Joy

Have you ever had that feeling of looking back on some great experience and being overwhelmed with a sense of happiness that you were there along with great sadness that you there no longer?

It's like a good meal. The other day, some friends and I went to an Italian restaurant. We splurged and bought some excellent meals; mine was roasted duck penne with plum sauce. It was so scrumptious that I couldn't help but gobble it all up. I savored the flavor, but followed it with 'the godfather', an aptly named mass of chocolate, toffee, brownie, and ice cream. Again, I gobbled it up. As we sat there with bellies full and smiles on our faces, the flavors began to fade. I scrambled for another taste of that chocolaty goodness, but it was gone. As satisfied as I was, I realized that it was over. And in only a couple days, the experience at Oxford would be over too. 

The sites and sounds of that great city of dreaming spires are fading along with the belly-ache that came with 'the godfather.' I scramble for another taste: I look at pictures and reminisce with friends, but still, the flavor is leaving. I'm beginning to wonder if it wasn't all a dream after all-- the city has lived up to its name. But then I remember that Oxford is not the dream which I hope will come true. It has come, and is now past. But it was only a shadow of the real 'city of dreaming spires.'

C.S. Lewis reminds us that joy is a longing for something which is so beautiful, so amazing, so unimaginable, that it cannot be experienced in this life. The friends and fun, the sights and sounds (and smells), the essays and the escapades all brought joy; but they were not what I was really longing for. They are not eternal; they've already come and gone. But there is something, no, Someone, who is far greater and lasts far longer.