Joy

Once upon a time, a boy sat before a plate piled high with his favorite foods. Large bowls of the same foods and more were strewn across the table. He stuffed forkful after forkful into his mouth at first, relishing every bite. When his plate was half empty, his glee faded. At three quarters empty, he burst into tears.

Asked the problem, he replied, “My plate is almost empty, and my stomach is almost full. Soon it will all be gone. Even with serving dishes all around, I won’t be able to enjoy another bite.”

I first heard this tale on the last evening of a summer camp, when teens were fretting over having to leave the next day. They’d had a magical week, making new friends in a safe new setting where no one knew their baggage and they felt free to be themselves. The camp director reminded them the week was not over yet. If they could dry their tears for now, hours of delight still lay ahead.

It’s natural to grieve the pending death of a loved one after a terminal diagnosis. It’s natural to grieve the imminent loss of a house that’s been home for thirty years. But to become grumpy halfway through a vacation because the vacation will end is worse than useless. I don’t know where and how to draw the line. I do know that more joy is here for the taking than we sometimes remember to take.

Image: Chinese banquet in a banquet hall (cropped).