Joy Is a Weapon
And I’m learning to reach for it — even when it feels out of reach.
Do you ever find yourself sitting, staring at nothing, completely wrapped up in your own thoughts? Not scrolling. Not moving. Just stuck.
That’s where I was. Again.
Another long day. Another list I didn’t finish. Another mental loop of “you’re behind,” “you should be doing more,” “this isn’t enough.” And then—out of nowhere—a breeze. A pause. A stillness. And with it, a strange sense of peace I wasn’t expecting.
Not because anything got fixed.
Not because I suddenly had a plan.
But because God met me in the quiet.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.
It was joy. And it made no sense.
But it felt like life itself.
Joy Shows Up in the Mess
Joy shows up like that sometimes.
Not in the breakthroughs. Not in the perfect mornings. But in the middle of everything messy.
It looks like laughter around the dinner table even though your bank account is low.
It sounds like singing too loud while you fold laundry, even though you’re tired and no one’s helping.
It feels like being fully present with your kids or your partner or your own soul for the first time in what feels like forever.
That’s what makes joy a weapon.
Because it doesn’t wait for permission.
It walks right into the middle of the storm and says, “I’m still here.”
When Joy Feels Out of Reach
But can I be honest?
Joy doesn’t always feel accessible to me.
Most days, the voice in my head says things like:
“You haven’t done enough.”
“You’re behind.”
“You’re never going to catch up.”
“You don’t deserve to feel good.”
It’s cruel. It’s constant. And it’s convincing.
And even when I do feel joy, that voice tries to shrink it. Tells me it’s temporary. Tries to guilt me for resting or enjoying something when I haven’t “earned it.”
It’s exhausting — always chasing some invisible finish line, hoping maybe then I’ll feel like enough.
But lately… God’s been softening that voice with something deeper.
Something quieter. Something stronger.
Joy Is Resistance
I’m starting to believe this:
Joy isn’t a luxury. It’s not a reward. It’s not a result of having your life all together.
Joy is resistance.
Joy is truth-telling.
Joy is warfare.
Because the enemy isn’t just after your peace — he’s after your praise.
And when you choose joy anyway?
When you laugh without apology?
When you let yourself dance, rest, breathe, love, be?
That’s how you fight.
“The joy of the Lord is your strength.” — Nehemiah 8:10
It’s not something I have to perform.
It’s not something I have to fake.
It’s something I receive.
The joy of the Lord — the kind that fills you even when the world is draining you — that is where I’ve been learning to live.
In small moments.
In family time.
In breathwork and prayer.
In quiet mornings and silly jokes.
In letting myself feel good again without guilt.
What Joy Looks Like
So here’s what I’m learning:
Joy looks like working on that hobby you keep putting off.
It looks like choosing contentment even when you’re still waiting.
It looks like remembering that you are enough — not someday, but now.
It’s peace.
It’s laughter.
It’s knowing that you’re held even when things are hard.
Joy doesn’t mean you’re ignoring the pain. It means you’re not letting the pain win.
And if you’re in a season where it feels like everything is heavy — I just want to say:
You’re allowed to feel light again.
You’re allowed to breathe again.
You’re allowed to laugh, sing, play, and feel joy again.
Not because life is perfect. But because God is still good.
Reflection Questions:
Where have I felt unexpected joy lately?
What lie have I believed about “deserving” happiness?
How can I invite joy into my everyday life — not as a reward, but as a rhythm?
A Prayer for When Joy Feels Out of Reach
Lord,
Sometimes joy feels far.
Like something reserved for better days.
For people who aren’t tired. For seasons that don’t ache.
But You remind me — joy isn’t a reward. It’s a weapon.
So right now, I lay down every lie that says I have to earn it.
Every voice that says I’m not enough.
Every heaviness that tells me I have to keep it all together before I can feel good again.
You are the God who sings over me.
Who delights in me.
Who meets me in the mundane and fills it with holy light.
Help me to choose joy — not as denial, but as defiance.
Let it rise up in me like a shield.
Let it steady me when I feel undone.
Let it remind me that even here, I’m still held.
I don’t want to live afraid of joy anymore.
I want to dance. I want to laugh. I want to be free.
So fill my spirit with the kind of joy that silences shame.
The kind that comes from knowing You — not having it all figured out.
And let that joy carry me. Let it become my strength. Let it mark my days with light.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
Gentle Reminder:
Joy is not a weakness. It’s strength wrapped in softness.
You don’t have to wait for everything to be okay to let yourself be happy.
Joy is your birthright in Christ — and it’s already yours.
🕊️
