In 1955, C.S. Lewis published Surprised by Joy:The Shape of My Early Life, an autobiographical work describing his early years up to his conversion to Christianity. It is a reflection on the “stabs of joy” he discovers as they appear throughout his life and his ultimate conclusion that earthly joy is a series of signposts pointing to an ultimate joy in the Divine. The title comes from the William Wordsworth poem, Surprised by Joy, which describes the pangs of joy the poet recognizes in the painful memory of love lost. A curious postscript on Lewis’ book is that he married the editor of the book’s final draft, Joy Gresham, two years after the book’s publication and later recounts her loss in A Grief Observed.

Though the threads connecting Wordsworth, Lewis, and Gresham, suggest delicious providential mystery, it is the title, Surprised by Joy, that intriguingly brings me to this week’s subject matter. I recently made an ask of some friends and acquaintances (the particulars are unimportant) and was brought to joyful tears by one of the responses. Actually, elation more aptly captures the essence of what I felt. What brings us to elation? It seems that joyful surprise is one path.

From time to time, we all make requests of those around us: money, help, input, time. Sometimes things line up, sometimes they don’t. Our asks are not normally out of dire need, we sometimes just want someone to buy girl scout cookies or raffle tickets or help us move some stuff. As those being asked, we’re sometimes put-out by a request, but most usually try to show-up in some fashion for their friends and family. A “no” or “not right now” is rarely a big deal and we mostly take it in stride.

The response of which I write was affirmative but it wasn’t so much the “yes” that surprised me as its enthusiasm. Actually, there wasn’t really a “yes,” my friend’s response was more of a battle cry with a host of tactics following, and a promise of nearly immediate action. As I read the text response, I suddenly realized that someone else was willing to jump in the foxhole with me and the sense of togetherness in that notion was overwhelming. I was surprised by joy.

Surprises come in the unexpected and many of them are less than joyful. We often lose the wonder of the unexpected in the slog of the mundane and necessary. But when it comes, oh my!! It’s like Christmas morning as a seven-year-old all over again.

There was such consolation in my friend’s response. It said “you are not alone in this, I’m here and ready to help.” There was no quid-pro-quo, tit-for-tat, or you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. The cavalry had arrived and it was pure, all heart, given sacrificially and unreservedly. That’s when you know.

A Pretty Wonderful Life

Reflecting on it, I laughed at myself as I imagined George Bailey standing in his living room watching all of his friends and neighbors giving money to bail him out of his troubles. The look on his face was elation, he had been surprised by joy. Most of us are hesitant to ask for help. We’ll just bear it, work harder, and try to figure it out on our own. That is such a shame because it is not only isolating but also puts a low bar on others. We fear being disappointed by others when they don’t come through but the truth is that we never really expected them to.

Fortunately, my “ask” was nowhere nearly as interesting or dramatic as George Bailey’s, but I’m pretty sure the look on my face was something similar. My mind goes to 1990’s Pretty Woman, starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere (a Sally favorite). Gere’s character, Edward, looks at Robert’s character, Vivian, with eyebrows raised in surprise, saying: “Very few people surprise me.” Vivian responds: “Yeah? Well, you’re lucky. Most of them shock the hell outta me.”

Have we grown to expect so little that we’ve stopped asking? I’m not talking about Girl Scout cookies or raffle tickets. A real ask. A real need. I suppose it is safer to expect less – then we won’t be disappointed. But what a missed opportunity! In the ask, we give someone else the chance to surprise us and in being asked, we are given the same opportunity.

How do we react when asked? Are we responding? What about when we’re not asked? Are we showing up where and when we’re needed? To give of ourselves is such a powerful gift. Jumping in the foxhole with another human being is beyond special – it is divine. It is an act of holiness and love. Perhaps we don’t ask often enough. Perhaps we don’t give others the chance to show up for us. Maybe we’ve set the bar too low or, maybe we’ve become too self-sufficient. Is it possible that we just don’t want to admit that we don’t always have it all together or all figured out?

Not Always an Ask

Walking in my neighborhood yesterday, I heard “Poppy! Poppy!” Stopping, I turned around to see my grandson, Cooper, running down the sidewalk in his plaid pajamas, shoeless and grinning. He had seen me walk past his house and burst through the front door to run me down. He hugged me tightly as I saw his dad appear, wondering why his seven-year-old had bolted out of the house. Twice in a row, I had been surprised by joy.

Do you remember the last time you received an unexpected letter or postcard in the mail? How about a text from an old friend? What about a surprise gift or that text from your sweetheart with a pic of your special song playing on the car radio? Did you notice how you felt in that moment?

Thinking about these examples, I’m reminded that we are made for community for communion. Togetherness is such a powerful thing, made even more powerful when we can clearly see the common ground acknowledged. The shared win or knowing smile are such powerful opportunities for the joy of surprise in our connection. To need and to be needed are beautifully unifying expressions of the human condition.

“Poppy, race me to the trees and back.” Little Reagan tilted her head and let her blue eyes blaze as she challenged me to a race. Huffing and puffing afterward, and not the least bit embarrassed after getting smoked by the lightning of my five-year-old granddaughter, I saw the joy in something else unexpected. The self-surrendering gift of time, energy, and attention, to the seemingly smallest moment.

Looking around, I begin to see way more of it than I realized. Maybe I don’t watch closely enough. Perhaps I forget the myriad moments that pass quickly, unnoticed in the busyness. Are the George Bailey moments in my life actually more frequent than I realize?

There is sanctification in needing others just as there is sanctification in giving to others. Maybe through paying a bit more attention, we might, more often, find ourselves surprised by joy.