Joy in the MourningJoy is a theme woven all throughout Scripture. From the Old Testament to the New, God’s people are called to rejoice — in good times, in ordinary days, and even in seasons of deep suffering. We read verses like, “Be joyful always,” and, “Rejoice in the Lord,” and yet joy can feel impossibly distant when your world has been shattered.
Joy is hard when you’re grieving.
It doesn’t come naturally when the person you love is gone.
And choosing joy when your heart is breaking can feel almost contradictory.
It doesn’t come naturally when the person you love is gone.
And choosing joy when your heart is breaking can feel almost contradictory.
For a long time, I believed joy had to come after the grief — as if joy were the reward for finally healing enough. But Scripture paints a very different picture. Over and over again, we see people in the Bible choosing joy right in the midst of loss, uncertainty, and suffering.
David wrote, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)
He understood both the heaviness of sorrow and the promise that joy still had a place in his story.
He understood both the heaviness of sorrow and the promise that joy still had a place in his story.
Solomon wrote, “A joyful heart is good medicine.” (Proverbs 17:22)
Not because life is easy, but because joy strengthens us from the inside when life feels hard.
Not because life is easy, but because joy strengthens us from the inside when life feels hard.
And then there’s Habakkuk — one of my favorite examples of “hard-won joy.” He looked at a world falling apart, with no figs on the trees, no crops, no stability, no answers. Yet he prayed, “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.” (Habakkuk 3:17–18)
That’s the kind of joy that has carried me through grief — the “yet I will” kind of joy.
Choosing Joy in the Middle of GriefJoy is not the absence of pain.
It’s not pretending you’re okay.
It’s not minimizing your loss or forcing a smile to make others comfortable.
It’s not pretending you’re okay.
It’s not minimizing your loss or forcing a smile to make others comfortable.
Joy is a choice to anchor your heart in the character of God — even when your circumstances break you.
When Jon passed, I didn’t feel joy. I felt shattered. Confused. Heartbroken. And although people around me would remind me to “choose joy,” it didn’t feel possible. I was just trying to breathe. I was trying to survive. Joy felt like something I’d have to work toward someday in the future — maybe when the pain wasn’t so sharp.
But God gently taught me something different.
Joy isn’t something we manufacture.
Joy is something we receive because of the hope we have in Christ.
Joy is something we receive because of the hope we have in Christ.
Joy is the deep, steady confidence that God is who He says He is — faithful, present, unchanging — even when our lives don’t look the way we wanted. Joy is rooted in the truth that suffering is not the end of our story. Joy is knowing that God is near to the brokenhearted and that His presence brings peace that grief cannot take away.
And sometimes joy comes in very small ways — a moment of laughter, a memory that brings a smile, or the quiet reassurance that God hasn’t forgotten you. Those moments matter. They count. They’re glimmers of the morning that Psalm 30:5 promises.
Joy has been something I have had to consciously choose. And it’s not always easy, and I don’t always do it. A few years ago, I started collecting “Joy” signs as a reminder for my heart. I have so many now that come out at Christmas time, and a few that stay up all year round. It’s a visual reminder to me that joy is not because of my circumstances. It’s not because everything is going my way. I can choose joy because of the hope I have in Christ.
If grief has made joy feel impossible, I want you to hear this:
You don’t have to feel joyful to choose joy.
You don’t have to be healed to receive joy.
And you don’t have to pretend the pain isn’t real.
You don’t have to feel joyful to choose joy.
You don’t have to be healed to receive joy.
And you don’t have to pretend the pain isn’t real.
You can grieve deeply and still choose to say, “Yet I will rejoice.”
Not because your heart doesn’t hurt, but because your hope is anchored in Christ — who holds you, sustains you, and promises that one day every tear will be wiped away.
Not because your heart doesn’t hurt, but because your hope is anchored in Christ — who holds you, sustains you, and promises that one day every tear will be wiped away.
Joy may not look the way it once did.
But joy — true, biblical joy — is still possible.
Even here. Even now. Even in the hard.
But joy — true, biblical joy — is still possible.
Even here. Even now. Even in the hard.
If you’re walking through grief and need a quiet place to process, I have created resources specifically for you in my Etsy shop, HOPE & HARMONY PAGES. These three digital printables work on their own and hand in hand with each other:
30 SCRIPTURE CARDS FOR GRIEF. If you know someone these might encourage, I would be honored if you’d share these resources—and my blog—with them.
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