Fighting for Joy Through Grief

 Fighting for Joy Through Grief

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” – Psalm 30:5

      "I'm alive, awake, alert, enthuastic."  That has been my answer for years when someone asks me how I'm doing or feeling.  That was a motto that a I picked up while working at a Christian camp ministry over twenty years ago, and to be honest that simple phrase was the embodiment of my personality.  I was a bubbly, joyful, glass half full kind of guy.  I typically didn't have to fight for joy, joy seemed to be my default position from the time I opened my eyes.  But then cancer came to my home and laid waste against my loving wife.  That phrase vanished from my vocabulary.  The spring in my step was broken, my characteristic smile was gone, my laugh melted into the beginning stages of grief.  All of a sudden joy became an emotion that I had to fight for.

      Grief is not something you can schedule. It doesn’t punch in at 9 a.m. and clock out at 5 p.m. It shows up at the dinner table, in the silence of an empty bed, in the unexpected sight of her handwriting on an old note.  I remember one occassion opening our hall closet.  Tif drew a diagram of how she wanted everything laid out. Needless to say, the note laid me out.  It doesn't come neatly wrapped up with a bow.  Grief lingers, pressing down like a weight that doesn’t lift easily.  It's like an unwanted guest that reminds you of the person in this world that you loved the most. 

      As a widower, I have learned that joy is not the absence of grief. If that were the case, I would never taste joy again, though I would yearn for it. Instead, joy is something I must fight for in the midst of my sorrow. It doesn’t arrive effortlessly—it is chosen, prayed for, and sometimes clung to with trembling hands.  Joy isn't my default position, I have to look for it.  It's like a spiritual game of hide and go seek.  Joy can be so incredibly elusive during harder seasons of grief.  Joy can also dissipate quickly, in one single breath.

      The fight for joy is not about denying pain. Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus, even knowing resurrection was moments away. Grief and joy can exist side by side.  Read that again.  That was one of the more surprising things when grief became a familiar friend.  I thought that one would cancel out the other, but instead it became quite the opposite.  They don't have to oppose one another, they can actually compliment one another. Grief acknowledges the depth of love lost; joy remembers the hope that death cannot steal.

      I fight for joy by remembering that my story—and Tif's story—didn’t end at the grave. Christ’s resurrection secured more than comfort; it secured a future where all tears will be wiped away. That truth doesn’t erase my sorrow, but it gives me a reason to keep living with hope.  If you are grieving right now I imagine that you are like me, fighting for inches and it's exhausting.  I know that your current smile and laugh probably feel counterfeit or forced.  I know that the heaviness feels like someone is sitting on your chest.  But, as a fellow griever, feeling the same things that you do, let me plead with you, seek joy.  Fight for it.  Know that your story isn't finished yet.  Countless unwritten chapters lay in front of you.  Don't condemn your grief by letting your pursuit of joy die.  Instead, let grief and joy be mingled together.

      Some days the fight feels like whispering a prayer when I have no words.  You are literally allowing the Holy Spirit to speak for you because there are no words that can describe your pain.  Other days it’s choosing gratitude for small blessings—a kind word, a sunrise, a memory that makes me smile through tears. And sometimes, the fight is simply refusing to let despair have the final say.  Joy is not a fleeting feeling—it is rooted in the unchanging presence of Christ. In my grief, He is still here. In my loneliness, He is still near. And because He lives, I can fight for joy, even when my heart aches. Why can I choose joy?  Because He's still there.