How Do You Capture Joy?

How do you capture joy, when your heart is prisoner?
To monotony?
To discouragement?
To jagged ugly, piercing deep?
What do you do when you've thanked and served and heaved the cries heavenward and still the latch spins idly in your hand, useless?
How can you open the door to the elusive?
Grab the goodies upon the shelf when your heart is lurching and that cupboard just won't spread arms wide?
You've twisted. You've turned. Held your hands, your heart, just right.
And still.
As much as you jiggle the knob, circled it round and round, the lock won't budge. And joy, behind the glass, is winking. Taunting.
And whispers fill the drums, "You're not doing it right. You're not good enough. To receive such tasty morsels, like joy."
Weary of the chains, you cry out: "Father! Help me!"
And locks burst.
"I can not, Lord. I can not."
Such words cause cupboard doors to swing wide.
The key to the lock is admitting.
Defeat. Weakness. Helplessness.
Our own efforts induce the knob to spin.
I admit. And joy captures me.