As I knocked on the peeling front door, an old fat dog pushed against my knee, wagging his stump of a tail, waiting with me for permission to enter.

“Shirley?” I called, “It’s Lisa from Meals on Wheels. Can I come in?”

A querulous voice responded, “Yes, yes, come in.”

I pushed open the door, followed the dog inside and greeted Shirley, who was rolling toward me in her wheelchair. She was new to my route, but I felt like I’d been here dozens of times before. She wasn’t the first old woman I’d met with four or five teeth, wisps of unkempt gray hair and stained clothing, living in a smelly house packed to the rotting rafters with the accumulated stuff of a long life. Even the fat old dog was familiar.

“How are you doing?” I asked, alert to needs she might have that I could address.

Shirley grinned up at me with those few teeth, as she cleared a small space on the table so I could put her meal down. With an unmistakable light of joy in her eyes, she cheerily replied,  ”Can’t complain.”

Can’t complain? How could she live like this and not complain? I would complain. Maybe moan a little. Whine some. Grumble. Rail a bit. Sigh a lot. Really? Can’t complain? Who wouldn’t complain?

Shirley is a happy person. I, exasperatingly–well, not so much. It just doesn’t seem to be my “natural woman” state. But I am often in tune with a deep soul-joy that is rooted in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Happy, though? That’s something different, ever elusive.

I had my brain mapped recently by a neuroscientist. I was not surprised to learn that the right side of my brain (the depressive, negative side) is stronger and more developed than my left (the confident, productive part.) It should be; it gets a lot of practice. My natural reaction to any stressor is negativity.  How much brain chemistry is related to depression, I can’t say, but I’ve certainly become adept at slipping effortlessly into that rutted, downward spiral of negative thought.

However, my “alpha centers” were also very strong, that part of the brain that registers deep peace, the zen-like feeling you get from practicing lots of deep prayer and meditation. I’m very fond of my alpha-brain-bits; I suspect my eternal spirit is somehow associated with those centers because I do experience real connection with the Divine.

And I can’t complain then, during those timeless, alpha moments. I mean, I really can’t, even if it occurred to me to want to. “All is well.” That’s the spiritual knowing I have when I’m in contact with God.

So, what is the difference between this kind of soul-nourishing joy and simple happiness? Why is happiness so elusive for me and yet I can access this deep spiritual joy? Is one experience preferable over the other? Are either necessary to our salvation? Is happiness simply a matter of choice or is it about lucky genes? Or habits of thought? Premortal experience? Life circumstance? Can we really control our own level of happiness? How?

This is the point in the post where I’m supposed to offer up some profound truth so you can move forward all enlightened and inspired. Well, I am loathe to inform you that I don’t know any more than you do. I’m still living the questions. So, since I am empty of profundity or answers regarding this universal pursuit of happiness (or is it joy we’re after?) I’ll just leave the questions here for you to tackle.

And I sincerely wish you much joy and happiness today.

Related posts:

1. How Anne of Green Gables helped me get my groove back
2. And She Never Complained
3. Justice and Mercy Walk into a Bar