ONCE UPON A TIME

So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.

Hebrews 4:16 NLT

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, lived a beautiful princess ...

Aaaah. I love stories that begin with "Once upon a time." As soon as I hear or read those magical, mystical words, I instinctively draw in a sharp breath of anticipation. For I know, indeed I'm certain, that an adventure is going to take place. Throughout the story, the heroine will encounter dragons and poisoned apples, dwarfs and talking donkeys, singing bluebirds and lost stilettos. Yet I can be assured throughout her journey that no matter what happens — whatever an evil stepmother, flying monkey, or overweight, horned-back sea monster does to spoil the protagonist's dreams — ultimately I know the ending. Because the beginning gives it away.

The heroine wins the day. She gets her prince charming. The bad guys get their dues. And everyone lives ... (spoiler alert) happily ever after. That's the thing we've come to expect from "Once upon a time" stories: Cinderella. Snow White. Sleeping Beauty. Shrek. They always end with: "And they lived happily ever after."

We sigh and smile and know that's what we want for our lives — that chance for a happily ever after. For all our dreams to come true. For us to be happy and healthy and witty and loved. And having a fairy godmother with a magic wand certainly wouldn't hurt.

Too often, unfortunately, our existence feels more like a season of Downton Abbey — which is anything but living happily ever after. We're just on the verge of bliss and life shatters down around us once again.

Happily ever after is reserved for fairy tales, yes? They are escapist legends meant to add a little pleasure, excitement, and dare I say, repetitive, hummable songs to our mundane lives. If only we could break out into song backed by a chorus of cute, harmless forest creatures singing in perfect harmony. If only we had a magic wand to help us clean our houses and domesticated mice to sew Oscar-worthy gowns to fit our perfect size 2 bodies. If only the prince were always charming and handsome and witty and loyal. If only ...

As Christians, of course, we know of a true story that begins with "Once upon a time." It states, "In the beginning ..."

Genesis chapter 1, verse 1 starts out right away with that air of anticipation. As I read those words, I feel myself instinctively draw in a sharp breath. For I know, indeed I'm certain, that an adventure is going to take place.

In the beginning ...

Throughout the story, the heroes and heroines will encounter swarms of locusts and cursed fruit, giants and talking donkeys, parted seas and stairways to heaven. Yet I can be assured throughout their journey that no matter what happens — whatever an evil relation, Passover angel of death, or haircutting wench does to spoil the protagonist's dreams — ultimately I know the ending. Because the beginning gives it away.

Prince Charming shows up and rescues the heroine. The bad guys get their dues. And everyone lives ... (Bible spoiler alert) happily ever after. That's the thing we've come to expect from "In the beginning." It always ends with: "And they lived happily ever after."

This is no new revelation for you, I'm sure. If you're like me, you've heard that analogy a thousand and one times.

We know it in our heads. We hear it at church or among our Christian friends. Jesus wins the battle. He makes everything work for good, and someday when we die, we get to go to heaven and live forever, where there will be no more tears or sadness or death or school loan payments or annoying neighbors or size 14 dresses or calories. Hallelujah and thank you, God.

But heaven seems a long way away. Years, decades, hopefully. And while heaven is wonderful, earth has more than its share of trouble and heartache. So what do we do in the meantime? What do we do while we're waiting out the happily-ever-after part? While we're living in an adventure that often may feel as though we're stuck in the middle of a Disney ride, listening to small globally minded children wail, "It's a small world after all," over and over and ...?

Do we suffer in silence while we wait to be rescued? Wear the mantle of martyr and give in to depression, sadness, and filthy dwarfs messing up our living rooms? Do we pretend that everything is great when really our magic mirror is cracked and looks more like it belongs in a carnival fun house?

We could. But then we might end up being more closely aligned with the silly stepsisters instead of Cinderella.

The good news is that we don't have to give in. We can actually experience happily ever after right now. With a little encouragement from some fairy-tale writers, along with some wise biblical authors, we can pursue a joy-filled life today. And wonderfully enough, it's with the kind of spiritual "magic" we don't need a wand to receive. Too good to be true?

Here's the secret: we have within us all the "magic" we need to make our lives matter, to find lasting contentment, and to experience God in ways we've never imagined.

So why don't we clue in to it? In my work and travels I've met hundreds of women who want to grab hold of all the fairy-tale dreams, but they don't. They remain befuddled, continuing to be the cinder girl instead of going to the ball and trying on the Manolos made specifically for them. Why?

* * *

How We Get It Wrong

I was fortunate to work on three national magazines that I loved: Today's Christian Woman, Marriage Partnership, and Kyria. I got to read the best of the best writing and work with the best of the best authors. Most days it was a blast.

But part of my job included reading e-mails, letters, and blog comments from readers and articles from potential authors who struggled with overwhelming pain. Their worlds were consumed with drudgery and, sadly, hopelessness. There was no happy life today and no happily ever after on the horizon for them. They couldn't see past the point of current circumstances and slowly, eventually, they gave up. They stopped truly believing that God was on their side, working behind the scenes on their behalf. They forgot that the Holy Spirit dwelling within them was actually there for a purpose and not simply hanging out waiting for eternity to begin. I would read their words and deeply feel their ache.

One letter in particular grabbed my attention. The reader wrote that she and her husband lived like roommates, that she used to try to spice up the romance, but her marriage was lifeless. Though I'd read similar stories from dozens of other women, this woman's writing was straightforward and dead. It was as though I could hear the flat-lined heart in her words.

I placed the letter on my desk (in those days we still wrote with the archaic paper and pen), walked to my office door, shut it, returned to my chair, and sobbed. I cried for this woman — and for all the women who had done everything "right" in their relationships, their jobs, their finances — and who still suffered. I sobbed because I had also suffered pain in my past, and while the circumstances were different, I could sympathize with the feelings. But I also sobbed because these wonderful, beautiful, priceless women hadn't moved beyond the pain yet. In a sense, they were held captive in the tower, waiting for a prince to come — who seemed to have gotten detoured somewhere around Albuquerque and might not show up at all.

I'll be the first to admit that keeping our eyes focused on the happily-ever-after ending of heaven can be difficult when we're facing a menopausal dragon who is a dead ringer for our boss, a health crisis that nobody seems to want to get to the root of, or a relationship that offers romance in the form of betrayal. It's tough to consider pursuing happiness — or even having it pursue us! — when we're in the middle of a string of no-good, really terrible weeks. We just want to be left alone, have a moment of peace, and enjoy a genuine laugh like we haven't for a long time. Is that too much to ask?

* * *

The Two Extremes to Happily Ever After

Too often we listen too closely to one of two camps bellowing their opinions on the idea of living happily ever after every day. The first camp argues that, above all, God wants us to be happy. He's a good God and he wants good things for us. So we must pursue with abandon those things that bring us happiness (and success, wealth, fame, perfect children, perfect casseroles). Since God is love and a big part of love means feeling happy, it stands to reason that happiness is the endgame.

The other camp argues that we mustn't focus on happiness, for this life is filled with hardship and sacrifice. God isn't interested in our happiness; he's interested in our holiness. If you catch a glimpse of happiness, great, but don't pursue it.

Both camps are wrong.

Does God want us to be happy? Emphatically, I say yes.

Does God want us to be holy? Emphatically, I say yes.

Is it possible to be both? Again ... yes, oh yes, and I'm not just wishing on a star.

Here's the problem when we go extreme in our pursuit of the happily ever after: we go extreme in our pursuit. In other words, we narrowly define what God wants for us and how we should respond, when there's room for complexity and a wide array of colors of emotions and thoughts. God isn't so black-and-white with his gifts and adventures for us. He desires for us to experience happiness and holiness. And I can tell you personally, it is possible to experience them at the same time. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. First let's break down what's wrong with each of these camps.

CAMP 1: GOD WANTS ME TO BE HAPPY ABOVE ALL.

God is a God of joy. He anointed Jesus with the oil of joy (Hebrews 1:9). And since we are called to be Christlike, it's okay for us to pursue joy and happiness. Jesus loved to laugh — after all, children flocked around him, and kids don't tend to enjoy being around grumpies. So it makes sense that God wants our happiness. He designed us with the emotion of "happy," so of course he delights in us using it.

Think about that for a minute. When we're happy, we live in the present, taking in and experiencing the excitement of that moment. How can we not be happy when we watch a puppy trip over his too-big paws or when we see a duck in a pond with his little bottom and tail feathers sticking straight up in the air? Those things make me happy — and I believe they make God happy, too.

How do I know they make God happy? Because in Psalm 104:26 I read, "See the ships sailing along, and Leviathan, which you made to play in the sea" (NLT). Another translation says "formed to frolic there" (NIV). I love the word frolic.

Several years ago, I visited Chicago's Shedd Aquarium and watched the beluga whales. A baby was swimming around with its mama and another adult whale. As I stood at the glass, Baby Beluga blew out a series of bubbles from its blow hole and then swam quickly around to grab as many as it could in its mouth. Even the adults got in on the fun. I could sense that they were all playing and enjoying themselves. They were happy!

God created them to do that. He is a happy God, so of course it stands to reason that he delights when his creation rejoices in life.

Taking it to the extreme, though (which these folks often neglect to consider), underneath that argument for the "God wants me to be happy" pursuit is the fact that one person is above all (me). It's a self-centered, self-absorbed, self, self, self-pursuit — if anyone gets in the way, they'll bounce back, understand, and move on, because we have happiness to pursue.

It's a great sentiment, this happiness above all. And it's made some prosperity gospel folks a lot of money preaching it. One leader said, "No matter what's happening, choose to be happy. Don't focus on what's wrong. Find something positive in your life." That sounds great on the surface, but that kind of blind pursuit of happiness can leave in its wake ruined friendships, families, finances, and plastic surgery nightmares.

Several years ago, I discovered that two close friends were involved in an affair. She was married, with three children. It seemed that I was the last to know what had been happening. What was worse — I'd defended them to other friends when the rumors of their affair started.

"No way," I'd said. "Deena's married. There's no way Rick would sleep with her. I don't believe it. Not them." So imagine my shock and dismay when over a Chinese dinner of veggie lo mein, using slippery chopsticks, they blurted the news that they'd been having an affair for three months and they loved each other.

I wasn't sure what to say: "Congratulations"? "I'm honored you told me personally"? "I hope you find all the happiness"?

Actually, I didn't say anything. I just sat there. And sat there. All I could think was, I defended you!

Finally, Rick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Deena's smile faded. "Look," Rick said, "we know what you're going to say."

Now I was intrigued — especially since I didn't know what I was going to say. He continued, "Deena's divorcing Dan, and we're getting married."

Still I didn't say anything. My silence forced more tension and they began to defend their actions — even though I'd made no judgments on them or had given any indication I would. They continued to spill the secret. Deena's marriage had been in trouble, and so she'd gone to Rick for comfort — and a few other things.

When I was able to find my voice, I asked, "And the kids? What about them?"

Rick brushed it off. "They'll be fine. You know kids bounce back from these sorts of things."

"Will they ... be fine? Really? Your mom and dad divorced, Rick. How did that feel for you?"

He harrumphed (such a Prince Charming). "This is about Deena's happiness. Nothing more."

Clearly, I thought. But my big mouth pressed on. "What about the kids' happiness? Don't they deserve to have a mom and dad who at least try to work things out?"

Lots of babbling and bumbling and God wants us to be happy-ing followed.

Toward the end of the conversation, I told them, "Look, you're my friends, and I care deeply about both of you. But you need to know I don't agree with the choices you've made. Those choices to pursue your happiness, while they may feel right to you, carry heavy consequences that will last forever. I just can't be happy for you when I know what you're doing is going to lead to more pain."

I guess I should have felt honored that they still asked me to sing at their wedding.

So Rick and Deena married (sans me as the vocalist) and left a hurricane-size mess in their wake. But at least they're happy. That's what counts, right?

Every once in a while I run into them, and they tell me how they're doing. It isn't overly awkward; I want the best for them. And I pray that one day they discover the happily ever after that God desires for them. But the saddest thing for me is that I miss them. I miss their friendship — not the tainted friendship I would have now. The old friendship — that had an innocence and truth to it. That part is gone. All because they pursued happiness above all else — because they believed God just wanted them to be happy.

Admittedly, this example is extreme. You may never be involved in an affair or some other such scandalous behavior (I pray you aren't!). It may be the smallest decisions you make to pursue your happiness above all else, because you'll rationalize how much God wants this happiness for you. But the wake of a small self-centered decision is still a wake and can still affect your ability to live happily ever after every day.

CAMP 2: FORGET HAPPINESS. GOD WANTS US TO BE HOLY.

Awhile ago, a book rose to popularity that suggested God's main goal in marriage is not to produce a happy couple but instead to produce a holy couple. Reading the entire book in context, I admit the author makes a great point, and I tend to agree with his arguments (plus I like the author personally). But the trouble with this argument is that too many people hear this message: God doesn't care about my happiness. In fact, he may not want me to be content at all. It's all and only about pursuing holiness, and I shouldn't give two thoughts to seeking pleasure.

I've met some of these people; their idea of holiness tends to be drab and humorless. Their faces wear permanent puckered frowns. You've seen them: the ends of their mouths go down and they look as though they haven't seen a smile since Bambi's mother was still living.

I remember once, while working at a magazine for pastors, we received a note from a man who was irked that we incorporated humor in the articles, because "Salvation is no laughing matter. We need to be serious about the things of God." In fact, I knew a woman who used those same words over and over with her family. Whenever she visited, she sucked the joy right out of the room. Her quest for holiness without happiness ended with her family in so much dysfunction, they could have kept a therapist's schedule packed for decades. Although she's now dead, her family still struggles with trying to balance happiness with holiness — as though the two are mutually exclusive.