The Habit of Rejoicing

We bought our plunger and a fancy looking toilet-unplugging tool, just in case the diagnosis was more serious. I'm not sure we'd have known how to use it, but we felt safer armed with it. Then, home we went and directly to the bathroom, excited to use our new plunger. I left the bathroom briefly, to get more towels I think. When I returned, my husband was flushing the toilet, a big grin on his face. I was so proud. After 24 years of marriage I realized he really could be a handyman. I was a bit disappointed though because I'd missed the big moment. The next day I realized with surprise that I had enjoyed our late night plumbing. We did it together. We didn't yell at each other. The next day we slept in. I guess we rejoiced in our suffering. Easy enough with toilet repair, but more difficult with the bigger sufferings of life.

I wonder if Paul had this type of everyday suffering, not just illness and loss, in mind when he counseled his followers to rejoice. When the crowds gathered someone had to wait on tables, wash the dishes, and take care of the unexpected - like repairing holes in the roof after unexpected guests dropped in (Mark 2:1-5). I can just imagine Paul looking at my husband and me, and down at the mess on the floor, and saying, "Come on Jim, Cherry, let's build some perseverance and character. Rejoice!" I think when we develop a habit of rejoicing in our suffering it does build perseverance. That builds character, and that produces hope: Hope and reassurance that when the big time suffering comes, and it always does, we can face it, and rejoice.

Seems I've been given plenty of opportunities to build perseverance and character lately, or perhaps I've just been recognizing them a bit more. A few days after our plumbing activities, I spilled coffee on my laptop and destroyed it. (I know, you're not supposed to have liquids near a laptop or other electronic equipment.) A week later, I fell in a parking lot, breaking my glasses and banging my head enough to require six stitches.

Then one day last week, sitting outside the car wash, this rejoicing thing started to make a bit more sense. That morning I'd ordered my new glasses; I'd had a small problem with my publisher; my old software

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