It was the culmination of a massive search by police and volunteers that stretched over eighteen days, where the authorities threw everything at it, including a one million dollar reward and simply did not give up. Yet somehow all of this was transcended, and even made to seem hollow, by the sheer wave of joy that swept the entire continent of Australia when the news emerged that little four year old Cleo Smith had been found alive and well. The newspapers always publish photographs showing the sheer joy on the faces of the owners and jockey of the successful steed.

Yet I am not insensitive to the excitement and joie de vivre that the race engenders in many in our community. I must confess that despite coming from a family where my maternal grandfather and grandmother were avid race horse owners and racing fans and punters, any gene for being addicted to the Sport of Kings lies completely dormant in my genome. The first was the Melbourne Cup, the race that stops the nation. The phrase stood out to me recently with two events that captured the attention of the nation.

I discovered the title was inspired by a poem by that name written by William Wordsworth, the master of Romanticism, lamenting the fact that he experienced a moment of joy but had lost in death his daughter, so the added joy of sharing the experience could not occur. Lewis’s autobiographical work Surprised by Joy, detailing his journey from atheism to Christian faith. Surprised by Joy: Some years ago I read C.S.

Surprised by joy book