How Can I Experience Joy In My Christian Life?
Joy is something we all long for but that often seems difficult to grab hold of. Experiencing joy should be a part of every Christian’s life. Joy is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, produced by God’s work in us, and it is part of God’s will for us.
The Race
There is much satisfaction in finishing something you have begun! The success of a race is determined not only by how well you begin but also by how well you end. Many athletes can begin a race impressively, but if they stumble or are injured or lack the stamina to finish, their good start is useless. Paul rejoiced that he had not only begun the race; but he had also finished it. His prize was a robust faith in God and a life filled with God's powerful presence.
The Christian life is not easy. Some mistakenly assume that once they become children of God, their struggles are over. Many Christians begin their walk with Christ enthusiastically; but as the pressures mount, they lose heart and abandon their pilgrimage.
Paul described his Christian life as a battle. There were times when he struggled, and only through perseverance could he continue. It may surprise us to know that the great apostle had to struggle at times to be faithful to God. Paul faced persecution, misunderstanding, betrayal, and death threats. His Christian life was anything but easy, yet he persevered.
Your faith in God is not proven by beginning the race but by enduring to the finish. Publicly announcing your commitment to Christ in your church does not compare with a lifetime of devotion to His cause. Use Paul as your model. Live your life in such a way that you can one day conclude, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith!”
Excerpt from “Experiencing God Day-By-Day” by Henry and Richard Blackaby
I Wish Hope Felt Stronger
Jesus Wants You To Know...
What No One Tells You About Healing
I think about her sometimes. The girl I was before it happened. Before the anxiety unspooled like thread from my thoughts. Before the panic. Before the cracks in my memory. Before the grief rewired everything.
She knew how to tuck trauma away. As if it wasn’t waiting in the dark corners, growing and building, hiding just out of sight until one day it became too big to be contained and spilled out. And when it did, it broke everything.
People talk about healing like it’s a destination. Like if you do the right things and believe the right way, you’ll arrive at wholeness and move on.
But what no one tells you, not really, is that once your mind has shattered under the weight of it all, you don’t go back. You don’t return to the person you were before. And that’s a quiet kind of grief no one prepares you for.
There’s a version of me I sometimes miss. She was softer, more trusting, unaware of what the breaking would feel like. She could breathe without reminding herself to. She didn’t flinch at joy.
But I can’t go back for her. And maybe that’s okay.
