It was a fun toy, but became a little annoying if you weren't the one winding the handle to music which wound to a fevered pitch. The clown would then pop out from under the lid, making your heart jump. Stretched to the limit of his nightshirt, afterwards he would collapse, crumpling as he got shoved down inside the darkness with the lid snapping shut to wait until someone wound him up again and let him out for a few minutes to smile his painted on smile.
But poor guy, he could only be part of and attached to the box, performing over and over again at the whim of getting wound up again.
Yesterday some friends talked about wanting to experience joy. Not happiness, but joy. It resonated with me too. I have a real, normal, mixed life with jumping moments of great joy.
But, real abiding consistent genuine joy underlining the sentence of our life? Not really.
I know someone who has literally become a different person over the years. He, like all of us has grown healthy, whole and holy. A process which has released him, like me of being attached to that old familiar 'box'. People have trouble recognizing him as anything other than that old 'Jack'.........but he's got pants on now, with legs!
Let's quit trying to stuff each other back inside that box then slamming the lid!
That click sounds so final and could be fatal...... to joy.