THE COVENANT

January 13, 2026

The Joy That Shows Up When It doesn’t make sense

And Nehemiah continued, “Go and celebrate with a feast of rich foods and sweet drinks, and share gifts of food with people who have nothing prepared. This is a sacred day before our Lord. Don’t be dejected and sad, for the joy of the Lord is your strength!”

There is an extraordinary feeling that sometimes lives inside you — even when life is falling apart.

I don’t mean happiness. I don’t mean relief. And I don’t mean that things suddenly make sense. I mean that quiet, steady presence you notice in the middle of heartbreak, loss, or exhaustion — when by all logic, you should feel completely undone, but somehow… you’re still standing.

If you’ve felt it, you know how strange it is.

You can be grieving and still feel held.

You can be crying and still feel calm underneath.

You can be exhausted, numb, or broken — and yet not empty.

That is the joy the Holy Spirit brings.

It doesn’t erase the tragedy. It doesn’t explain it. It doesn’t rush you through it or ask you to be strong. It simply stays. And sometimes, staying is everything.

I’ve learned that this joy often shows up in very ordinary ways. It looks like being able to get out of bed when you didn’t think you could. It looks like a moment of peace in the middle of chaos. It looks like a quiet thought that says, You’re not alone — even now.

And it often confuses us, because we assume joy should look cheerful. But the joy of the Holy Spirit is deeper than emotion. It coexists with sorrow. It lives underneath the pain. It’s not loud — it’s steady.

This joy doesn’t deny what hurts.

It doesn’t minimize loss.

It doesn’t pretend everything is okay.

It simply anchors you when everything else feels unsteady.

There have been moments when I’ve felt this joy and wondered if it was wrong to feel it — like grief and joy couldn’t possibly exist at the same time. This joy does not replace sorrow. It bears witness to God’s presence, even in the middle of it.

The Holy Spirit doesn’t give answers in those moments. He gives Himself. And somehow, that becomes enough to take the next breath. The next step. The next day.

If you’re walking through tragedy right now — or carrying something heavy that no one else sees — and you feel that small, steady strength inside you, don’t dismiss it. That’s not you “holding it together.” That’s God holding you.

You’re allowed to grieve.

You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.

And you’re still allowed to experience joy — even here.

That joy is sacred.

It is quiet.

And it is real.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” Psalm 34:18

“My peace I give you… not as the world gives.” John 14:27

Nehemiah 8:10

Reflection

Where have you noticed strength that didn’t come from you?

When has peace surprised you in the middle of pain?

What would it look like to let joy and sorrow exist together?

As you breathe in, whisper: “You are here.”

As you breathe out, whisper: “Carry me.”

Closing Prayer

Holy Spirit, thank You for staying with me when life feels heavy and unfair.

Thank You for the quiet strength that shows up when I have nothing left to give.

You don’t rush my healing or explain my pain — You meet me in it.

When joy feels confusing in the middle of sorrow,

help me receive it without guilt or questioning.

Hold my grief gently, and steady my heart with Your presence.

Help me take the next step, the next breath,

the next moment —

trusting that I am not alone,

and that You are carrying me through this day.

Amen.