https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yf-d-Ka30EY
Joy
to the world,
All
the boys and girls
Joy
to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy
to you and me!
Three
Dog Night
As Joy Smith Fenderson’s service wound down Tuesday at
Highland United Methodist Church this now seemingly ancient refrain from a song
out of my high school days rang out. It was one of Joy’s favorites, and for
those of us who remember it from back in those days, it is an absolutely
perfect send off for one of the most wonderful, giving people I have had the
delight to know. Joy is gone, but joy lives on forever in our hearts, our
minds, our souls—and her memory revives every time that song is played. For me,
it can’t happen often enough.
Joy and her husband Tim are nothing less than great servers
of people. Like me, they kept a busy life. Work, extra work, volunteering,
picking up a few minutes to help whoever and whenever such help was needed.
Personally, I relied on Tim, and therefore on Joy, to help me with whatever
church fund-raising project I had going on at the time.
Most of the time, it was helping out with my fish fries. I
knew Tim was a good cook, what I didn’t know was that Joy was the motor behind
the whole thing. To some, it seemed like she was just helping out, just battering
the fish, or hauling the trays back and forth. But to me, and I am certain to
Tim, she was what made all of our efforts worthwhile.
Ok, yes, she managed to keep us in line. I know it’s a
colossal effort, given the task, but she always seemed to know how to get and
keep us on track. You see, Tim and I would much rather chat (call it by its
real name and they won’t let you print it). But Joy knew better. She knew that
if we didn’t get our collective tails in gear we wouldn’t be ready when our
guests arrived.
And that’s probably how I like to remember her. Standing in
the kitchen at Highland with a pan of Zataran’s breading in front of her and a
full dusting of “Zat” powder on her apron, looking like an elf in a fresh layer
of snow. Even on days when she had to work her real job, she was there for a
few minutes to make sure we got started right.
Getting started right is half the battle, like writing a news story is
easier if you write a good lead.
And to me, that is the story of Joy. Getting it right. And getting
it right starts with attitude. Being around Joy was always a, pardon the
expression, joy, because she made it that way. I am certain that there were
other times, as there are for all of us, when things weren’t always smooth, but
you could never tell from her demeanor. Well, at least I couldn’t tell, and
really in my story that’s all that matters, right?
And so, sitting here on Christmas Eve morning, pecking out
words on an uncooperative laptop, it’s difficult to find the right words, the
right thing to say, the right expression of my feelings. And yet, I battle with
my own guilt for not stopping by more often, for wishing that this never
happened, for dreaming that somehow, some miraculous way, I can conjure up her
image to help with yet one more fish fry, one more time to see the smile in her
eyes, the wry grin, the ready laugh.
Many people like to say that writing is hard, writing is
difficult. But really, it’s not, it’s just words and words are plentiful. There
are many, many, many words.
There is also much Joy.