My lips will shout for joy when I sing praise to You–I, whom You have redeemed. (Psalm 71:23, NIV)
Isaiah is playing basketball. After spending years as a spectator, he gets to play. It’s his second season. His grandparents are here. The brothers sit in a row. Lonny is coaching.
We’re all here to cheer for the smallest son.
The players take the court, the game begins, and Isaiah guards his guy. He does pretty well, considering that he’s not aggressive. He’s a gentle boy at heart.
And everyone watches to see how he’s improved since last year.
But not me.
I sit. And wait. And wonder.
I want to know if Isaiah still skips.
My sweet little son Isaiah has a joy about him. It’s unbound happiness that comes straight from his soul, and it manifests in a way that is dear to me.
It’s evident in how he moves his feet.
It happens when we’re walking across a parking lot. Or alongside the river. Or down the sidewalk on the way to the pool. His step is light, infused with gladness, and something pulls in my chest just to see it.
Maybe the reason that I delight in this so is because Isaiah’s steps reflect his heart. There is something so beautiful, peaceful and solid about deep, centering joy.
I love to see it in the way that my son moves, but as a believer in Christ, I know that my spirit has the capability to hold such joy, too.
No matter what trials or tribulation this life may hold, my salvation is sealed. Whatever I struggles I walk through, though they may be heavy and I may become tired, the hardships of this life will not last forever. My eternity is settled. I’ll spend forever in the loving presence of my Savoir King.
If my joy comes from circumstance, there will be days of refreshment and days of drought.
But if my joy is in salvation, in the sweet depth of God’s provision, I’m sustained. Anchored. Able to partake in peace that passes understanding because the grace of His love brings joy.
The opposing team has the ball again, and Isaiah’s team moves down the court. He’s running hard. He finds his man. Throws his hands up to guard him. His man goes to the right. Isaiah goes right, too.
And there it is, as he moves across the court.
The skip.
Though he’s face-to-face with an opponent, his step pulses with free-flowing, unbridled joy.
I can’t help but decide, sitting there, cheering for Isaiah, that joy is a precious thing.
