Finding Micro-happy

Inside Every Catastrophe, There’s a Tiny Joy

Wrapped in a pink blanket, a woman danced down a busy street. Her dirty, bare feet kicked up while her hands gyrated. Even her dark hair waved wildly.  She appeared to be talking to herself. I worried that her feet were cold.

I tend to worry my tushie off. And I hardly ever dance.

I spend too much time worrying. So do you. Whether we’re fretting about our loved ones or the price of gasoline, we worry our precious heads off. Will I get that promotion, will my child do well in school, will my old dog live a little longer? Will I be sheltered from the rain? Get a meal today?

Boatloads of good folks pray that God will remove their worries. Many prayers are for the big stuff: healing, housing, hunger. Ceasefires and rebuilding after storm damage. I believe that God hears those prayers. And many people step up to be the answers to them.

Even so, I rub my worry stone daily, praying my neck will stop sagging or at least suspend its downward turkey wattle trend. I pray my husband will keep doing dialysis three times a week, so he’ll live, and I won’t be alone. I pray for good stuff, hold the not-so-good stuff, also known as crap.

But what if I could pray without so much worry?

What if I replaced big worry and fear with small stuff that gladdens the heart? Could I pray for micro-happiness instead of against bad stuff?

That’s how I see St. Francis. Instead of worrying that life was full of enemies to be feared, he embraced the birds, animals, cosmos. He called the sun Brother and the moon Sister. Francis even treated other people with that same reverence. The whole world was part of the Great I Am. I often fail that test.

One recent worrisome day, I was chewing on my nails over some dumb thing (the very best accessory to worry is nail biting, followed by premium ice cream eaten out of the carton), until I remembered a Tom Petty lyric. “Most things I worry about, never happen anyway.” I realized I was stewing over stuff I had little control over and were anchored someplace in Tomorrowland. That gave me an idea.

What if I not only noticed tiny, wonderful things, but relished them? I’d escort a spider outside and marvel at its silken web. I’d glimpse my husband’s slightly crooked smile, and just smother that small moment in love. I’d stop washing dishes(why oh why can my guys not put bowls of stuck-on food to soak?) long enough to listen to a bird’s morning song.

Appreciating little moments of good isn’t my idea. Some call it glimmering. But when you pair it with an intention to erase worry or fear or dread, glimmers can become action. Action that becomes Jesus’ hands and feet and heart.

Too often, I silently criticize instead. I used to call this “just stating the obvious.” Now I know that every time I interact with someone by silently (or not) judging that person, it’s damn hard to view him or her with unconditional positive regard. It’s as if I’ve already set the stage for a gripe-fest. And judginess often leads to worry and fear.

By passing judgment, I separate myself from you. You become the Other. If I let it go on, otherness may turn into enemy-ness. I’ll start to worry that if I don’t keep us separated, I won’t be able to feel better than you. Soon it’s as if we’re all on separate ice floes, drifting further away from each other.

If we’re no longer in contact, we’ll spin untrue stories, unfounded rumors and malicious gossip about the other. We might even accuse our enemies of manufacturing hurricanes or eating pets.

And it all begins with worry.

Worry that somebody might cheat or take advantage.

Fear that someone might get something they don’t deserve.

Anxiety that there isn’t enough.

The world has big problems, and I’m not trying to make light of them. Yet the more I view my days with preconceived gladness, the more I find beauty and value and breath-taking miracles in my midst. My precious granddaughter sewing on a machine for her first time. My husband feeling decent after his dialysis session. An old friend says they like me. The awe-inspiring October blue sky.

Could I pray for micro-happiness instead of against bad stuff?

These tiny things dance before my eyes. And although I’m not a great dancer, I want to join in. So instead of worrying about those who are unsheltered or living on the edge or just hungry, bubbles of gladness set my feet into motion. As Richard Rohr has written, “We can bear the hardness of life and see through failure when our soul is resting in a wonderful and comforting sweetness and softness.” 

I may never again see the dancing pink-blanketed woman, but I can donate shoes. I can’t always volunteer, but I can donate to good causes. Micro-happy compassion only asks that we treat others the way we ourselves want to be treated.

My actions might not add up to much, but I’ll give them joyfully, remembering all the little stuff that makes me glad. We may not solve all the world’s big problems, but everybody can do some small thing. Today, embrace micro-happiness like the dancer in the pink blanket and let your worry give way to love in action.