Grief Doesn't Cancel Joy

There is a lie we quietly believe about grief. That if we are really grieving, we cannot possibly be joyful. That if we smile too soon, people will think we didn’t care. But sorrow and hope can sit in the same soul. You can hold sorrow in one hand and hope in the other. You can cry and still believe. You can ache and still worship. Grief does not cancel joy. It just changes it. Some of my most read devotions are about grief, and I think that's because it's something we all go through.

For a long time, I dodged grief. Before my grandparents passed away in recent years, I had managed to tiptoe around it. I had sent flowers. I had shown up for others. But I hadn’t been gutted in that way.

Not yet. Well, rewind back to high school. I don't share with many people this season of my life, because it was well... HARD, emotional! There was a boy, his name was Ryan. You know high school love, (dated for three years) is it real? Sure. Are you going to get married? You may think it, but not likely. Less than 2% of marriages are between high school sweethearts. He was the star soccer player. He played travel soccer, was on the Olympic development team, and played for our high school. We were a strong duo. Anddd then he got sick. On this exact day, 16 years ago. On March 5th, he played a game with just a cough. March 6th, he woke up vomiting. By the time he got to the hospital, doctors suspected pneumonia—but it was MRSA (or commonly known as a staph infection), aggressive and a strain resistant to most drugs. His lungs failed. Machines breathed for him, and a life support system did the work of his heart. Just five days later, on March 10th, he was gone.

I remember exactly where I was. Kicking a soccer ball in the front yard with my sister. Of all things—a soccer ball. When I found out, I was stunned. It felt impossible. I had just seen him. There was no way. It felt like we just went to homecoming yesterday. Two weeks before he was with me at one of my horse shows. I remember screaming. Locking myself in my bedroom for days. It felt like a nightmare that refused to end. School brought in counselors. Hallways felt heavy. I was a sophomore. He was a junior. At that age, I thought my world was over. And in many ways, it was. I even skipped prom, what's prom without your boyfriend? At the time my faith wasn't strong. I went to church, but after Sunday I didn't open my Bible until the following Sunday. Told myself I was "too busy." So grieving was rough. It was me against the world. Finding joy again took a minute. Actually—it took years. And if I’m being honest, I sometimes wonder if it would have taken less time if my faith had been as strong then as it is now. Back then, I didn’t yet know how to bring my grief to God. I didn’t know that faith doesn’t erase sorrow, but it does give you somewhere to place it. We were a big soccer school. Soccer games were packed. My best friend played, and her dad was the girls’ soccer coach. The sport was everywhere. The fields weren’t just grass anymore—they were reminders. Every game felt different. I remember our school even created a T-shirt in his memory. Months later—sometimes even years later, you would still see students wearing it in the halls or at games. It was a beautiful tribute, but also a constant reminder of what we had lost.

And here’s something no one prepares you for, when you lose someone with so many eyes on you, it can feel like you’re wearing a scarlet letter. People don’t know how to act around you. They lower their voices. They look at you with pity. They watch you. It almost felt like people were afraid to see me laugh again. Afraid to let me move forward. As if joy would somehow dishonor him. So you start questioning yourself. Is it too soon? Can I date again in high school? Am I allowed to smile? If I go to this game and don’t cry, what will the rumor be about me? I really owe it to my close circle of friends, they didn't treat me any different. They cried when I cried. They laughed when I laughed, but high school was never the same. The next two years were hard. Really hard. Life went on—pep rallies, games, exams, college talk. The world kept spinning, even though part of mine had stopped. And that’s one of the most painful truths about grief, life goes on. And you have to decide if you will go on with it.

Joy didn’t come back all at once. It was subtle. It was laughing at something and then feeling guilty about it. It was getting through the school day, and then crying in the car afterward. It was sitting at a soccer game and realizing the pain didn’t knock the wind out of me quite as hard as it used to. Joy tiptoed back in.

Not as the bubbly, naive joy of a sophomore girl. But as something deeper. Stronger. Softer. Grief had marked me—but it didn’t own me. Psalms 30:5 says, "weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning." It doesn’t say the night is short (wishful thinking). Sometimes that “night” lasts sophomore year. Junior year. Senior year. But morning still comes. Joy doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. It doesn’t mean you’ve “moved on.” It means you’ve learned to carry both. Sorrow in one hand. Hope in the other. Grief does not cancel joy. It refines it.

And if you look closely, sometimes I wear a necklace. It’s a small gold paperclip chain with a tiny number 9 charm—that was his number. I still wear it to this day. And here’s the full-circle part that only God could write… I actually bought it with my now-husband. Because grief doesn’t mean you stop loving. And healing doesn’t mean you forget. It means your story kept going. It means sorrow had its chapter, but it didn’t get the final page. You can carry memory without being trapped in it. You can honor what was and still embrace what is. And somewhere along the way, joy finds its way back in.

SHE Walks in Faith

Grief and joy are not enemies. Sometimes they sit side by side in the same heart. This week, take a moment to reflect:

• Is there a place in your life where you’ve believed the lie that joy means you’ve stopped caring?

• What memory can you honor today without feeling guilty about moving forward?

• Where might God be quietly inviting joy back into your life?

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Faith doesn’t rush healing. But it reminds us that sorrow is not the end of the story.

Challenge for the Week: Write down one memory of someone or something you’ve lost. Thank God for that memory. Then ask Him to help you carry both—the love that remains and the joy that is still ahead.

🩷 Prayer

Lord, thank you for being near to us in both our joy and our sorrow. You see the places in our hearts that still ache, the memories that bring tears, and the questions we carry in quiet moments.When grief feels heavy, remind us that You are close to the brokenhearted. When joy begins to return, help us receive it without guilt, knowing that healing is a gift from You. Teach us that sorrow and hope can live in the same heart. Help us trust that even in the longest night, Your morning will come. Thank you for the memories that shaped us, the people we loved, and the ways You continue to carry us forward. Give us the strength to hold both—sorrow in one hand and hope in the other. And remind us, Lord, that our story is never finished while You are still writing it. Amen.