Joy is My Word of the Year for 2018

My Word of Year for 2018 is JOY--yes, again. While it is good to study as much about the Bible as possible, it is becoming more and more clear to me that my focus was, is, and always will be JOY. As I read back over that sentence, it sounds as if I'm complaining; I'm not! I love studying JOY as much as possible. I love noticing every possible way that JOY is used. Just yesterday, as we were driving home from church, I noticed this display in the window of one of our local florists:

It's almost as if they created that display just for me! LOL!

Some time in early 2008, I found this gorgeous purple planner for 2009 that had beautiful embellishments with a focus on JOY. That was the first year that JOY was my Word of the Year; I knew that well before 2008 came to an end. I remember talking with a young lady (a student) about how God plans things out and prepares us in ways we'll never know or understand and may not even understand afterward. 

It was in 2009 that the Lord first gave me Psalm 45:7: 

"You love justice and hate evil.

    Therefore God, your God, has anointed you,
    pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else." 

As I've shared previously, I knew immediately that He was speaking directly to me as I read those words: "You, Polly, love justice and hate evil. Therefore God, your God, Polly, has anointed you, Polly, pouring out the oil of joy on you, Polly, more than on anyone else." I wrote the verse in my journal and I remember weeping as I prayed and received the Lord's anointing--right here in my living room.

Little did I know that in November of 2009 I would be at death's door--literally. It took all the JOY I had in me and then some to make it through those days when my family and I thought I was going to die. Walking around with an ostomy bag is NOTHING to be JOYFUL about, let me tell you, whether you are in your late thirties as I was or older in life. Using the bathroom into a bag on your stomach while teaching makes finding JOY in the day-to-day livings was a struggle too difficult to put into words.

Add to that battle the fact that I have continued to struggle over the years with the losses of my babies. That burden has always weighed heavily on my heart and soul and made finding JOY more difficult than normal. But I clung to God's promise of His anointing oil of JOY--more than anyone else. If my God had promised it, He would fulfill it.

I may always struggle with finding and receiving the full JOY that God has for me--that He has anointed me with. But that's ok because as I struggle with finding JOY, I am seeking JOY--I am learning about JOY--I am receiving the fullness of JOY.

So I will continue to have JOY as my Word of the Year for 2018. It may be my Word of the Year forever and ever, amen and amen. Wouldn't that be wonderful?!

I am Defined by...Part 2

I am Defined by...Part 1

I am Polly Anna. My parents named me perfectly. According to Eleanor H. Porter's Pollyanna, a Pollyanna is someone who looks for the good in life--someone who finds something to be Glad about even when it is difficult, if not impossible, to find something to be Glad about. Pollyanna is known for playing "The Glad Game." Yes, it is very high on my list of favorite book of all time.

According to the "Word Origin and History for Pollyanna": "n.

one who finds cause for gladness in the most difficult situations," 1921, a reference to Pollyanna Whittier, child heroine of U.S. novelist Eleanor Hodgman Porter's "Pollyanna" (1913) and "Pollyanna Grows Up" (1915), who was noted for keeping her chin up during disasters.
http://www.dictionary.com/browse/pollyanna?s=t

A few synonyms for a Pollyanna are: dreamer, hoper, positive thinker.

The American definition of Pollyanna is actually very offensive: "an excessively or blindly optimistic person." I do not identify with the American definition of Pollyanna in the slightest, but I will say that this is why I believe that so many people are so easily put off by me. Having the anointing oil of joy more than anyone else is a heavy responsibility. One of the most difficult reasons why it is a heavy responsibility is because it means that many are easily offended by my "excessive or blind optimism." But I can't answer for anyone but myself. I am who I am. I am who God made me, not just the name my parents gave me.

I am not only Polly Anna in name--on my birth certificate and in my signature, but I am a Polly Anna in every fiber of my being. I am one who finds cause for gladness in difficult situations. I am a dreamer, hoper, positive thinker. I do play the Glad Game. I do look for the good in people and situations. I live life enthusiastically and with JOY. I love to laugh. I love to make others laugh. I love to smile. I smile for no reason whatsoever. I love to sing just to sing because I'm happy!

"I sing because I'm happy! I sing because I'm free!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QbNh6C7ijU

I tend to be the one who gets a tad overly-excited about the little things--who squeals like a stuffed pig when I'm excited. A sweet friend took me with her to Washington, DC several years ago and, of course, we went to the National Zoo where we got to see my very favorite animal in the whole wide world: pandas! Yes, I screamed, squealed, cried, and screamed some more! My friend finally walked away and went to find a seat where she waited--patiently, I think--for me. She still teases me about it. When my husband took me to Zoo Atlanta a few years later, my reaction was similar. I think my screaming and crying for joy actually scared a few people. I honestly started screaming and hyperventilating before we even got to the Panda-paddock. My husband wasn't sure I'd even make it to see the pandas!

I try to go see movies in the theater during slower movie times because when I watch a movie, I WATCH a movie. I laugh loud. I cry--loud. If it's a musical, I sing--loud. (I even whisper loud.) Some people laugh along with me and get a kick out of my enjoyment of the film--and we all have a very good time. Others get really upset and tell me that I am ruining the movie for them and ask me to be quiet. I honestly don't mean to be rude or ruin their experience. I simply enjoy can't help it. Honest!

Yes, I am loud. That, too, is very much a part of Polly Anna. I do try. I really do. I respect those around me so very much who are able to speak quietly yet metaphorically carry a big stick. I think that is awesome. What an incredible power to wield! I speak very loudly and carry a toothpick. Seriously. And it's a blunt toothpick, not one of those sharp ones. Even my whispering is loud. When I was little, my Grandpa Keefer was always telling me, "Not so loud, Polly." Every so often, as an adult teacher, I've had teachers from the classroom next door come over and say, "Not so loud, Mrs. Watson." 

It does hurt my feelings, a lot, to be told over and over that I am too loud, especially when I do try not to be so loud. But even when I try to speak in a softer, quieter voice, it comes out loud and strong and clear. It simply bursts forth out of me--almost of its own volition.

And I talk a lot. A lot a lot. Throughout my school days, I always did very well and had very good reports to bring home to my parents. The only comment that was ever on my reports was, "Polly talks too much." The only reason I ever got in trouble in school was for talking. Teachers would try to move me across the room away from my friends, never realizing that I would just make friends with the new people--if I wasn't already friends with them. I talked to everyone: boys, girls, teachers, myself, my hairbrush. And I still do.

I am also a touchie-feelie kind of person. I like to stand close enough to be touching the person I am talking to, or sitting close. I will typically touch the person--on the hand, arm, shoulder, face, or head. If I am close to the person (a family member or very close friend, I may rub the underside of her upper arm or her back). And I hug--any and everyone who will let me hug him/her. I love hugs. My Grandpa Keefer was a hugger; everyone loved his hugs. When we were all sitting around after his death, everyone talked about how wonderful his hugs were. I want to be remembered for my hugs, too.

As I have gotten older, all of the previous characteristics have continued to define me. No matter how hard I have tried to dampen the ones that have gotten me into trouble, they continue to get me into trouble. Yet, I am Polly Anna and I love that part of who I am. It is my favorite part of myself. I truly wish that part of myself could and would always manifest itself--be manifested on a day-to-day basis.

But like Pollyanna in the story, my life has not been perfect. I almost wish that the worst thing that has ever happened to me would be to fall out of a tree and not be able to walk. (I don't mean that. I'm speaking metaphorically here.) Like Pollyanna Harrington, I have had many times in my life when it has been beyond difficult to play "The Glad Game"--to be Polly Anna. 

    In my twenties while my husband and I were living in Springfield, MO, I fell into a deep depression that I found it very difficult to come out of even after we had moved back to NC. I think I stayed in at least a state of mild depression until I got pregnant with our first son.
    During my pregnancy when we had the first ultrasound, it revealed a large mass on my left ovary. After a few weeks, they did another ultrasound and discovered that the mass had grown a centimeter for every week that had passed since the first ultrasound. The doctor decided that he needed to do a surgery right away--I was at 20 weeks--to remove the mass as well as my ovary and part of the fallopian tube. All was well with our baby boy.
    On March 16, 1999, I went to the OB for my regular weekly appointment, excited about the final weeks of my pregnancy. I was at 38 weeks. They couldn't find a heartbeat. James Isaac Watson was stillborn on March 17, 1999.
    Then on November 10, 1999, I miscarried: Panya Ruth Watson.
    Anna Rose Watson was miscarried while I was on campus at the college where I teach on November 22, 2005.
    I think depression is a given.
    My marriage went down the tubes.
    In November 2009, at death's door, I had to have an ostomy bag

for three months. In April 2010, it was reversed and the doctor removed eight inches of my colon.
    Then, in November of 2010, I had a uterine ablasion because of vaginal bleeding due to a polyp.
    I don't remember the year, but somewhere in there, I had a meltdown where I might have killed James if he hadn't left the house. 
    During that same time period, I had a boss who had it in for me and was determined to have me fired. 
    I began seeing a chiropractor and a massage therapist.
    I had my first official anxiety attack and began taking medicine specifically for anxiety.
    I also began taking medicine for depression--eventually going up to 100 mg.
    Migraines have been a consistent problem throughout all this time. I have been able to keep them managed--mostly--with Excedrine Migraine.
    In December of 2016, I had my gall bladder removed.
    Summer of 2017, I was officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia.
    I was written up at work in October 2017 and the very next day, I yelled at my boss.
    In December 2017, I was diagnosed with:
            Bipolar 2
            PTSD
            Adjustment Disorder

All of these things make Polly Anna who Polly Anna is. Do you have any idea what it's like to be a super social person but yet full of anxiety when you even think about social situations, so you more often than not cancel social functions? Most of the time, if I somehow or another get to the social event, I have a wonderful time; I enjoy myself very much and I think that the people who socialize are glad that I was there. 

But then there are the very few times when being amongst others is so overwhelming that I have literally run from the party, jumped in my car, and screamed the whole way home. 

There have been times when the negative comments about my exuberance or my loudness or my enthusiasm have hurt my feelings so badly that I have gone home, sat in my spot on the couch, and not moved for days, weeks, and even months except to go to work or church. And I did those with little to no enthusiasm or desire to be there. 

I have become so angry because of the hurtful comments that I took to saying things like "I'd like to punch [...] in the throat." I wrote several stories about serial killing. (Granted, I honestly they're actually pretty good stories about serial killing, but I used myself as the model for the serial killer in each story.) I was holding a baby once and when he grabbed my glasses off my face after slapping me, I was so close to hurting him, I put him down and ran away. 

I have terrible "temper tantrums." I have recently learned that these are part of the Bipolar diagnosis and are called "manic rages." They can come as quickly as they go and there is rarely a rhyme or a reason for them. I have mostly been able to keep them under control in public, especially at my work, but that has not been easy. If I am successful there, then the rage has to be released somewhere and that, sadly, tends to be at home on my husband and/or son.

Yet, through it all, I continue to seek JOY. I know that I still have the anointing oil of JOY on me more than anyone else. I still live life with enthusiasm. I still smile a lot, laugh a lot, sing a lot, hug a lot. Some of it is because it's still me--Polly Anna--underneath all the "stuff" that has happened over the past 30 years, but some of it is the mask I have created for when it is simply too difficult to BE me, but yet I need to be Polly Anna. Several years ago, around 2009, in fact, God gave me Psalm 45:7: 

I knew as soon as I read that verse that He meant it for me, as a special Word from Him to me, that His Holy Spirit was speaking directly to my very soul. In that moment, God anointed me, pouring out the oil of Joy on me more than on anyone else. It is a heavy responsibility that I do NOT take lightly or for granted.

Every single detail I have mentioned throughout here makes me who I am today--makes me the Polly Anna I am today, December 21, 2017, at 47 years old. A part of me wishes that none of the bad stuff had ever happened. But then I am reminded that God more often than not uses those who have struggled greatly. 1 Peter 1 says: "⁶ So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while. ⁷ These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world." Almost every single Hero of the Faith whether in the Bible or someone we know historically experienced great trials, tribulations, and suffering. Paul talks about how he asked God three separate times to take the thorn of suffering from his side, but God refuses. Paul accepts the inevitable saying that he is glad, thankful for his weakness because it is in his weakness that he is made strong in Christ (2 Corinthians 12). 

Maybe, just maybe, like Paul, I have these thorns so that in my

weakness, I am only made strong through Jesus Christ my Savior.


And then we go back to 2 Corinthians which reminds us that: "God

is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. ⁴ He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.⁵ For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ. ⁶ Even when we are weighed down with troubles, it is for your comfort and salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things we suffer. ⁷ We are confident that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in the comfort God gives us." In other words, not only do all my trials help define me, but they are also meant to be used to help comfort others. God HAS comforted me through all my trials; He continues to comfort me through them. My "job" (if you will allow me to use that term) is to comfort others who have experienced similar trials. 

Maybe, just maybe, others will see me--hear my story or ready my story and find comfort in it because, in spite of it all, because of it all, in it all, through it all, IT IS WELL.

It is well with my soul. I may have mental illnesses and physical disabilities and character traits that drive others crazy. I may be different from the vast majority of the people I know and come into contact with. You may not understand why I smile. You may not understand why I smile at you. 

That's ok.

Because I am Polly Anna. When I die, I hope it can and will be said of me: 

Polly Anna: She sure was!

Polly Anna

Smile

Do you smile? A lot?
Never?
When you see someone looking at you? Even a stranger?
All the time?
Only when you're in public? 
Only when there is something worth smiling about?

Growing up, my mom was always telling me to Smile. I'd get up to do a performance of some sort (piano recitals, VBS presentations of what we'd learned throughout the week, church choir, church plays, various school activities, the list is endless) and mom would be in the audience smiling her huge smile. If I wasn't smiling, she'd make a smile motion with her finger to her mouth and I'd automatically smile.

Whether I want to smile or not, smiling is officially a huge part of who I am. I smile ALL the time. I almost got in a fight once when I was in high school because I was smiling. We were practicing for our band competition and the band director had us lined up across from one another. I was smiling at everyone on the opposite side of me when this one girl who I didn't know angrily asked me, "What are you smiling at?!" I grinned even wider and told her that I was just smiling! She took a step out of line towards me, but a friend standing close to me told the girl that I always smiled [like a goofball--I can't remember if he added that part or if I've added it to my memory ;)]. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure he saved my life. I have NO fighting skills, so she'd have beaten me to a pulp if she had decided to follow through!!

That experience didn't stop me from smiling one bit. It was too deeply ingrained in me by then. 

I might have smiled early on because my mom "made" me, but as the years went by, I smiled because I wanted to. I loved to smile and I certainly loved to laugh....a lot.

There have even been times when I've walked into my classroom and my students have said, "Toldja!" When I've asked what was up, I was told that they had bet one another on whether or not I would walk in with a smile on my face. I had no idea at the time that others noticed my smile--whether I smiled or not or even how often I smiled--or not. It was reassuring, I admit, to learn that when I was in public, I was always smiling.

Smiling has been one of my greatest blessings; I am truly thankful to my wonderful mom for making it so much a vital part of who I am.

I am sad to say, though, that smiling has also been my greatest curse. Since the first onset of my depression while my husband and I were living in Missouri, I have used my smile to hide behind--as a mask to cover up my sadness and deepest sorrows and anxieties. I have pretended that all is well when in reality I was not only battling depression, but I was also battling a desire to just die. I had come to hate my life in such a huge way. I had NO real friends while we lived in Missouri and I was simply miserable. I was so excited when we finally moved home; I just knew that my depression would end and I could quit pretending that all was well. I was out of "Misery" (my mom and I had started calling Missouri that) and I was back home with family and friends.

Then we learned that I was going to have a baby and my smile grew bigger, wider, and much more pronounced. I had thought that I smiled huge before that, but being pregnant was the greatest desire of my life and I was more JOYFUL than I'd ever thought it was possible to be. You couldn't wipe the smile off my face even while I was throwing up! And I threw up every single day of that pregnancy--until it was abruptly over.

James Isaac was stillborn on March 17, 1999. That is the day my smile died, as well. 

It is the day when the mask came back up and was permanently glued to my face. My smile was for the benefit of others. They grieved for me and hurt for me and I wanted to reassure them that I was ok--or that I would be ok--even though I wanted to be in the ground with my baby. 

I smiled because I didn't know what else to do. I smiled to reassure others. I smiled because it was too deeply a part of me not to. I smiled because I wanted to prove that I was strong--not only in body, but especially in my faith. I smiled. But I smiled only with my mouth. I have no idea if others noticed that I didn't smile with my whole being as I had done before. I've never asked because I hoped with every fiber of my being that my smile was good enough to make them feel better so they wouldn't worry about me...even though they should have been worried.

Over the next ten years, at least, my smile was plastered on, but it was fake--a mask--hiding severe depression, anxiety, and grief. I have recently learned that PTSD doesn't apply just to those in the military. I clearly was suffering from PTSD, but I pretended that I was the PollyAnna everyone expected me to be. I smiled because I was determined to be happy in spite of my pain and suffering, in spite of my grief. I smiled because I had read somewhere that some things we must do as a way of "faking it 'til we make it." Deep down, I hoped that if I kept smiling even though I didn't feel the smile that one day the mask would come unglued and my smile would be genuine--it would be the real me.

In a way, that was true. I smiled until my cheeks and my neck hurt. And one day, I realized that in order for my mask to be removed--for my smile to be real again, I would have to make A CHOICE to change. I would not become happy again just because I smiled until it happened. I would only become happy again when I CHOSE to make it happen. 

It was during that time that I discovered that I didn't want to just be happy, I wanted to be JOYFUL, full of the JOY of the Lord. That was when the Lord gave me the verse, "You love justice and hate

evil. Therefore God, your God, has anointed you, pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else" (Psalm 45:7 & Hebrews 1:9, NLT). I wept as I understood that God wanted to restore my JOY. But not only did He want to restore my Joy, but He wanted to anoint me with the oil of joy--more than anyone else.

I began studying everything I could about JOY, starting with every single verse in the Bible that mentions JOY--in every translation and in every definition of JOY. I began memorizing JOY verses and looking for JOY in everything around me.

My mask--my fake smile--did not come off quickly or easily. As I said, it was glued on. It came off in small pieces--slowly--one at a time. I would argue that there are still small pieces that refuse to come unstuck, but the wonderfulness of God is that my smile is real again--genuine. When I smile now, it's because I have the JOY of the Lord deep down in my heart and soul. He truly has anointed me with the oil of joy more than anyone else I know.

I do not take His gift lightly. So when I smile at you, know that I smile from a place of JOY. My smile is just one way I have of demonstrating that God has removed my depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and the painful mask I wore for so long.

And all I can do now is Praise Him with my Smile!

I Choose Joy

Even from the first when my depression started to get the better of me, I have hated the way it made me feel.  Yet at the same time, there was some measure of comfort in my depression.  Because I carried it with me for so long before seeking help, it became my new normal.  For a long time, I was

not sure I wanted to quit being depressed because I had forgotten how to live a life in the fullness of God’s joy and peace. 

I also wanted, for the longest time, for SOMEONE to come along, pick me up, dust me off, and fix me—tell me what I needed to do to quit being so depressed.  Even when I first started seeing my counselor, as I would leave my weekly sessions with her, I wondered how and why she had not admitted me to the local mental facility rather than let me walk out the door.  I did ask her during a recent session why she had not admitted me; she said that she had seriously thought about it, but the bottom line was that I had not asked for it and she did not like to admit people who did not ask for it.

Those were powerful words because if I had known that, I would have asked her to admit me.  I was lost in more ways than one and not only did I not know how to get un-lost, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. 

More than anything, her words made me realize that while I was getting help through counseling as well as other sources (seeing a doctor on a regular basis, getting prescription medications to help with the severe depression, seeing a chiropractor, and so on), I could not depend on these doctors, etc. to make me feel better….to make me better.  They could only help give me the tools that I needed to be able to make a choice of whether or not I wanted to get better.

It all boiled down to the simple fact that I, Polly Anna, had to make a choice that I wanted to get better, that I no longer wanted to allow depression, anger—rage, actually, low self-esteem, and a lack of confidence to rule my life. 

So, okay.  I made the choice that I no longer wanted to live that way, but then came the “Now what?!”  I had no idea where to go from there.

I admit that I found it strange—I still do—that me, a woman who has been saved, a Christian, for most of her life (since I was about three or four years old) had no idea where to begin finding my way out of the deep, dark, cold cave I had been in for so long.  I only knew that I needed to get up and start moving.

Thankfully, with the help of my medical team (most of whom are Christians) and the Holy Spirit, I gradually began to see a change in my whole being.  There is no one thing that I can put my finger on that has led me at least to the entrance of my cave.  I will always be near my cave.  It is my home now.  At least I no longer have to live in the deepest, darkest, scariest recesses of my cave.  I can live in the opening of the cave; I can even leave it for longer and longer periods.  Because of the tragedies I have suffered in my life, my cave will always be my home.

My counselor and I talked about what started me on my path to healing.  I said that it was a combination of many things that have happened over the past two or three years.  While she agreed, she also said that she believes, more than anything, that my healing truly began when I started studying Joy in depth.

One of the first things I did when I realized that only I could change the horror of my life was to begin reading my Bible in earnest and doing one Bible study after another.  I have always read my Bible on a consistent basis and I have memorized a lot of Bible verses, so that wasn’t something I had to learn to do.  I had, though, gotten slack in my Bible reading and Bible studies simply because I was too depressed to care to bother with it.  I knew I needed to get back to reading my Bible on a daily basis, so I chose a Bible reading plan and got started reading my Bible every single day.  Then I found a Bible Study on Joy—I liked the pretty pink cover and it was by the Women of Faith, so I knew it was a good study—and began serious Bible study on a daily basis—again. 

I did not make it all the way through my yearly Bible reading plan that first year, but I did make it through eight months.  Rather than beat myself up over it, as the new year started, I chose another plan and started again. 

As soon as I finished my first Bible study on Joy, I found another one on Joy and went through that one, too.  At first, it was not conscious on my part that I was doing a focused study on Joy, but after about three or four of them, I realized that I was doing a word study.  Then I began to take it deeper.

I searched for every use of the word Joy in all of my favorite Bible translations.  I marked each verse in my different Bibles.  I found that I associate the word Joy with the color pink, so not only did I mark my Bibles in pink ink or pink highlighters, but I even bought a couple of pink Bibles in the translations I wanted to work with. 

I studied the definition of Joy.  I took it a step further and marked the variations for the word joy in all my Bible translations as well as studied the definitions for each:  rejoice, enjoy, glad, happy, happiness, etc.

Eventually, I began noticing songs and poetry that focus on Joy.  I now have files of the lyrics to songs about joy as well as copies of poems.  That naturally led to pictures about Joy as well. 

And then one day when I was sitting quiet before the Lord, He showed me—again, Psalm 45:7 and Hebrews 1:9—“You love justice and hate evil.  Therefore God, your God, has anointed you, pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else.”  I said, “I know, God.  You showed that to me a while ago.  I really love those verses.”

And the Holy Spirit said, “No.  Read them again.  Slowly.  With your heart.”

“Ok, Lord.”

The words began to sink in to the deepest recesses of my soul.  God wanted to pour out His oil of joy on ME more than on anyone else [I know]. 

Wow.  “But I’m so unworthy, Lord.  I’m still so depressed.  I’m still so angry and even full of rage.”

“Let me handle it.  Just trust me and let me fill you with my joy.”

I wish I could say that the infilling of God’s anointing oil of Joy filled me immediately and that my depression, rage, and anger faded away as the sunset, but the truth is that I am still working on it.  I still have days when they rear their ugly heads and try to take me back down.  At least now I know that the enemy is trying to keep me from receiving God’s full anointing oil of joy and I am better prepared to deal with the challenges. 

I have a long way to go, but I know that God will not give up on me, so I can’t give up on myself, either.

I share all of this with you to say that no matter where you are in your journey, it is important to get quiet before the Lord and let Him reveal a verse, a song, a poem, whatever it is He wants to give you that He has for you.  The scriptures (the anointing oil of joy) God gave me more than likely will not be what He has for you.  Maybe He will give you the same verses, but I very seriously doubt it.  In my studies on joy, while others have found Joy to be a focal point of their lives and studies, I have yet to read about someone else who received these exact verses from the Lord as I have.

God works in His own way with each individual as is best for each individual.  What I need from Him is not necessarily what you need from Him.  He gives each of us exactly what we need when we need it, but we have to be willing to listen as well as be obedient to what He wants of us.  God is not going to conform you to what He has for me or anyone else; He wants you to be you and your ministry to be your ministry.  In order to find that ministry, you have to find the source of your ministry.

Think of it as your mission statement.  Your life verse.  The thesis (point) of your own life.  Your purpose.  God uses our own personal experiences, quite often our tragedies, to help create our individual ministries.  I am working on mine and I share all of this because it is my heart’s desire to see you find yours.

After being depressed for more years than I can count, I can tell you in all honesty that the natural high I get from allowing God to anoint me with His oil of joy is greater than any drug, any shopping, any food, or anything else I have attempted to find joy in.  It all boils down to the simple fact that I am finally working on being in His will and following the leading of the Holy Spirit rather than believing the lies Satan has fed me.

I CHOOSE to be a woman anointed with God’s oil of joy—more than anyone else!  I receive His anointing oil of Joy!