Joy
Written by Emma McCoy
4 minute read
Send this story to a friend:
Hey everyone! Welcome back to a fun and fictional blog series for the next chunk of time. In this series, I’ll be writing fictional short stories following various familiar characters as they try to walk along the faithful path.
-
The point of these short stories is to illustrate our big idea: Jesus grows our hope through uncommon friends. But in order to get to this big idea, we first need some scaffolding. Think of these stories like handholds as we’re climbing toward our big idea. A lot of the time, stories that demonstrate an idea are more helpful than just talking about it, so that’s where the fiction comes in. And the handhold (also called an outcome, or learning target) I’m focusing on in this series is this:
We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
-
We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
You can listen to this story narrated like an audiobook on your favorite podcast app!
Joy
A story about the kind of friend who helps you receive quiet joy
There were lots of things Rebecca wasn’t good at. She never got the hang of getting stains out of laundry; she had to sing the alphabet song to remember which letters came first; she killed every plant she touched; it took her forever to learn a new board or card game; and she usually gave up on on a book before she finished the whole thing.
But ever since she was a small girl, peering through coke-bottle lenses, she did have a superpower. She didn’t care what other people thought. Kids on the playground dressed the same, kids in middle school agonized over what kind of backpack they had, and kids in high school brutally tore each other apart over what they said, who they hung out with, and what they wore. Even as an adult in the workplace, there were a thousand little things that skated right past Rebecca’s notice: who was picked for business travel, who said what sly thing during the morning meeting, whose family went to Paris for spring break, or who had a new car sitting in the employee parking lot.
Rebecca simply didn’t care. It had bothered her a bit when she was young, the missing of what seemed to be important social cues, but over time it seemed to matter less and less. She had a few friends, a husband and children, and a job. Was she passed over for promotion? Sure. Were people sometimes mean? Also sure. But her people loved her, and when she missed something important to them, she tried to do better.
All of this added up to a woman who was never envious. But in the aftermath of her oldest son’s fight with leukemia, she found herself envious of Helen.
She didn’t recognize the feeling at first. Helen was a newer friend, the friendship only a few years old, and they got along great! She was a Christian, but a nice one, and she’d even gone to Helen’s church a few times, the music stirring something in her. She liked Helen a lot, even admired her ability to effortlessly navigate the social trappings of the office. So when she began to feel envious, it took a few weeks for her to realize what it was.
“I’ve got it!” Rebecca shouted. The pickleball sailed past her ear, bouncing against the fence.
“What?” Helen panted, resting with her hands on her knees. She was a great deal shorter than Rebecca, and had to run around the court a lot. She was still a lot better than Rebecca, who had trouble coordinating her long limbs for this sport (which she considered a little silly, but Helen liked it, and she liked Helen).
“What I’ve been feeling the last month,” Rebecca replied. “Remember?”
“No. This might’ve been a conversation we had in your head.”
“Oh, maybe. Anyway, it’s been very weird recently—”
“Well, of course it is. Ronnie’s in remission, and it’s finally done. Beating cancer is enough to throw anyone’s emotional axis off.”
“It’s not that,” Rebecca said brusquely. She retrieved the ball. “Or, it sort of is. It might be connected. The connection is loose, but there, kind of like a net. I wonder if they have to make these nets differently from tennis nets…”
“Rebecca, dear.”
“Right. I’m jealous of you.”
Helen blinked, wiping the sweat from her face. “Wait, really?”
“I know! I’m surprised too. But I…” she trailed off for a moment. “I think I’m usually a pretty upbeat person. But Ronnie was sick for a while, and it was so hard to watch him suffering, and Greg and I…well, it’s hard to talk about. So there hasn’t been lightness for a long time. And I watch you, and you’re so…joyful.”
“No I’m not,” Helen scoffed immediately. “I don’t have the presence you do—and besides, I’m pretty judgmental.”
“I don’t think joy has to be loud,” the other woman replied. “Your joy, it’s quieter. It’s something you carry with you everywhere—it’s like there’s something amazing and wonderful in everything you do. I’m not usually, or ever, an envious person, but…”
“You want it back,” Helen said. “Well, let me tell you this, Rebecca. You are the most incredibly joyous person I know. You’re in a season of darkness right now, but I promise that season will come to an end. I think you said it best: there can be joy in everything. You just have to pay attention.”
Rebecca bounced the ball and caught it again. “I sure hope so,” she said roughly. “It’s so hard right now. I thought it’d all go back to normal once Ronnie was cleared, but it hasn’t.”
“Bring it to God,” Helen encouraged. “And me. And your sister.”
“Okay.”
“Your serve.”
Halfway through the volley, Rebecca missed.
“Oh, and Rebecca?” Helen panted.
“What?”
“Thank you. For saying I’m joyful. I can be pretty hard on myself sometimes.”
“No problem.”
The friends continued to play, and Helen won decisively. They started another set, the rising summer sun pleasant on their necks.
Follow us on Instagram @springchurchbellingham and here on the blog for new stories every week!
Who in your life would you like to share this with?
About the author
Spring Church member, Emma McCoy (M.A.), has two poetry books: This Voice Has an Echo (2024) and In Case I Live Forever (2022). She’s been published in places like Across the Margin, Stirring Literary, and Thimble Mag. She reads for Chestnut Review and Whale Road Review. She’s probably working on her novel right now. Catch her on Substack: https://poetrybyemma.substack.com/