Joy

“My name is Joy.”

We were only children then, but I still remember the look in her eyes as she introduced herself to the class. Joy was not just her name; it was who and what and why she was. Joy was only with us for a moment, but she is nearer to me now than ever before.

Ms. Phoebe taught English and she was a good teacher. I always got the impression that she loved to learn as much as she loved to teach, and I think someone once said that all good teachers have this in common. Ms. Phoebe’s students tended to be courteous and attentive to one another because this was how she treated them. She never took as much of an interest in uncovering our ignorance as she did in helping us discover all the wonderful things we had learned.

Well, on that fateful first day of school, Ms. Phoebe barely had time to give us any homework before the bell rang. By lunchtime everyone had pretty well figured out where he or she belonged and who did not. Anyone that had spent most of the last twelve years going to the same schools, playing on the same teams, or just hanging out at all the right spots was “in.” Ours was a small town, so this was just about everybody. Except for Joy and except for Vera.

Now Joy, no one knew anything about. Where did she live? Who were her parents? What kind of music did she listen to? Which boy did she like? These were all mysteries. She simply showed up one day for school. The funny thing was everybody liked her. She could have taken her tray and sat at any table she wanted to. Whether you were an athlete or a bookworm, rebellious or apathetic, tragically hip or an island in the stream, you would have welcomed Joy with open arms.

On the other hand – or rather at the other side of the cafeteria, wearing a patched-up surplus army jacket over a t-shirt promoting some band no one listened to, sitting at a table by herself – was Vera. Her parents had moved to town over the summer and she had done a good job of losing friends she never really had in that short amount of time. I, for one, thought Vera was cute and I knew she was smart; just not like everybody else, or at least not like everybody wanted everybody else to be. Two of her teachers had already decided that Vera would never amount to much of anything. Ms. Phoebe was the exception. But, I already told you that she was a very special person.

Well, Joy took her tray and walked straight over to Vera’s table and sat down. No one could believe it. We all blamed Vera. Surely Joy would not knowingly associate with such an obvious misfit? Had Vera threatened her in some way? What was Joy thinking? As a matter of fact, if the two of them had not suddenly burst out laughing, I was sure someone was going to separate them. But, they really did suddenly burst out laughing. They laughed so hard that milk shot out of Vera’s nose and Joy started to cry. And, their laughter was the most amazing thing. It was a place none of us had ever seen but longed to be. It was a melody no one knew but wished to sing. Their laughter was faithful and true and we realized that we were liars.

Joy was not at school the next day. She was not there the day after that. If you really must know, no one ever saw her again, except for Vera. From that day on, Vera shone like the sun into the dark recesses of our hearts. She was still Vera and would always be. But, every once-in-a-while she would laugh and remind us of Joy.


By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. –Galatians 5:22, 23