By Jeanni Ritchie
There was a time I thought joy and pain took turns.
That joy showed up only after pain had packed its bags and left. Or pain had automatic license to revoke joy.
That healing meant the ache was gone.
That peace meant everything had settled.
That joy meant things were close to perfect.
But life—and more importantly, the Lord—has shown me something different.
Joy and pain don’t take turns.
Sometimes, they sit side by side.
Scripture doesn’t shy away from that tension. In fact, it names it plainly:
Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing. 2 Corinthians 6:10
Not sorrowful and then rejoicing.
Sorrowful, yet still rejoicing.
Jesus Himself modeled this in one of the most powerful ways. In John 11, standing at the tomb of Lazarus, He wept. Not because He didn’t know what was coming—He did. He knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead.
And still… He wept.
The miracle didn’t cancel the moment.
The promise didn’t erase the pain.
He entered it fully.
I think sometimes we rush ourselves—and others—out of hard places too quickly. We want to skip to the joy comes in the morning part of Psalm 30:5 without acknowledging that weeping may endure for a night.
But both are true.
There are seasons where gratitude and grief share the same space. Where you can laugh—and still feel the sting of something unresolved. Where you can see God’s goodness clearly and still carry questions you don’t have answers to.
Unresolved relationships. Uncertain futures. Unhealed trauma.
Your life—and your joy—don’t have to be put on hold while you navigate hardships. In fact, it can be the joy of the Lord that sustains you throughout times of trouble.
The prophet Habakkuk paints one of the clearest pictures of this kind of faith:
Although the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord… Habakkuk 3:17–18
That’s the space we live in more often than we realize.
Although this isn’t what I wanted…
yet I will trust Him.
Although this still hurts…
yet I can see His hand.
Although I don’t understand…
yet I will rejoice.
We tend to think joy requires resolution. That it comes neatly packaged at the end of a story once everything has been tied up and made right.
But sometimes joy shows up right in the middle of the mess.
If I waited until everything in my life was perfect before I allowed joy in my heart, it would orbit my soul endlessly, always remaining just out of reach.
I have four adult children. I can count on one hand the number of times all four have been talking to me at the same time. It’s like playing Whac-A-Mole. One issue is squashed and—bloop!—another pops up. I can keep hitting conflicts as hard as I can with a mallet or go sit down and eat my pizza instead.
There will always be family strife because destroying families is one of Satan’s main goals.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. John 10:10
The best revenge against Satan is to hold joy, even in the midst of sorrow.
Not pretending everything is fine. Just trusting that God has already solved whatever problem you are facing, knowing you can walk in peace and freedom until you can see it.
I’ve learned that joy doesn’t betray my pain.
About six weeks after my daughter Kacey died, I laughed at something someone said. Immediately my hand flew up to my mouth and I started crying. What right did I have to laugh when my daughter was laying under six feet of dirt? What kind of awful mother must I be to laugh when I should be crying?
No one—especially not Kacey—would’ve condemned me for laughing that day. I didn’t love her any less. I didn’t miss her any less. My grief was allowed to coexist with life.
God meets us right there—not where everything is fixed, but in the middle of our heartache. It is where a flower begins to bloom in the midst of concrete cracks.
You don’t have to choose between joy and pain.
Sometimes, the most faithful thing you can do is hold them both—and trust that God is present in each.
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