You know when you get a song stuck in your head, and how it
can be quite annoying even if it is a song you normally like?
Imagine this for a
moment: You get a song stuck in your head that you already find irritating (the
song, not your head) and it will. Not. Go. Away.
And imagine this: As a joke, someone tells a group of sweet
little girls to sing you that song, so for a while they follow you around and
drive you up the wall.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Imagine walking down the hallway in a school and, like a
motion sensor as you pass, each classroom begins a chorus of said song the
moment they see you through the window, so you get four renditions in a row
while all you wanted to do was deliver a paper to a teacher.
Then imagine going home thinking only, “I have got to get this song out of my head.”
You put on some new music given to you by someone you thought was a friend, but
a minute into the song it changes to something entirely different… yes of
course they would splice the irritating song into the middle of one you had
never before heard. There is no getting away from it.
Imagine children waking you up by singing it on your veranda
in the morning… and in the afternoon… and in the evening before bed.
You just imagined my last three weeks. The abridged, mild
version, that is.
Ironically, the song I find so aggravating is entitled
“Happiness Is.” Fitting, right? The message is decent:
Happiness is to know the Savior
Living a life within His favor
Having a change in my behavior
Happiness is the Lord
Real joy is mine
No matter if teardrops start
I’ve found the secret
It’s Jesus in my heart
That is the first verse and chorus. There are two more
verses, but I will not subject you to more corny lyrics.
Okay, truthfully, I am not willing to type them.
This song does not make me happy. It makes me want to rip
out my hair and use it to plug my ears so I no longer have to hear the
all-too-cheerful tune. That may sound extreme, but if it had been running
through your head for three weeks you would have had your fair share of
meltdowns by this point too. I guarantee it. Even the word “happy” makes me
exasperated. Oh, irony.
That song does not make me happy. There is no question or
doubt in anyone’s mind about that. However, in having such a song go through my
head in recent weeks, it is enough to make one consider what does make me happy.
I tell you? (A question with which most children here begin
their stories, regardless of whether you answer positively or negatively. So I
am going to tell you whether you want me to or not.)
Happiness is sitting on my veranda in the early hours of
morning, talking with God and watching the sun rise over the forested hill
across the valley. I have been here nearly a year and I still rush outside at
the first glimpse of orange through my window.
Happiness is going “swimming” with the nursery school
children during the holiday program. For one, when you tell them they get to go
swimming, they jump up and down and scream and tell all their friends. Who
doesn’t want to make four-year-olds do that? And then there is the actual
swimming, which in reality is a square-shaped slip-n-slide where we pour
shampoo and spray water and everyone slides around on their stomachs for an
hour. The squeals of delight would cheer up Scrooge, I swear.
Happiness is watching the children pass my house on their
way to school every morning. Being greeted by a dozen enthusiastic “Auntie
Katie!”s is not such a bad way to start a day. I love that they still do it.
Happiness is sorting books on a Saturday afternoon while
Angel and Benja cuddle up on my bed—Angel to read, Benja to sleep. I don’t
think my house has ever been so calm with children inside.
Happiness is watching Mariska worship in church. That
nine-year-old girl stands in the space between the congregation and the stage,
eyes fixed on the worship team and mimicking their every word and action. She
sings and dances in the almost-graceful, innocent way only a child can do.
Happiness is knowing that in less than a month my mom and aunt are going to be here in Uganda
with me. Less than a month. Here in Uganda. My family. The only appropriate
word seems to be “booyah!” but at the same time it does not seem fitting at
all. Might I remind everyone that I am an English major and am clearly putting
that education to good use.
Happiness is spending a Saturday afternoon building a
blanket/sheet/sleeping bag/curtain fort in my living room and squeezing fifteen
children underneath to read books.
Happiness is the weekly missionary game night on Sundays. Phase Ten, Catan, Telephone Pictionary, Spot It, it doesn’t matter—the laughter, I tell you.
Happiness is knowing that at this point in my life, I am
where God wants me to be. No, I do not do things perfectly and I miss the mark
much of the time, but I now feel closer to the center of His will than I have
in… perhaps ever. I miss home and I long for heaven, but I really, truly want
to be here and am happy God has given me this opportunity.
For the record, I did not mean to type the word “happy”
there. Somehow in the process of writing this blog I had forgotten the song,
and now with that one word it is back in full force. I won’t type the words
that are going through my head (they are not the words to the song).
Is anyone happy? Let
him sing songs of praise. (James 5:13)
Just not that song.
