I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear
Falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me and He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other, has ever known.

It doesn’t take much experience or maturity to quickly discover that joy is not an emotion. No, it is a fruit. A fruit of abiding. Lemons grow because the vine is attached to the trunk. And the trunk has been watered, fed, and bathed beneath the sunlight as it clothed it with warmth, and in that abiding, lemons grow. Joy comes from abiding.

And it isn’t the kind of joy that laughs at goofy stories, or conjures itself up past the frustrations of a day, no it is something deep and rich and real. It is what comes from abiding.

My favorite time of day is that quiet place of the morning, before child has risen with matted hair and hands out for breakfast, before Mr. Jones has cut off his box fan and brushed his teeth, when it is just the darkness, the hot tea, Sophie at my feet and Jesus in my midst. I don’t always arrive to that place happy. Sometimes I come scared, desperate, hungry, thirsty, broken, sometimes I come excited, expectant, even full of faith, but in that abiding place, that walking and talking place, I always leave with this supernatural element of joy that strengthens me, even if the circumstances haven’t changed, even if the tension remains, or the questions still loom.

Joy forges past problems and pain and goes to the soul places of hope and proclamation. Angels told the wandering shepherds, “I bring you good tidings of great joy!” It is that same tiding in this season that forces the joy of my abiding to the surface. That reminds me that hope remains. That God is alive. That Jesus sees me and knows me and is coming back for me. And that one day all pain ceases, all tears are wiped away, and no longer will I have to stay grafted to the vine, but one day I will actually be in His very presence. A presence thicker and more real than any of my quiet mornings have ever privileged me to know.

I write today with questions of my future. Will my bonus children love me or come see me should anything happen to Mr. Jones? Will all the pictures of ministry that I hold in my heart ever come to fruition in my life? Will the hopes I have for my family and my nieces and nephews and my children ever be totally realized? Will we able to afford college? Will I leave an impact where I’m planted? Will America ever be again what the founding fathers desired it to be? Will cancer find a cure? Will broken homes once and for all end? Oh, yes, I have so many questions that remain. But in the middle of the questions I have an indescribable joy. A joy that reminds me that “If I abide in Him and He abides in me” that He’s got me. And in a world of unquestionable uncertainty, to know that the God of the Universe whose very act in this season changed the course of all humanity has me, brings me joy. And today we still have the great privilege to say, “Behold, today I bring you good tidings of great joy!”