Staying Joyful in the Midst of Trouble

Do you ever wonder about the amount of time and energy we waste worrying about things we can’t change? I suspect that for some of us it is a lot, which is terribly sad.

Imagine all the creative and useful things that could be done with that time, consider the moments of joy with your loved ones that is stolen by the worry.

My dad lived with Parkinson’s disease for over 15 years, he didn’t die from it, but it cruelly affected his capacity to live life as he always had and thought he should. He taught me many things, but the greatest was this: never allow what you cannot control to ruin what you can.

Dad was an active, outdoorsy, man who loved to work as a carpenter, and when he played it was in the ocean fishing or snorkelling. He was a quiet but social man with all the charm of a genuine English gentleman, ladies and men alike loved Ray.

Over time, though, everything he loved to do became a struggle, so much so it would have stopped a lesser man. Not dad, he still made things in his workshop, they were not perfect like his earlier works – let’s be honest, they were often ugly - but they functioned and spoke of his love. He still fished, but could take 30 minutes or more to tie a hook on a line. When he got snacks at night he would sit on a stool in front the open fridge and eat them there as when he tried to walk while carrying things he was prone to drop them, he didn’t want to cause a mess for my mum.

He and mum sought cures everywhere: medicine, natural therapies and healing churches. While they never stopped praying and hoping there came a time when they realised that the pressure of pursuing a cure was causing a price to daily life that simply was not worth it. They began to live by the philosophy “In acceptance lieth peace”. (Mum said it was a quote from the Bible, which I think was meant to give it authority. It is actually the title of a poem by Amy Carmichael, a Christian missionary to India).

From that day on the burdens lifted, even though the frustrations persisted. The lifting of the burdens allowed flowers of joy to grow, which in turn made the frustrations matter less. I dread to think what my dad’s final years would have been like had he been obsessed by the unfairness and cruelty of his fate. Instead, when I think of him in those years I see only his smile on his now palsied face, and laugh again at his silly jokes even though told through his weakened voice.

By 1997 dad’s voice was just a whisper and to walk and stay balanced was slow and laborious, yet he found peace in acceptance and was insistent in refusing to allow that which he could not control ruin what he could. He walked and fished and snorkelled, until his heart said: “it’s time”. Truly he died doing what he loved, and I believe his life is a parable worth applying for all of us. I know it is for me.