For years, I believed that being joyful as a Christian meant acting like everything was going perfectly in my life and that I was feeling a specific emotion—namely, that I was lighthearted and happy. I thought it involved smiling and talking about positive things. The Christian women around me seemed to exhibit this kind of joy. They spoke as if their lives were going well and as if they had all their ducks in a row. They rarely spoke of anything negative and seldom, if ever, complained. They just seemed, well, very happy! And of course, that was very biblical of them, right? I mean, the Bible does say, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” And “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.”[1]
The problem I kept encountering was how did I fit in with that? Where did that leave me? I’ve held my child’s lifeless body in my hands. Twice. My third miscarried baby, I never got to see. I’ve lived through years of painful health trials, experiencing a nervous system condition since I was 20 years old, and I still deal with daily pain in my hip. I’ve gone through many years of various challenges trying to raise five children with no help as we moved from state to state with the military.
My children have faced health scares, illnesses, and surgeries. My husband is disabled. I am aware of Satan’s attacks when they come, and I feel them acutely. How could someone like me fit in with this “be joyful” command and the societal expectation of always being happy? Was I able to experience suffering, or did the fact that I didn’t smile through my tears and make light of my burdens make me less of a Christian?
I knew that my life had been incredibly blessed in countless ways. I was not unaware of God’s mercies toward me and my family. Christ had shown such long suffering toward me! He had held me up, supported me, and blessed me, and I knew it. I knew I should always be rejoicing in that. I should be. But still, I was not always joyful. What kind of Christian woman was I, then, when I was struggling and feeling the weight of a cross?
When we had our fifth child (actually our eighth), we were trying to decide on a name for her. We chose Joyce because her nickname would be Joy. I knew I desperately needed to wrestle with this concept of what joy is in the Christian life. What is it? How can I have it? What am I missing if I don’t feel this emotion?
I’m still wrestling with this concept, but I’ve learned that joy exists when I think of Christ loving me. Yes, it’s simple, but it’s profound. It’s not the overly happy, everything-is-perfect-all-the-time kind of joy, but more like the joy of knowing you’ll be caught as you fall. It’s the kind of joy that knows, in the end, I am His and He is mine. I might suffer, I might weep, I might cry out to God at times, but I won’t always do those things. I will not always suffer. The God of the universe loves me, and in that, I find a very quiet, very profound, very deep, peaceful joy.
[1] Galatians 5:22.
