When Joy Is Fragile

Rediscovering Joy Through The Storms

When Joy Feels Out of Reach

Joy has been a struggle for me for a long time. There was a season when I kept asking God what was missing, and the answer surprised me: it wasn’t joy itself—it was the celebration of joy.

I could laugh, have fun, and savor moments of gratitude with family and friends. But there was a part of joy that felt out of reach—the joy tied to celebrating that Jesus died and rose for me.

Somewhere deep down, I was still carrying shame. Shame for the things I’d done. Shame for how long it took me to really understand grace. I didn’t feel like celebrating my salvation. I was embarrassed that it took so much to save me. The weight of that truth pressed hard on my heart.

When I shared this in my small group at church, they were shocked. They said I was the most joyful person they knew. But as we talked, I realized what they saw in me looked more to me like peace than joy.

A Journey Back to My First Love

So I started praying for a breakthrough. I was interested in going to more events that were spirit-filled. There was a hunger for the presence of God that I couldn't really explain.

Not long after, I saw a post from a guy I grew up with. He was pastoring a church now, hosting a Thursday night prayer service. I felt an unexpected pull to go. That night, everything aligned—I was free, my husband was home with the kids—and I decided to drive three hours, unannounced, to this childhood friend’s church.

I prayed the entire drive. God was stirring my heart—not just about joy, but about returning to my first love. It was as if He was taking me back to where it all began, to the very ground where my faith was first formed.

When I arrived, the building looked familiar. Then it hit me—it was the same church where I’d been baptized in the Holy Spirit as a teenager. The same sanctuary where I once joined a conga line of worshippers, overwhelmed by the presence of God.

Outside the door, people were handing out party hats and hanging streamers. My old friend, the pastor, recognized me immediately. “Jessica!” he said. “I’ve been praying about tonight, and I just felt like we needed to have a party!”

A joy party.

Only God could have orchestrated that.

When God Speaks Through the Details

That night, everything pointed to what He’d been whispering to my heart: joy isn’t something you attain—it’s something you embrace.

During worship, the songs were about childlike wonder—about being a kid in God’s presence. It wasn’t lost on me that God had literally taken me back to the place where I was once His child, wide-eyed and free.

As the pastor prayed over me, he spoke with a knowing that could only come from the Spirit. He described how shattered I’d been, how God was picking up every sliver and shard to restore what was broken.

Then came two prophetic words spoken over me with profound imagery that I’ll never forget.

In one, I was wearing a pioneer dress, working in a garden—laboring over the soil, composting failed crops, doing the unseen, thankless work of preparation. But then, two women came and linked arms with me, helping me till until the fruit began to grow.

That hit home. I had been literally gardening the summer before, composting more than I harvested. I knew God was showing me that nothing was wasted—that even what failed was enriching the soil for what’s next.

The second image was of a red Jeep climbing a rugged mountain road—navigating rocks and ruts but built to overcome every obstacle. At the time, I actually lived on a steep, washed-out gravel road that only a 4WD could handle. The metaphor couldn’t have been more accurate. God had built me for this terrain.

And yes—there was a conga line that night.

I left that church feeling lighter, refreshed, and deeply seen by God. That moment carried me through the years that followed—through parenting battles, ministry challenges, and personal stretching that I never saw coming.

When Joy Feels Fragile

But now, in this new season—six months after losing my husband—I have had a few times where joy shone through, and others where it seemed complicated and fragile.

I’ve moved. The girls are living with their mother. The boys and I are finding our footing in a world that feels completely rearranged. The finances are uncharted territory, the grief heavy. My youngest struggles with behavior, my oldest carries too much weight for his age, and I’m trying to hold it all together without breaking.

Some days, I think I fear joy. It feels too vulnerable—too fragile to reach for when life can change in an instant.

I can still laugh, still have fun, still be grateful. But joy? That’s different.

Joy isn’t about pretending the pain isn’t there. It’s about trusting that God is, even when everything else shifts.

Joy is a fruit of the Spirit. It’s not circumstantial. It’s not earned. It’s born from the deep knowing that the storms of this world don’t have the final say.

Maybe joy is less about smiling and more about eternal expectation.

The Strength That Can’t Be Stolen

The joy of the Lord is my strength (Nehemiah 8:10). And strength doesn’t come from what I can control—it comes from knowing who holds me.

So I’m learning again to celebrate—not because life feels light, but because eternity is secure.

Because there’s a day coming when all this pain will be healed, all the chaos made right, and all the tears wiped away.

If that doesn’t stir joy in you—if that doesn’t give you strength to face whatever comes—then maybe it’s time to ask:

Have you been confusing joy with happiness?
Have you allowed your circumstances to rob you of joy?
What’s standing in the way of your celebration?

What The Word Says About Joy

“The joy of the Lord is your strength.” — Nehemiah 8:10
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5
“Though you have not seen him, you love him… you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.” — 1 Peter 1:8–9