Finding Joy In The Journey

Learning The Destination Is Not Always The focus

While waiting in prayer for the Lord to speak to me this morning, I sat quietly waiting to hear from Him, and I began to weep. After praying to the Lord for guidance, I found myself in silence, and I found myself thinking about my Uncle, who passed away in March 2018.

I have known the Lord all of my life. Not once did anyone ever tell me that being a Christian was going to be easy. My mom told me that good things could happen to bad people, just like bad things could happen to good people. Living life as a Christian doesn’t mean I get a flash pass to the front of the line without going through the rest of the journey. It just means that I don’t have to go through the journey alone. Psalm says this very clearly:

It means life’s journey is filled with joy and gladness. It means He hand-crafted every day of my life, giving me free will to choose and make my own decisions, already knowing the choices I would make and ultimately turning the bad ones into something good while extending His grace, mercy, and love. It means that just like every other human being, I live one day at a time and have to choose to see the joy.

I have an Uncle who did this better than most anyone I know. He was drafted into the Vietnam War right after graduation at the tender of age seventeen. He left home, a young teenager full of life, and returned a broken man. During his time in Vietnam, he contracted Malaria and almost died. In addition, his tour in Vietnam would leave him with PTSD and Agent Orange exposure. During each year he lived with his family, he was also diagnosed with new health problems caused by the exposure to Agent Orange and the conditions of the Vietnam War.

He would learn to live with diabetes for more than half of his lifetime. He was diagnosed with Chronic B-Cell Leukemia, Hepatitis, and liver failure. He survived a liver transplant and was on the list for his second liver after the many medications he had to take daily wore out the first one. He never received that second liver. He did, however, go to dialysis for five years, three times a week. Despite all of the physical pain he endured every day, he continued to live. He didn’t just live because he survived. He lived because he chose to find joy. His reason for living was his two beautiful daughters and, later, his grandchildren. He lived because he loved life and the people he lived it with.

When he returned from Vietnam, he did not have the hero’s welcome that our Veterans are now accustomed to. The American people saw him as the enemy as our culture was busy screaming “peace, not war.” There wasn’t a moment that he didn’t dream of peace out there in the front-line trenches. Those soldiers on both sides wanted peace more than anyone back at home. He arrived at LAX in uniform and took the bus to see his sister for the first time since he left home.  He was greeted by the LAPD, who saw he came from Vietnam and immediately beat him up because they saw him as a trader. He was punished for something he had no choice in. He was drafted. Ripped away from his family and sent to war.

The American citizens, including children, spat upon him. He was looked down on and was ushered into a job upon returning like the other soldiers who had lost out on the opportunity to go to college, unlike the men who stayed behind and dodged the war front.

He didn’t complain. He just continued to live some more. He could have been bitter and chose to live a life that reflected his anger, his hurt, his unjust treatment, and the betrayal of our country, but instead, he learned to find joy in the journey. He took time to see the hand-carved mountains that God put right in front of us. He studied the stars’ beauty, watched with eyes ablaze at the sun setting each night, and awoke in good spirits to watch it rise over the horizon. Taking from it the resilience and choosing to do the same every morning as well.

He was learning to be one of the greatest Uncles anyone could have asked for during his journey here on Earth. He was giving, he was loving, and he was gracious. He was not in a hurry. He was the kind of guy that would say I’ll be there first thing in the morning, no later than 9 a.m., and then show up at 3 p.m.

He shared his hobbies with everyone. When he discovered a passion for bowling, so did everyone else. There were never any excuses because he bought you your own ball, shoes, and bag. He paid for the games. Not just for him and his children, but for whoever came along in the adventures. He was everyone’s, Uncle Tony.

When he was paintballing, so were we. He bought everyone guns and all of the accessories, always ready when he came into town. Then, he would tell us what he had in mind, whether it be disc golf, bike riding, or range shooting; we would grab our stuff and rush off into the sunset or sunrise, depending on whatever he had planned.

My family moved to Porterville while I was in the fourth grade. At that time, Porterville was considered a town, not even a large town; it was classified as a small town. We moved from San Jose, CA. Population 1.3 million. It was like a time warp. Kids would say that they have known each other since Kindergarten. That was unheard of in San Jose. You were lucky to be in the same school three years in a row unless you lived across the street from the school itself.

We would drive around with nothing to do because Porterville was so small, and we didn’t even give it a chance. We even drove to Visalia, a larger town, to do grocery shopping because it was the closest thing to resembling a city that we could get.  We drove around the orange groves trying to get lost, only to find out there was a road that always led home. The winters brought frozen crops, and the summer days were rarely under 105 degrees.

A few months after we settled in, my Uncle called and said he would visit my cousins. We warned him that there was nothing to do. He said, “That’s okay, we’ll hang out. We’ll leave here around 9:00 am, and we’ll get there around 1:00 in the afternoon.” Of course, he was late.

He talked about the long four-and-a-half-hour drive and how the scenery was so beautiful. He told us all about a hole-in-the-wall diner he stopped to try out. It had a museum of stuffed fish hanging on the walls. So many sizes and varieties. He said he would show us the pictures once they were developed. He said the food was delicious too and said we would have to take a trip to see it next month. And true to his word, we drove there for a visit, and he captured our smiling faces in front of the giant swordfish that we heard so much about.

He arrived after 3:00 pm on a sunny summer day. He said, “Show me the city.” We laughed and took a 20-minute cruise around the town, and we were done. “That’s it. Nothing spectacular,” we said.

“Hey, what’s that? Who’s he? “he asked, pointing at the statue on Main and Henderson. “That is Mr. Porter, we think. I don’t know. He’s looking at the soil or seeds or something,” we explained.

“Have you guys taken any pictures with him? “

“No,” we answered.

“Let’s take a picture,” he said. And so, with those words, what seemed like a thousand kids jumped out of the back of his ’78 GMC pickup truck and claimed a spot on the statue for the snapshot. That is the only time I have ever taken a picture with that statue. I have never stopped to take a photo of my own children, even though I often think about it, but when I pass it, I always replay the laughter of that day in my mind.

Next, we posed in front of The Big Stump Trailer Park, smiling ear to ear, admiring the wonder in the idea. A man had built his trailer home to look just like a real tree stump of the Giant Sequoias. It looked just like a round log. We ended the day riding bikes up Louis Hill, stopping at the top to admire the majestic scenery. Nothing like the bright city lights we came from. The night brought a galaxy of stars that twinkled in the moonlight, and we all shouted and pointed out constellations while our voices echoed in the foothills across the night sky. In the city, the stars were hard to see with all of the bright lights.

My uncle always took pictures of us growing up. He had cameras before they were cool. Before, they were available on phones and every electronic device. He had the kind you had to load the film and then take it to get developed. He was a wise man. He knew our memories would someday fade, and our minds would sometimes fail, and a simple photograph would jump-start a memory that lay dormant inside our brain and spark a three-hour-long conversation of yesteryear. He just knew it.

He fought for his life for thirty-two years and knew he was never guaranteed tomorrow. Yet, he knew that someday we would be grasping these photographs in our clutched hands while our hearts mourn over the loss of the people we hold near and dear to us. That we would only be left with a snapshot, a smile, a side profile, or a blurred image, and even that would be just what we needed to go back in time through the portal of a photograph and relive the joy at that moment.

That day filled his camera with smiles, scenery, and the memories of laughter. Time was forever frozen in his photo album of a fun-filled day with great company.  It was then I understood why he was always late. He took time to find joy in the journey.

He had a destination, but he took time to live with the ones he cared for, give to those who needed it, and laugh with those he loved. The Bible says, ” This is the day that the Lord has made; rejoice and be glad in it.” He was glad every day and found joy in every journey.

What if we lived life like Uncle Tony? What would the world be like if everyone chose joy? God doesn’t want us merely to live our lives, he wants us to live them more abundantly, but it’s a choice. There is effort involved. Showing compassion to our community, loving our enemies just as we love ourselves, and creating a world where kindness is no longer considered a random act. So what will you do today? Will you spend it with loved ones, making memories, laughing, and capturing smiles in photographs? Will you choose joy? I know I will. I will strive to live each day, choosing to see the joy.