Joy 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.
Read more...He understood both the heaviness of sorrow and the promise that joy still had a place in his story.
When Thanksgiving Feels Heavy, Not Happy
Thanksgiving is on Thursday. This can be such a difficult holiday for so many. And perhaps you find yourself dreading it this year.
Maybe there’s an empty chair at the table that didn’t used to be there.
Perhaps the traditions you once held so tightly now feel unimportant.
Maybe instead of excitement and anticipation, you’re feeling sadness and dread.
Perhaps the traditions you once held so tightly now feel unimportant.
Maybe instead of excitement and anticipation, you’re feeling sadness and dread.
It’s okay if you aren’t looking forward to Thanksgiving. You don’t have to force gratitude that isn’t genuine. God isn’t disappointed in you for feeling the weight of your loss.
And maybe things need to be different this year.
When I was deep in grief during those first few holidays, it was hard to get into the spirit of the season. I missed Jon so much and felt like grief would always be heavy. It was easy to give in to despair and anger – and for a while, I did – but that only made the heaviness worse. Over time, I found I had to be intentional with my thoughts. Choosing to focus on Christ and His promises helped me notice the small blessings right in front of me. It didn’t take away the grief, but it helped refocus my heart so I wouldn’t stay trapped in isolation and bitterness.
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Gratitude Doesn't Cancel Grief
The first time I didn’t cry myself to sleep after my husband passed, I felt guilty.
Was I forgetting him?
Was I forgetting him?
When I found myself enjoying little blessings — a kind friend who showed up with a meal, the sand in my toes at the beach, or a song that brought comfort — I wondered if my grief was fading.
It sometimes felt like if I was happy or enjoying something, I wasn’t missing Jon enough. But that simply wasn’t true.
It took me a long time to realize that gratitude doesn’t erase grief. They can exist together. Both can be true.
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When Gratitude Feels Impossible
Grief is hard.
It’s heavy.
It’s an impossible burden to carry.
It’s heavy.
It’s an impossible burden to carry.
It feels like you’re always going to feel this way. You’re angry, sad, overwhelmed, and completely spent. There are endless questions — Why did this happen? Why do I have to feel this way? When will it stop? You can’t imagine ever moving through the grief to the other side. And part of you doesn’t even want to, because that might mean you’re forgetting.
Grief can feel intense, exhausting, and completely unfair.
I get it. I experienced all of this when my husband passed. Some days, the weight of it all made it nearly impossible to get out of bed. Other days brought a brief sense of relief — only to be followed by guilt because maybe I wasn't missing him enough.
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Not all losses come at once. Some unfold slowly, and others only become clear much later. When Jon became sick and eventually passed away, I discovered layer after layer of loss I wasn’t prepared for.
Some of those losses happened gradually. As Jon’s cancer progressed, he wasn’t able to handle the responsibilities he once carried. Slowly, the things he took care of became mine to manage. Dinner around the table as a family grew less frequent as his appetite faded. The dreams we once talked about for our future—retirement, travel, growing old together—slipped away piece by piece. And as his illness worsened, my sense of direction vanished. My “map” for life had always included Jon, and when his journey ended, mine felt blank.
Other losses became painfully clear after he was gone. Jon was my safe place. I could share my fears, my struggles, and even my shortcomings without judgment. He knew me completely and loved me anyway. Without him, I felt exposed and unanchored. I also lost my encourager—the one who reminded me of what I was doing well, who cheered me on in motherhood, in faith, and in life. His words carried me through so many seasons, and their absence left a deep silence.
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