Joy Isn’t Easy—But It’s Strong

Joy Isn’t Easy—But It’s Strong

This post is part of the 9-part series: Faithful Fruit.

It wasn’t joy. It was survival.

I still remember the heaviness of that rainy morning. My husband was deployed. I had just moved back to Alabama with our daughter and was adjusting to life as a single parent again—but this time, it wasn’t just her. My stepson had joined us too, and I was still learning how to parent both of them on my own.

It was early, gray, and pouring rain. I was driving my husband’s oversized truck—nervous already—running behind and mentally juggling work, daycare drop-off, and everything in between.

As we approached an intersection, the car in front of me slammed on its brakes at a yellow light. I hit mine, but the truck didn’t stop fast enough. I slid and hit them. Just like that.

My stomach dropped. The kids were quiet in the back. I sat there gripping the wheel, panic setting in. How do I tell him? What if someone’s hurt? How did I let this happen? That moment felt like too much. I was trying to be strong, but I felt anything but joyful.

Now, looking back, I see it more clearly. God’s mercy covered us. No one was hurt. It could’ve been worse—but it wasn’t. And that’s where I found joy. Not in the accident, but in the fact that even when I felt alone, overwhelmed, and unequipped, God was right there—steady, present, and protecting. Joy doesn’t always feel like celebration. Sometimes it’s just realizing you weren’t alone in the middle of the mess.

Scripture Focus

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” — Philippians 4:4
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds…” — James 1:2–3

What joy actually is

Not everything that looks like joy is real joy. And not everything that feels like sorrow is devoid of it.

The Bible doesn’t call joy a feeling—it calls it strength. “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10)

That verse always sounded nice to me, but I struggled to internalize it. Joy felt like something other people had. Something tied to success, ease, or big, shiny testimonies. But the more I’ve lived with God, the more I’ve learned: joy is a kind of presence. A knowing. A deep-down certainty that He’s still with you—even when nothing else makes sense.

Joy isn’t pretending things are fine. It’s recognizing God in the middle of what isn’t.

Gratitude grows it

This is joy, too.

I don’t say that in a “be positive!” kind of way. I mean it in the quiet, daily moments when gratitude pulls you back from the edge. When you pause to say: I’m thankful for this meal. This moment of peace. This child’s laugh. This breath. That kind of noticing tills the soil where joy can grow.

Gratitude doesn’t erase struggle. But it shifts the spotlight. And sometimes, that’s all we need to see the good that’s still there.

Habakkuk knew

His world was falling apart. Crops failing. No food. No signs of relief. And still, he said:
“Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” (Habakkuk 3:18)

He didn’t rejoice because things got better. He rejoiced because God hadn’t changed. That’s what makes biblical joy so defiant. It doesn’t wait for comfort. It’s rooted in who God is, not in how life feels.

I’ve whispered that “yet” more times than I can count.
Yet, I will rejoice.
Yet, I will trust.
Yet, I believe joy is still possible here.

What if joy looks like this?

• Not a celebration, but a quiet breath after chaos.
• Not a smile, but a soft moment of peace in a noisy day.
• Not perfection, but the still voice of God saying: You’re not alone.

Something to carry

• Where do I feel pressure to “feel happy” when joy might look different?
• What can I thank God for today—right here, in the middle of my mess?
• Can I name a “yet” in my life right now?

Closing Prayer

Lord, I won’t always feel joyful. Some days I’ll barely feel functional. But help me remember that joy is deeper than feelings—it’s rooted in You. Let Your joy be my strength. Anchor me in Your presence, and remind me that even when I’m overwhelmed, I’m not overlooked. Amen.

Part of the 9-part series: Faithful Fruit. See all reflections.