Joyful sorrow

I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow. Jeremiah 31:13, NIV Those weeks before my dad died were a blur, a photo montage, like quick takes from a movie. Hourly care schedules, changing almost daily. Trading nights with my sister, sleeping (but not sleeping) on the futon ...

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I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow. Jeremiah 31:13, NIV

Those weeks before my dad died were a blur, a photo montage, like quick takes from a movie. Hourly care schedules, changing almost daily. Trading nights with my sister, sleeping (but not sleeping) on the futon in his room, alert to every movement my dad made in his sleep. Jumping up, once I finally started to doze, to comfort Dad that his dreams/hallucinations weren’t real. Sitting in the dark, holding his hand, trying not to let him see the tears.

The constant mental countdown to his next dose of oxycodone. The other mental countdown until morning, keeping track of how many hours I was unable to sleep. Meeting the hospice people, juggling the changes to his meds, listening to the oxygen machine drone on, taking his blood pressure and dutifully recording it in our book.

The mornings when I’d go over to have coffee and Dad would drift in and out of sleep, the Today Show playing way too loudly because he wasn’t wearing his hearing aids. His sweet personality showing in the way he’d compliment everyone who came in to care for him—even if it made him wince in pain. He even praised the oncologist, the one who told him he didn’t have much time, for his good bedside manner and his clarity in explaining things.

It was a time of constant motion during which my absolute physical exhaustion seemed to be at a level appropriate for the emotional turmoil I felt.

My mom died six years earlier, also from cancer, and I just didn’t think I had it in me to get through losing my dad, too. When Mom went, it felt like divine cruelty. But when Dad died, it was different. Every situation—every loss—is different, but I knew something this time that I hadn’t known before. I understood how big the pain would be, how it overtakes everything else, how it cuts you to the very core and cannot be resisted.

So this time I didn’t try to fight it. I absorbed it. I didn’t brace myself against its impact, but instead, let it wash over me. Through me. Fill me. I knew it would become a part of who I am forevermore so I didn’t bother to resist. I’d learned that grief is not something to “get over.” It is not something that goes away. It seeps in, changing the color and tone and very foundation of who I am, forevermore.

Yes, I’m changed by the loss of my dad, and that loss will come to partially define me. But more so, I’m defined by being his child in the first place. When Dad passed, it felt like compassion, not cruelty. I felt a kind of exhilaration that I never expected, a joy, and the “peace that surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

Not having Dad here is hard—and yes, that’s an understatement. But sometimes it doesn’t feel as much like a loss as an addition to who I am. I wasn’t losing something, but adding something. I get to carry forward the traits of my dad that he planted in my genetic code. I get to live in a world that knew him, that respected and honored him, and share him with others who miss him too. I get to pick up where he let off. I get to take him forward with me as I move forward, which I inevitably will do—because there really isn’t a choice.

Because I’ve discovered that even in my grief, even in the face of my pain, there is joy to be found. Contentment. The soothing balm of faith. Glimpses of beauty even in times of sadness.

Joy isn’t only found in the sunshiny moments, in the happiness and cheerfulness of things going right. Even more beautiful is that which comes in the face of mourning, in the shadows of sorrow. Because when we can find joy in those ordinary and less-than-ideal moments, there is no doubt where it comes from. When we can see joy then, we know without a shadow of doubt that God is present.

And that is enough to make my heart rejoice.

Dear Lord, You are a compassionate God and You mourn when we mourn. But You also promise to turn our mourning into gladness. To give us comfort and joy to replace our sorrow. To be with us in every moment. Your very presence brings with it unexplainable, unspeakable joy. We praise You for this and ask You to be with those who are learning to live with a loss. Let them find beauty—let them see You—even in their pain. Because Your compassion is boundless and Your love is without end. Amen.


Join me over at Real Women Ministries for study questions and to continue this discussion—and while you’re there, check out this whole series. Lots of women being real… lots of inspiration to be found.

Struggling with joy

I’m honored to be part of a devotional series at Real Women Ministries about finding joy in everyday life. Sign up to receive the complete series (which will last about a week) here. I was flattered when I was invited to participate in this devotional series as one of the writers. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling all ...

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I’m honored to be part of a devotional series at Real Women Ministries about finding joy in everyday life. Sign up to receive the complete series (which will last about a week) here.


I was flattered when I was invited to participate in this devotional series as one of the writers. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling all that joyful, but that was OK. I figured I’d get past it. I kept moving the task forward on my to-do list, waiting for inspiration. Finally, it came—in the sense that my devo was due in two days and I needed to get off my rear end and write it.

So I wrote, and what I wrote was true. I’ve been in a rough season, a time of grief and stress, and “joyful” is not how I would describe it, but as I wrote, God reminded me of the reasons I have to feel joy. He reminded me who He is, and that joy is different than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, but joy comes from a much deeper place. A place of abiding in God. Of choosing to walk alongside Him even if the place you’re walking through isn’t all that pleasant.

When I hit “send,” I felt much lighter. More joyful.

And then one of the other writers posted in our private Facebook group about how she was struggling. She confessed that she didn’t feel joy right now and she was dreading writing about it. Several others chimed in immediately, full of understanding—because they’re struggling, too.

That’s when I decided to write another post – this one. Because if we’re all struggling—women whose ministry consists of encouraging other women and sharing God’s truths, women who were approached to share their insights about joy—then you probably are, too. Maybe you need to know you’re not alone. This isn’t a failing on your part. Your feelings don’t indicate a lack of faith or an absence of God.

The other thing is this: even when we weren’t feeling it initially, if some of us have been able to turn that around to find joy, you can too. Because I think living joyfully is a choice. It’s about focusing on what we know, not what we feel.

When we CHOOSE joy, we’re choosing to have faith. We’re choosing to trust. We’re turning away from our own fickle emotions and declaring that the bad stuff doesn’t define us. Evil, sadness, worry, misery, fear, darkness—those traps of the enemy do. not. win. Jesus does. Choosing joy is declaring that we’re not staying stuck in the muck and the mire but instead we’re believing God’s joy will dry the mud and pull us out of the pit we’ve fallen into.

So if you’re looking at this series and feeling like you do not belong here, do not despair. Joy IS there to be found. It can be seen when we abide in God. When we go to Him because of who He is, not because of what He can do for us. Let’s pull back from our problems and pray.

God, my hope is in You. You have saved me. You love me. You declared that I am worth everything You did for me. You want me to be with You. You take joy in me.

And I will not let that go unnoticed. I will not waste what You have given to me. I will live with joy. I will let You prevail. Because You are good and holy and kind and merciful. You are love, and You are light, and You are my hope and salvation. You are the very essence of joy, and I will allow myself to let Your joy shape my life. Amen.

Head on over to my post at Real Women Ministries for some study questions and to take part in our conversation about joy. And know that, whether you’re feeling it now or not, you are not alone.

Pass the fruit salad

Good morning! I have a new post at Internet Café today. Please join me there to read the rest of it. But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Galatians 5:22-23 (NLT) In theory, I like fruit. But in practice? Well, I’m ...

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Good morning! I have a new post at Internet Café today. Please join me there to read the rest of it.

But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Galatians 5:22-23 (NLT)

56568838In theory, I like fruit. But in practice? Well, I’m more of a chocolate kind of gal. I can notice the beautiful colors and shapes and agree that the fruit looks quite luscious. But I’m more likely to grab a bagel instead of a banana. While I’m often surprised by how good fruit tastes, I’m not all that adventurous. Give me the more “mainstream” ones like apples, grapes and strawberries. Watermelon and pineapple are yummy. But kiwi? Kumquat? I’ll pass. [read more]

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