Martin Shaw in Keeping Focus spoke about how St. Brendan was visited by the angel Michael in the form of a bird. “It was the sound of God announcing his happiness,” the saint said. (You ever think of what God’s happiness looks like?) Well, that’s what I’m going to do. Tell you how I’ve seen His happiness this week.
Saturday o’dark thirty: I see it in the bar of light on our bedroom ceiling. I don’t know its origin because it’s not there every night. I don’t think I’ll investigate. The dim image of an angel, appeared behind my eyes, when I lost the entire night to wakefulness and many Lord-be-merciful-to-me a sinner prayers. I’ve tussled with the powers of darkness enough, but what about angels? How come we never open our eyes to the angels among us?
Sunday morning: Mrs. Horse in her thick, yellow pelt, nickered when I threw her hay right behind the barn, a still spot, while the snow out there moved in a brisk wind and sunlight. I shoveled snow away from the doors, she blew a sweet fart, a whiff of new mown hay dropped on warmer days. Perhaps our drought is breaking with these robust snows smoothed into reefs and fins. But even with Sorel boots, my feet were still chilled.
This week, which day, I don’t remember: I saw the happiness of God in icicles hanging from our eaves, some a couple feet long. They shone like crystal daggers. As a baby I pictured sin as a black icicle. My therapist’s eyes grew wide when I told her that. But I bet I picked up my parents’ dread like mine that water would back up in our walls.
I saw God’s happiness when the temperatures warmed just above freezing and those ice dams melted.
Wednesday: I saw it when a snow squall rolled in, belligerent and bellicose, dancing, hard dancing, along the fields, the air alive, full of energy, a balloon rubbed with static. But the roads were clear by the time we needed to go to town.
I’ve seen it with both dogs running full tilt chasing each other, their coats black and grey against the snow, their voices the growls of play. Mrs. Horse stands at the gate watching, not so happy I’m with the dogs and not her.
We’ve held off on our Christmas tree because our wild pup has to lay his teeth on everything, even my hands. Bruce and I have both said this is why dogs end up in pounds. But he’s ours, with many lessons about teaching calm. He’s scraped away the hefty numbness I felt and drives me to confess my impatience, well, shrieks, often. The happiness of God--Bruce taking him for walks in the cold, when I need to write and Aiden was a pretty-please and not Bruce’s idea of a good time when our other dog, Omalola is enough.
I have watched God’s happiness in squirrels diving between branches of the trees, finding their way across the yard without touching the ground.
I have seen it in the sun rising, liquid magenta, and a light haze over the fields, and bird song that speaks of spring even though winter has come early and has not even shown up on the calendar quite yet.
I’ve seen it in our barn cat sitting in the driveway waiting for us to feed him, and our relief he has lived through the bitter night.
Thursday morning: I saw it when my neighbor told how her family had a peaceful Thanksgiving meal, no tension, the food good. This family was riven a decade ago. She sat in her beautician’s chair while her beauty operator curled her silver hair and combed it back, with respect and the local stories. (I was so bone dog tired, I didn’t mark His happiness until now.) I saw it in a friend’s story how her family celebrated her birthday with old, family recipes.
Thursday afternoon: I found my happiness when Bruce took me shopping at Sierra and we pulled bargain stuff off the racks. I found shoes on the cheap, a feminine pajama set to enjoy Bruce with and our heated mattress pad, and a sweater to keep Omalola’s bare belly warm. I found God’s happiness in Jesus words to the pharisees—”full of greed and self-indulgence” and was caught up short how I am a pharisee because if I see it on Amazon I’ll buy it, if I see a piece of chocolate, or Diet Coke I’ll grab it.
I found God’s happiness in my friend’s voice saying you’re not of the way of the negative, fasting and self-denial but of the way of the affirmation. Don’t go down that self-denial road. And I heard God’s happiness in thanking Him for these gifts, this good day to shop with Bruce like I remembered with my dad. And the wall I hit reminded me that it’s up to God to bring the changes He wants.
Saturday Evening: I saw it with the water poured out in the baptismal font, that water poured over the head of a little girl, her mother kissing her between the water and the names of God.
On the way home from church we saw Orion, monstrous, rising over the road. At home I watched a friend’s video of his brown Swiss girls munching.
Sunday o-dark-thirty: Bruce saw God’s happiness in the long streak of a falling star in the bathroom window. I felt it finally in a good night’s sleep, my prayer He take care of any wakeful friends.
Sunday, Below Zero Windchills: When I started reading my phone the sun popped over the barn and flooded my face with light. I shut my eyes and let my face bathe in it, my eyelids red, the warmth, well you know, sun warmth and light, blessed light after a week of dark skies. I closed my phone and suited up to go outside where the cold burned my feet and my hands curled around packets of hand warmers. Mrs. Horse walked beside me when I carried clover hay out to the snow. It’s getting near to Solstice. She has started to shed.
Now you tell me. How have you seen, heard, felt, smelled or tasted the happiness of God?
Thank you so much for reading and/or listening to this essay. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
