Jumping for Joy
On Monday night, four alumni of the University of Tennessee at Knoxville sighed with relief and cheered quietly - children were sleeping - when Aaron Combs struck out Ted Burton. With their 6-5 victory over Texas A&M, the Tennessee Volunteers clinched their first Men’s College World Series championship. Combs and catcher Cal Stark jubilantly embraced halfway between the pitcher’s mound and home plate, before being swarmed by their teammates. Together, they jumped for joy.
Sporting events are among the few ocassions when adults still feel free to jump for joy. Concert venues are another place where grownups allow their inhibitions to recede. Jumping and dancing and singing are all outward expressions of joy surging within.
Jumping for joy comes naturally for children. But somewhere along the road to adulthood, most of us begin to suppress the urge. We feel self-conscious. We wonder what others will think.
With aging, jumping for joy becomes potentially hazardous. Last summer when I saw James Taylor in concert, I was concerned when he jumped while strumming his guitar. “Don’t hurt yourself, James!” I wanted to warn him. “You could break a hip!”
When was the last time you saw an adult jump for joy in a place other than a sporting event or a concert?
In the summer of 2005, my son and I made a cross-country road trip from Ashland, Oregon, to Nashville, Tennessee. Over the course of eight days, we covered 2,958 miles along a route designed to pass through four National Park Service units - Craters of the Moon, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, and Badlands.
Although we had visited Yellowstone several times before on summer vacations - chalking up sightings of bison and bear, elk and pronghorn - we had never seen a gray wolf. Having done our research, we knew where to go to increase our odds of witnessing wolves during this brief visit: Lamar Valley, in the park’s northeastern quadrant. Since wolves are crepuscular creatures, we planned to station ourselves near the Lamar River at dusk, hoping to spot wolves on the prowl across the valley before darkness obscured our view.
As the sun began to set behind the Washburn Range, we scanned the northern slopes of the Lamar Valley with our binoculars. We waited and watched. We watched and waited. Sunlight faded. Soon we would have to return to our car. A five-hour drive lay between us and our final destination for the day.
Suddenly, my son spotted movement across the valley. Wolves! With a shout of elation, he jumped for joy. In the moment, I was not sure which event meant the most to me - finally seeing a wolf in the wild or witnessing my 24-year-old son spontaneously express the joy of a dream fulfilled.
This week during Via Karis Camp (my church’s version of Vacation Bible School), when the children sang “I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain in my soul,” the image of my son jumping for joy sprang to mind. Since then, I have wondered: Is my joy flowing freely? What hinders me from expressing my joy? What prompts joy to bubble up within my soul?
Perhaps the next time I watch a spectacular sunset over the Blue Ridge Mountains, I’ll give myself permission to jump for joy.
Invitation to wonder: What prompts joy to bubble up within your soul? When was the last time you jumped for joy?
