20 degrees and a wind chill that takes your breath away, I have no choice but to face my day with layers.  And I'm especially cold since I've barely recovered from my illness.

With tights, long johns, knee-high pink socks, black boots, wool skirt, wool sweater, wool jacket, hat, scarf, and mittens on, I walk around campus.  I'm cozy, tucked-in, secured like a newborn swaddled in quilts.

I'm actually a little warm.

Layering is the only way to survive the winter.  In fact, layering will always keep you warmer than a single heavy coat.  Layering acts like insulation on the body and slows the transfer of heat.  Heat trapped between clothing layers works as thermal insulation, and I stay warm all day. 

Layering my clothing to regulate body temperature made me seriously consider the concept of other forms of regulation.  Hasn't my weight loss journey been about layering up my surroundings with good choices--veggies, then fruits, then whole grains, then lean proteins, then dairy?  Hasn't my mood regulation been all about layering the day with good sleep, positive relationships, spiritual practices, and exercise?

I start the day, add layers of good things,  and eventually feel the warmth of thermal insulation protecting my mind and body from whatever comes against it.   Living with flair means I layer. 

Your Beautiful Moments

I introduce Memoir Writing to my students today, and I ask them to write down one or two examples of beautiful moments they've experienced. 

I'm always amazed, year after year, with the types of things we remember from our childhoods.  Without fail, a student's beautiful moment has something to do with nature, friendship, God, travel, or overcoming a trial.  Not once, in all my years of teaching, has a beautiful moment emerged from memories of television or video games.  But the time they spend with technology (hours upon hours) would suggest that at least some tiny memory might emerge--some tangible image--that elevates the soul and provides a moment of self-discovery.  

But they don't have memories like that with technology. 

Yesterday, I went to a parent / teacher conference for my kindergartner.  In her journal, she was supposed to draw her "favorite moments."  She drew the swing in our front yard, the pumpkin patch, and jumping on the bed with her sister.

No favorite movies; no favorite computer games; no favorite technology experiences.  I needed to see that. 

My Sea Glass Bracelet

Just now, I visit my dear friend down the street.  Her son has a collection of sea glass, rocks, and shells from a summer beach trip.

He's teaching himself the art of jewelry making.  He presents me with a handmade bracelet, woven together with wire.

I will treasure this bracelet.  He tells me about the beach, about finding these shells and sea glass.  It's a beautiful moment.  And he's made this memory into a bracelet I can wear.  It's tangible; it's real.  It's the stuff of memoir.

What I Cannot Change

The Braiding Impression

Over the weekend, I braid little braids all over my daughter's wet hair.  In the morning, we unravel her hair.  She loves the "rock star" look.  

Notice the pink sparkle headband.

A simple thing--braiding hair--but oh the joy in the morning when those braids leave impressions all throughout her hair! That zig-zag complexity dries that way and temporarily changes the structure of the hair.

But as soon as she soaks in the bathtub before bedtime, the pattern fades and straightens.  She can't believe how all that work (and an entire night's worth of sleeping on braids) dissolves with water.  It doesn't last.  It can't.  Her root system, determined by her genetic code, trumps my skillful hand.  

Sometimes the patterns I set are fragile and tenuous, delicate and flimsy.  What seems so fixed and certain dissolves when exposed to environments that test resolve.  But I'm still tempted to believe that all will be well if I just find the right structure, the right pattern, the right technique. 

I can't fundamentally change my life by new patterns or designs.  I suppose my daughter's braids made me consider the limits of external applications to change internal dilemmas.  I need to get to the root, allow for God's transforming work, and experience the kind of fundamental change that goes beyond clever techniques for happiness.  That kind of change won't dissolve in water. 

Living with flair means I don't limit happiness to external work.  I want the kind of mood change that's deeply rooted, deeply true. 

One Sure Way Not to Take Yourself So Seriously

I'm in class, teaching difficult things.  We stress, we furrow our brows, and we cramp our fingers around our pens as we engineer new thesis positions.   We sigh with discouragement as we discuss urgent social and political matters.

I lean back, cross my legs, and expose the socks I'm wearing underneath these business slacks.  Striped pink socks with monkeys on them.  A few people laugh out loud.

I've always worn whimsical socks.  I put them on as the last accessory before I slip on my boring (but extremely comfortable) work shoes.

The socks remind me not to take myself so seriously.  The day stretches before me: difficult, stressful, urgent.  But the subtext of the whole day--the story underneath my professor attire--calls out to me.  There's something fun here.  There's something quirky, delightful, and refreshing.  Even in pain, even in sorrow, I can discover a way to giggle or roll my eyes at something silly and unprofessional.  

Might there be room in my serious day for the trivial thing that delights?  And why wouldn't that thing be a sock?  Socks provide protection, covering, and warmth.  Sometimes I need to buffer the deep and distressful with the delightful and diverting.  

Living with flair means I don whimsical socks.  Seriously fun when I'm taking myself too seriously.  

Totally Out of Context

Today I tell my students we will work together to revise their essays.  

To revise means "to see again." When we see our writing "again," we gain a fresh look, from a new perspective, and recalibrate what's not working.

One method of revision involves taking writing out of context and re-reading it in a completely different form.  Maybe the font has changed; maybe the paragraphs are separated by huge chunks of white space; maybe the text appears on a computer screen and not on a piece of paper.

We gain a new perspective by changing the context.  And we get somebody else to see it with us; new eyes add a new context.  Suddenly errors emerge so clearly we wonder why we could never see them ourselves. 

As I think about learning to revise my day--to find peace, beauty, happiness, and hope--I often need to find a new context.  I joke with my family (when I'm especially frazzled and moody) that there's just got to be flair in this!  When I find a new context for interpreting what's going on around me, I'm not as stuck as I think I am.  My circumstances don't have to determine how I'm seeing this day.  Disappointment doesn't own this day or my mood.

I'm going to take the disappointment, the fuss, the trouble out of context and see it all differently. 

What would my day look like from another person's perspective--a person from another country, another economic situation, or a different political system?  Would they complain about what I complain about? Would they fret over what I fret about?  The error is exposed: I'm acting entitled, ungrateful, and self-centered. 

One person's fuss is another person's flair. 

If I'm dominated by negative emotions today, maybe I need to change the context, see with fresh eyes (with the help of God and others), and revise.  I pray that I can take my life out of its settled context and see clearly and honestly. 

Living with flair means I take my experiences totally out of context.


(photo by Jez's flickr)

The Pure and Simple Happiness We Can Afford

At 7:45 AM, I push my daughter (the one who has the bad day mantra) on her tree swing.  There's a green chair next to me because the girls like to take a flying leap off of it, throw their legs around the swing, and see how high they can get. 

I can't keep her off that swing.  Yesterday, I tried to bribe her (literally) with cake and television.  It was a steaming hot afternoon, and I feared she was dehydrating.

Nothing works.  She races in for dinner and then races out to swing.  At 7:45 PM, she will reluctantly enter the house for her bath and bedtime routine. This girl was made to swing.  I've tried to talk to her about this obsession.  

The joy this simple tree swing brings astounds me.  My daughter has begged for two years for one of those $2,000 swing sets.  She would look longingly into the backyard and imagine all the swinging she would do.  If only she had that deluxe edition!   We could never afford it--at least not now.  What if we saved and saved and worked and worked?  One day, that fabulous swing set could be in our backyard! 

On Saturday, as I sat under this very tree, I looked up into its branches and remembered the old wooded saucer swing my dad made for me when I was a child.  Why couldn't I just get my daughter a tree swing?  Did she even need all the other bells and whistles?

She didn't need deluxe anything.  She just needed to swing.  So that afternoon, I ordered this one.  Under $20, it came in 2 days, was in the tree in 10 minutes, and my daughter thinks she's in swinging heaven. 

She just needed to swing. 

I thought about what it means to distill desire down.  Distill (a great verb!) means to purify, to remove impurities, and increase the concentration of something.  I could have looked my daughter in the eye years ago and said, "What is it you really want?" 

She just needed to swing.  I didn't need to refinance the house to bring her happiness. 

What am I missing out on if I wait for that deluxe thing, when really, there's a great big tree right next to me and a swing that will bring more joy than I can even imagine?  Living with flair means I purify my desires until I find out what I really want.  Forsaking the bells and whistles for that pure and simple thing might just be what makes me the happiest.

How I Detangle My Life

Before church this morning, I participate in a daily morning ritual with my daughters:  I detangle their hair.

This is not fun ever.  We employ various products, special brushes, and gentle mother-strokes to get their hair orderly and smooth.  They used to cry and shout about this.  Now, they resign themselves to it, clenching their jaws, staring stoic into the mirror to endure the process. 

As I'm brushing and comforting, I wonder about this process. Tangle, as a verb, means to mix together in a confused mass.  The verb actually approximates "confuse" more than any other verb.  Confusion refers to "the state of being mixed or blended so as to produce indistinctness or error; indistinct combination; disorder; tumult."

As I think more about tangles and confusion, I think about my own mind.  If confusion results from blending what shouldn't be blended--of mixing up what doesn't go together--then something about peace, order, and enlightenment involves separating out parts.

In the past, confusion always resulted when my emotions disagreed with the truth of what should be or should happen.  My feelings clouded a topic, tangled up the truth of a situation, and made a mess in my head.  I had to part my feelings from what was actually true. 

Working to separate tangles reminds me to do the work of parting my emotions from the truth regarding a situation.  Just because it's appealing to my emotions doesn't mean this or that action is right.  And just because I don't want to do something or it's painful doesn't mean it's wrong. 

As we leave for church, I'm thankful for a truth outside of my own perceptions and my own feelings.  I read the Bible and learn the commands of God because they tell me what is true and right about my life and my interactions with others.  I can make decisions, plan a course, leave a situation, or enter a new one based on ancient (but so current) wisdom. 

It's the ultimate detangler.

What's Wrong with This Picture?

As someone who--for nearly a decade--was an expert in unhappiness, I'm learning what makes living with flair so important.  At our worst, we become deeply cynical and disillusioned with our own lives.  Everything's wrong.  Nothing's working.  We want to abandon ship and find new lives somewhere else.   We become desperate for change, desperate to feel alive, desperate for love. 

We need to catch each other in our descent and turn our faces back to the light.

We need to find the flair right here in the muck.  We need to rise above it.  Our happiness is at stake. 

It's just too easy to find out what's wrong.  We do it naturally.  My natural inclination is to figure out what's not working, what's out of place, what's off kilter.  The brain seeks proportion and harmony, so we easily identify variation and error.

But we get stuck there in despair.  We can't move forward.   Or else we take drastic measures to put things right.  We act out of fear and confusion. 

Maybe a better technique means I find out what's right.

What might happen if I focus on those small nuggets of good in whatever wrongness or sorrow I'm experiencing?   Most days, the temptation to criticize and complain takes over the whole landscape of my soul like clouds moving over the sky.   My heart aches and I sink down into the mire.   God is neither good nor trustworthy in this particular landscape.  I let that lie fester and bleed out. 

But not today.  I commit to finding what's right in any wrongness or sorrow or anything I'm missing or hating or dreading.  I turn that thing to face the light and find out what's so right.  That one right thing might be the bright hot air balloon that keeps me alight so I can find perspective, hope, and joy in the midst of the dark cloud. 

I'm still in my life with all its drama.  But instead of sinking down, I'm rising above it in a glorious ascension. 


(Landscape photo courtesy of Ian Britton at freefoto.com and Hot Air Balloon by Beverly and Pack flickr)

Google Street View and Happiness

Sometimes when I'm missing certain places, I'll visit them using Google Street View.  I can walk down childhood roads, visit old neighborhoods, observe favorite restaurants or city streets, or spy on my own house--all thanks to Google's Street View.

And sometimes, when I'm imagining what life must be like in a different city, I'll visit University of Melbourne in Australia, cruise a street in Beijing, or explore Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood or 5th Avenue in New York.  Yesterday, I even drove down US 25 towards my favorite summer spot in the mountains of North Carolina--all clicking my mouse on Google's arrows that lead in whatever direction I choose.    

It's always tempting to believe that a better life exists in another location.

I want to believe that my location is what makes life good.  If only I were in this place or that place or here or there.  But the deeper into the life of faith I travel, the more I realize the truth behind the writer's statement in Psalm 90 that "the Lord himself is our dwelling place."  And this morning before church, I read in the book of John where God says that "he makes his home" within us. 

How curious:  I dwell in God, and God dwells in me. Sometimes I think God lets me leave certain places and arrive at others just to learn this truth.  If God is my dwelling place, it doesn't matter where I am; I'm home.  It's the Spirit of God that makes any location marvelous.  Can this be true?  I want it so badly to be. 

Visiting locations from my desk reminds me that my happiness isn't found in a place.  It's within me-- where God dwells.

What We've Known For a Long Time

I read an article on the bus yesterday that recounts the results of a number of happiness studies.  Researchers want to know if happiness is something we experience or something we think. 

I love reading articles like this.  Once again, research proves that when we think about our experiences we can put the day in a certain framework to create meaning and joy.   Not surprisingly, this meaning and joy rarely depend on circumstances.  

I'm thinking about that article, and I run into one of the most vibrant and enthusiastic moms in my town.  She's waving at me as I make my way through the self check-out line in the grocery store.  Within 30 seconds, she's inviting me to her "Alphabet Summer" where everyday at her home celebrates a different letter of the alphabet.

It's "J" day, so there's jam, jello, and jumping in the pool.  I'm imagining jugglers and jellyfish and jackals.  I smell jasmine.

Her two little boys smile, and one of them says to me, "I just loved 'F' day.  'F' day was the coolest!"

I'm living in the same town as this woman.  I'm raising my children on the same streets and we are going to the same grocery stores.  I'm making breakfast, doing laundry, cleaning and cooking, and yes, even going to the pool.  We both probably worked-out, had coffee, and will feel tired after lunch. 

But it's "J" day at her house.

They will jump into the pool instead of easing in.  With this alphabet framework, her whole summer radiates with hidden meaning and wonder.

"Do we have a special letter today, Mom?"

Quickly, I think about the curry chicken I've planned for dinner.

"It's 'I' day," I say.  "For India."

They are quiet and thinking of exotic lands.  

Same old day.  Same old dinner.  But now, we've got ourselves a happiness framework.

How to Live in Luxury

Luxurious or lavish things do not need to be expensive.  I'm learning that luxury can be sought in the right mindset.  There's something biblical about luxury properly applied.  But, by definition, luxurious implies indulgent, excessively expensive, and unnecessary. 

Even the word seems excessive.  The way it sounds seems. . . luxurious. 

The word connotes an entire world of very fine and very unobtainable things.

But in my house, we use the word to mean anything rich in goodness and superior in quality.  We can make luxurious fruit tarts and paint our toenails with luxurious colors.  We can lay out in the grass, luxuriously, and watch the lightening bugs.  We can swim in the public pool with luxurious backstrokes.

We won't be on boats or eating fine chocolates today.  We won't be vacationing on a far off island. 

And that's fine. 

There's something so uncertain about wealth and luxury.  Today, as I was painting my daughter's fingernails with the cheapest bottle of bright pink, I remembered one of my favorite Bible verses from the book of Timothy.  

"Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment."

Does God really richly provide everything for our enjoyment?  Not for our needs, but for our enjoyment?  How lavish!  How luxurious! This means I only have to wait and see what luxurious experience God might send my way today.

Maybe it's the gorgeous deep purple blossoms on the eggplant I'm growing outside.  I've never grown eggplant before, and I'm amazed by how beautiful it is.  And the fruit hasn't even come yet.  Eggplant is excessive and probably unnecessary (although I did learn how to make Eggplant Parmesan), but my goodness, I love those blossoms.

Thank you, God, for the luxury of purple eggplant blossoms.  They have flair indeed. 


(photo courtesy of Dilling / flickr)

The Secret Community You Might Want to Join

This morning, at 5:30 AM, I discovered the secret community of Those Who Rise Early.

I can't believe this world exists.  There I am, alarm going off, pulling on work-out clothes and stumbling to the driveway, when all of a sudden, I look around.  At the unnatural hour of 5:30 AM, there are actual people walking about.  Happy people.  People with dogs and friends and strollers and. . . energy.

What coffee do these people drink?

I pass folks out in their yard and folks driving places.  I see three runners, several walkers, and some gardeners. Why in the world are they so happy?  Do they know it's 5:30 AM?

It's a secret community.  Those Who Rise Early do things like work out, drink a quiet cup of coffee, stroll in their gardens, take leisurely showers, fix their hair, empty the dishwasher, prepare breakfast, and then, they greet Those Who Rise Late with a smile, ready.   

I've been in the later group my whole life.  I'm the one in the bad mood, dragging myself around, begging for coffee, griping at everybody and wanting my soft bed back.  Let me sleep!  I need my sleep!  I'm fighting the DNA of generations upon generations of Those Who Sleep Late.  I need to sleep until that last possible minute.   So stop bothering me and hand me that cup of coffee.  I need to sleep late. 

Do I?  I decided to interview Those Who Rise Early.  This club chooses to greet the day differently, and it's supremely amazing to join them.  They usually delight in 2 hours of solitude and productivity before children rise, before traffic surges, before the onslaught of the day.  Of the men and women I've talked to, this 5:30 wake up has changed their lives.  They wake that early for a variety of reasons:  personal prayer or meditation times, exercise, solitude, meal preparation and house organization, reading or writing.  Those people seem to live with with flair because their early rising prepares them for the day. 

My early morning wake up is part of living with flair.  I've taken a nose-dive off that plateau.  I'm hoping to change this part of my life and join the secret community of 5:30 AM.  Day by day, day by day.

Why Bother with Christianity?

If you can be happy without Jesus, why bother?  I've been thinking about this lately.  I've been thinking about all the happiness blogs people have sent my way.  It seems that all over the world, folks find legitimate forms of happiness apart from knowing God.  I know what this feels like.  I know that when I exercise, eat right, blog about my flair, and do any other host of mood-modifying activities, I can be happy.

I used to think that people went to church and read their Bible because they were unhappy.  They become Christians because of the promise of happiness.  While I do think that going to church and reading the Bible dramatically increase the likelihood of happiness, I don't think that Christianity is a religion that promises happiness.  Happy Christians tend to do other things that boost their mood like, for example, engaging in vibrant church communities.  But happiness, in this case, is a byproduct of lifestyle.  Jesus doesn't promise happiness. 

However, Jesus does promise one very important thing.

He promises. . . peace. 

Jesus said this:  "In me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."  Jesus says that he leaves us "peace."  I thought back to the blessing God commanded to be spoken over the nation of Israel.  Simply this:  that God would turn his face towards them and give them peace.  Later, Jesus is prophetically described in the book of Isaiah as our "Prince of Peace." 

This morning I skimmed my Bible for passages that describe the peace of Jesus.  Romans 5, it turns out, defines the peace of a believer.  Here, the writer tells us 3 reasons Christians have peace:

1.  They find favor with God by faith alone, not by anything they do or fail to do.  They are completely reconciled to a Holy God because of faith in Jesus.  This point alone astounds me.  I can talk to the God of the Universe, and He loves me.  Unbelievable! 
2.  Because of Jesus, they have hope in the glory of God (his power and presence) in every situation.
3.  They can rejoice in suffering because of what it produces in them (perseverance, character, hope).  When God directs a person's life, suffering has meaning and will produce good. 

Curiously, New Testament writers claim that Jesus himself is our peace.  Paul writes:   "He himself is our peace" since in his very body he reconciles sinful mankind with the holiness of God.  By his very body, he grants access to God.  Christianity, after all, is a religion about God's body:   the incarnation--that little baby come to earth as a God-man-- the crucifixion--God hanging on a cross to die, and the resurrection--the literal body of Jesus conquering death.  And in the ascension, Jesus returns to the Father but leaves the promised Holy Spirit who indwells believers at the moment they believe.

Is peace better than happiness?  Absolutely.  The assurance of God's peace which, according to scripture, transcends understanding, is deeper and more profound than mere mood.  So while happiness is something I can moderate, my peace comes from Jesus alone.

Living with flair means I depend upon the sure peace of God even when flair fluctuates.

A Stranger Tells Me His Secret

Many of my flair moments in the past 90 days occurred during conversations with strangers: the tired woman at the grocery store,  the neighborhood boy,  the hard-working Amish man, the precious waitress who gave my daughter a bad day mantra, the mean people at the drive-thru, that wonderful unknown woman who gave me the complement that changed my life, the curious woman and her service dog, the man at Starbucks, the man chasing trash in the parking lot, or the little boy explaining why he loves the rain because it makes the worms come out.

Remembering these conversations--and the flair they brought forth--reminds me to challenge myself to engage more with people who cross my path.

There's flair there, I just know it.

I am leaving a restaurant, and a man whose job it is to hold open the door greets me with a big smile.  He proudly holds open the door with such gusto I have to stop.

"Thank you!"  I say happily.  And then again:  "Thank you so much."

He smiles bigger (if that were even possible).  This employee is happier than he should be in this heat with this on-your-feet job.   I have to find out why. 

I say, "When you hold the door like that, it makes us all feel like celebrities."

He frowns and shakes his head.  He says, "You should feel like that all the time, not just when somebody is holding a door."

"All the time?  How is that possible?"  I say, my arms crossed.  The rest of my party is already in the parking lot, and I'm hanging around to talk to a strangely happy man.

"Above ground," he says softly.

"Huh?"

"Above ground," he repeats.

I lean in and whisper, "What in the world does that mean?"  People stream past us, a whole crowd of them, and I'm ducking my head back and forth to try and maintain eye contact.

He waves his hands like he's shooing me away.  I stand my ground.

"I'd have to explain it and it takes too long," he said.

"Well," I say, raising my eyebrows.  This was flair, and I wasn't about to leave it.

"OK," he says, the crowd thinning so he can give me some time.

"You just say to yourself that you're above ground.  You aren't stuck where you are, on this ground.   It's not about where your feet are or where you are hanging out.  You can be above it--above it all.   You are above ground.  Do you get it?  It's not about where you are or what you are doing.  That's why you can be the celebrity every day."

He's already on to other parties.  He's like a rock star that bothered to take a moment to talk to the little people.  He's big stuff, the real deal, and he's happy.  

And I'm writing down his words, learning from a stranger, because he was there, above ground, holding the door for me.