I’ll preface with this – I owe a great deal to Ann Voskamp this season.

I’m not always great at choosing a word for the year, but sometimes the Lord lets a word choose me. In 2022, it was hope, and I watched God lead me out of dark seasons and into brighter places of His hope. It was the word I needed for the year. And as my year of hope came to an end, I began praying and pondering about 2023. What would my word be? What was God looking to do?

As the Christmas songs played, one word and phrase stood out: Rejoice! Rejoice; Emmanuel has come to thee, O Israel. Rejoice. What a powerful word, and I felt the Lord impressing it on my spirit: 2023 would be a year of rejoicing.

Another phrase that the Lord was speaking to me during our church’s 21 days of prayer and fasting was the discipline of slow. He was calling me to slow my achieving and my striving so that I could learn how to worship and honor Him through stillness. As a busy season at the church loomed ahead, I was careful with my commitments and even dropped one of my graduate courses to make space for slow and for the relationships that mattered most to me.

In January, I felt that I had so much to rejoice over. Life was good, my relationships were thriving, and God was answering my prayers. Though December was difficult due to changes we were trying with my medication, I balanced out and deeply enjoyed the slowness of the month before the coming fast pace. I was blown away by the many blessings God was giving me. Yes – I was rejoicing.

In February, my body betrayed me again. I spent 10-14 days in a depressive cycle before dealing with 5-7 days of an energetic uptick. In the middle of the spiral of my emotions, I lost a relationship I valued dearly. I was distraught. God, why are You doing this to me? I can’t see what You’re doing…what are You doing?

Prior to this loss, I’d been working my way through an Ann Voskamp book, her One Thousand Gifts devotional. I’ve gone through the book several times already – it’s that good. This time there were two passages that stuck out to me.

One was day 45: Joyous Grace. Here, Voskamp recounts her journey to recognizing joy in frustrating and painful places. The quote which struck me to the core was this: “Only self can kill joy. I’m the one doing this to me. . . . I accept the gift of now as it is – accept God – for I can’t be receptive to God unless I receive what He gives.”

Only self can kill joy.

I’m the one doing this to me.

These words stuck with me and have stuck with me for the past month as I’ve chewed them, pondered them, and attempted to live them.

Towards the end of my depressive dip, right after reading these words, I had the opportunity to attend our Young Adults retreat. I was honestly overstimulated and exhausted from all that my body was putting me through. I wasn’t experiencing God’s presence the way I was hoping to; I was simply tired.

During worship in the evening session, I was crying out to God. Lord: I don’t know what’s happening in me. I don’t understand the deep sorrow and grief I feel inside. I don’t know what’s broken. The imagery I sensed was that of dropping my car keys where they can’t be reached, or of dark, cobwebby corners in a basement that need light and a broom to touch them and make them livable again. Lord – please reach into the darkness with me. Do what only You can do.

During the altar call, I was prompted to pray with a dear friend. We knelt on the floor as she prayed passionately for my healing and for God’s breakthrough, both of us crying through it. I felt an unexplainable shift in my mind and emotions; God was doing what I asked, stepping into the darkness and bringing freedom to the places that I couldn’t reach (not even with all the therapy and reading and medication in the world). The battle isn’t over, but there was certainly a shift that day.

The next day, I felt my dreams crumbling around me as I lost something precious. God, what are you doing? Why does life always have to be so hard? I’ve shed many tears over the past month, and I haven’t always been able to rejoice. Rejoice – what a joke, right? How can I rejoice when I’ve lost the only thing I ever wanted?

But the more I prayed and processed, the more I realized that I had been given a gift greater than any dream. This loss had brought me face-to-face with a choice: would I choose God, or would I choose my dream? Would I trust Him and love Him more than I loved what I thought I wanted?

And I did. I chose Him. And that is worth the price of admission.

There’s more to share on this story, and I will. But one of the deepest lessons I have learned this month is this.

God is in every moment, so joy is in every moment. All I have to do, as Voskamp writes, is give in to it. There have been moments when my heart is aching and my middle feels like it’s been sucked out of my chest, and I sing worship songs to remind myself that God is in control. Pacing my room, sobbing, I’ve eked out, “There has to be joy here. There has to be joy here.” I’ve said out loud, “Thank You for grief, Lord. Thank You for what You’re doing in me through this.” And, as Voskamp notes elsewhere in her book, “It will never like this again.” This situation, this opportunity for growth, will never come my way exactly the same. I want God to accomplish everything in me and through me that He would desire. Nothing is wasted. All is joy.

There is reason to rejoice here. Not the reasons I expected; but these reasons are much richer than I could have imagined.

And guess what?

The year isn’t over yet.