The Narrow Way

For a long time, I forgot what joy felt like.

Not fake laughter.

Not the smile you put on to keep people from asking questions.

I’m talking about real joy.

The kind that rises up and surprises you.

The kind that bubbles out when you’re not performing, not pretending… just being.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped expecting joy.
Because life hurt too much.
Too many disappointments. Too much loss. Too many days where just getting out of bed felt like a miracle.
And I told myself, maybe joy just isn’t for me.

But Jesus, He didn’t let me stay there.
Little by little, He started waking something up in me.
A holy whisper in the dark:
“You’re allowed to feel joy again.”

Not because everything is perfect.
Not because the past didn’t happen.
But because the grave couldn’t hold Him, and that means it won’t hold me either.

I used to think I had to wait for joy.
Wait for healing. Wait for closure. Wait for everything to make sense.
But I’m learning now, joy can live in the middle of the healing.

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

It doesn’t say the pain isn’t real, it just says pain isn’t permanent.
And the morning isn’t just a moment on the clock.
Sometimes “morning” is a season of awakening.
A season where God breathes new life into what you thought was dead.

And now, I’m starting to laugh again.
Not because I’ve forgotten, but because I’ve forgiven.
Not because the journey isn’t hard… but because I’m no longer walking it alone.
Joy isn’t the absence of pain, it’s the presence of Jesus.

He’s restoring what was stolen.
He’s redeeming what was wasted.
He’s reigniting wonder in places I thought were permanently numb.

And I’m learning I don’t have to feel guilty about it.
I’m not betraying my story when I laugh.
I’m not being disloyal to my healing when I smile.
I’m not forgetting what happened…
I’m honoring the miracle that I’m still here.

Joy is my inheritance.
Joy is my resistance.
Joy is my testimony.

Because the enemy didn’t want me to survive.
But I did.
And now I’m doing more than surviving—I’m starting to live.

So if you’ve been afraid to feel joy again, if the smile feels foreign, if the laughter feels far away…
Let me tell you what Jesus told me:

“You’re allowed to have joy.”
Even here. Even now. Even after everything.

Because He’s not just healing my wounds.
He’s bringing back my joy.