Have you ever just stopped? Paused the ceaseless march of minutes and hours to watch a sunrise as it carefully dips its brush in hues of pink and gold, painting the sky with the kind of glory that makes you whisper, “Oh, wow”? Or maybe you’ve stood in the heart of a forest and listened – really listened – to the leaves. Each rustle, a hushed conversation between the branches, like a secret meant only for you. It’s in moments like these that we touch upon something profound – the kind of magic that lurks in the mundane, the melody that hums quietly in the fabric of the everyday that we, in our busyness, often overlook.

This is precisely what joy in simplicity and trust is about. It’s a theme that weaves its way through the fabric of Scripture, coming to a poignant crescendo in Matthew 6:25-34. Here, Jesus invites us to cut through the clutter of our worries, to cast our eyes on the artistry of creation – the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, who don’t clock in or out, and yet are provided for. The flowers, too, dressed more splendidly than royalty, simply by being themselves.

Life, dear friends, is a vast, breathtaking canvas, and yet we’re often too caught up in scribbling endless to-do lists on its edges to notice the masterpiece before us. Our worries stack up like a pile of unpaid bills, darkening our doorstep, and joy – elusive joy – starts to feel like a luxury item displayed in a shop window, always just out of reach.

I understand this struggle for joy intimately. It’s akin to trying to hold water in your hands – the tighter you grip, the more it seems to slip through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but the residue of what was.

But consider this, fresh as the day it was penned in the original Greek: ‘Merimnao’, the word often translated as ‘worry’, literally means ‘to be divided’. And isn’t that just the heart of it? We find ourselves split, fractured between what is and what might be, torn between the pressing now and the uncertain next. Yet, nestled in the heart of Hebrew poetry and Greek prose is a call to wholeness, an invitation to be fully present, to trust the One who adorns the lilies with such effortless beauty, as if each petal were a masterpiece.

So, what if we just paused? What if we found joy not in the sweeping gestures or the grand declarations but in the simplicity of a child’s uninhibited laugh, the trust reflected in the soft, knowing eyes of an old dog? What if our pursuit of joy was unconventional – not a wild chase after the wind, but a gentle collection of moments, like seashells on a beach, each one unique, each one whispering a story of the sea?

Let’s be radical in our search for joy. Let’s seek it not in the abundance of possessions or the clamor for status, but in the grain of sand, for even there, if we look closely, we can see the intricacy of the world.

And me? I’m on a journey, learning to unclench my fists, to release the ‘what ifs’ that haunt my thoughts and to wholeheartedly embrace the ‘what is’. To find joy in the uneven, unpredictable rhythm of life – the long, short, short that composes our days. It’s there, in the staccato beat of the ordinary, that I’m finding a song that’s worth humming, a tune that’s worth dancing to.

So, shall we dance together? Let’s move to the beat of simplicity and trust, for it’s there, in the quiet, unassuming corners of our lives, that joy is waiting – not loud or demanding, but gentle, patient, waiting to be discovered, ready to be embraced.