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Please join me in welcoming Danita Janae to the blog, as she guest posts about finding joy in God’s word, even if at first it irritates you.

Something you and Lauren and I have in common is our quest to find joy even in the face of chronic illness, depression, and plenty of other trials. But to be honest with you, I used to detest that verse that says, “Count it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds because the testing of your faith will produce perseverance,” James 1:2-3. That verse annoyed me. Why? Because if I read something in God’s Word, then I believe it’s true. And whenever I read something in God’s Word that doesn’t line up with my experience, it aggravates me. But in a good way. Bare with me here.

That aggravation is so much like what makes a pearl at the bottom of the sea. Stay with me. A tiny speck of irritation rubs and rubs against the inside of an oyster until it transforms into a little round reflection of the very thing it was irritating. Are you tracking? It’s like when I come to God’s Word, His radiant, luminescent, transcending Word, sometimes it irritates me. Like how “hot and cold should not come out of the same mouth.” I’m going to rub up against that Word because it irritates my flesh. But the glory of God is that you become Who you hang out with. So, the more you hang out with God’s word, the more He rubs off on you, and eventually, you become like Him. How do we “be holy as He is holy?” How do we find that “peace that passes understanding” and that “joy unspeakable” that everyone talks about?

It’s attainable. She found joy, (wink, wink) and I found it too. But the road to getting there wasn’t anything like I expected. I didn’t find joy when my physical illnesses were miraculously healed. I didn’t find joy when my mental illnesses were miraculously healed. I didn’t find joy when my mind was delivered from a butt-load of oppressive thoughts. I feel joyful thanks to each of these amazing works of God, but that’s not where I found joy. I first found joy in the trials, then later it was just a bonus to find joy again in the miracles. Because joy is not a thing to attain, it’s a Person to get to know. Joy is the Person of Jesus Christ.

The Road to Joy Is the Road to Trust

And here’s what I realized. Jesus doesn’t jump out of a birthday box on the day of healing and say, “Ta da!! You’re healed so you can have joy now!” Nope.

He is also there when you are bawling on your bathroom floor and kicking in the wall because you feel like this illness is never going to end. He is also there when you want to just take your life because you feel like what’s the point of enduring one more day?

Joy comes and sits down with you in that moment. And you get to decide how you will answer one basic question.

“Do you trust Me?” 

Your answer to that question is going to determine the level of joy in your life.

This transcends circumstances. Joy isn’t about circumstances. I’ve been through enough heartache and grief and depression to confirm that joy is not about circumstances.

Does that sound a little audacious to say such a thing? That the level of your joy is determined by how you answer one question? “Can you trust God?” Here’s my foundation for saying this. I have lived and experienced Romans 15:13 through my husband’s deployment, through heartache, through depression, and all kinds of trials. I clung to this Word. I rubbed up against it until it became a core part of my countenance and my identity:

“May the God of all hope fill you will all joy and peace as you trust in Him so that you may overflow in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit,” (Romans 15:13).

Isn’t that what everyone is after? Some hope and joy and peace? People are trying through their workouts, their social feeds, their coffee addictions, their pictures of unicorns and rainbows.  People are trying. We all want some hope and joy and peace. But I’m telling you. It was the trials and the sufferings that actually brought me to the place of joy and the Person of Joy. The key words for me in this verse are “AS YOU TRUST IN HIM.” Every time I write it out, I draw an arrow under those words, “as you trust” that points to “in Him.” As you trust in Him. That is the road to joy. It’s the road of trust.

So, let’s talk a little about that trust. It’s not a grit-your-teeth-and-bare-it type of thing here. It’s not a by-golly-I’m-gonna-do-this. Because see what it says, “by the power of the Holy Spirit.” That means it’s not on you. It’s His power that gets you to this place. Let’s rest in that right off the bat, shall we?

I believe the precursor to joy is vulnerability. And I believe that vulnerability and shame are in a war against each other within you. If shame wins, it squelches the joy. If vulnerability wins, trust grows, and as promised, the God of all hope fills you up with joy and peace as you trust in Him.

So, what does that look like in real life? It looks like being honest with God about what parts of His promises offend your way of thinking. That’s vulnerable. That’s an act of trusting God with your whole heart and where you’re really at, not pretending to be where you think you should be. It’s about being honest with God about your doubts. Did you know that telling God you have doubts is an act of faith? You demonstrate faith in God’s goodness and faithfulness to you to meet you in your place of doubt and to have to power to help you overcome it. That’s faith.

My challenge to you? This week, take note of where God’s truth irritates your flesh and your experiences. Take note and be honest with God about it. Quit pretending, stuffing, or saying, “I shouldn’t feel this way.” Be vulnerable and offer even those places of your heart and emotions to the Lord. Then, you have set your heart on the vulnerable path of trusting the Lord that will lead you to greater peace and joy.

Prayer: Lord God, help me be honest with you. Break down shame and facades that keep me from being vulnerable with you. Help me trust you more and fill me with all joy and all peace as I do so. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

Wanna go a little deeper with this? I’m sharing a real-life, practical example of how this plays out. A pretty vulnerable story about how being honest with my self-worth led me down the path to Joy. I’d love for you to stop by www.SplatterJoy.com, my little online home. We can pick up the rest of the conversation there.

Thanks for having me pop in, Lauren. You are a joy to me!

Today, I am thrilled to introduce you to my friend and fellow author, Jami Amerine, whose second book, Sacred Ground Sticky Floors: How Less-Than-Perfect Parents Can Raise (Kind of) Great Kids, releases this Tuesday, Oct. 2 (the same day as the first She Found Joy Lades Night Out 2018 National Tour event … oh happy day!!!). I really think Jami’s guest post is going to encourage your heart today, and I know her book will speak to your soul and help you keep finding the miracle in the mayhem of life. (Spoiler alert: That miracle is the love and grace of Jesus.)

What is this illogical beast I have created?  When did I first believe that God thought I was a red-hot mess? I mean, I know I am a red-hot mess … and obviously, He knows, I know, well, you know.  I am left to ponder the parable of the prodigal son.  But truly, the prodigal isn’t the issue.  The other brother is.

I imagine the silence of a house with a son gone.  I have experienced this, on a couple of levels. Our son, Luke, had to be sent away for a season. I know, it sounds as awful as it was.  At the time, we would have done anything to save him… from himself.  Now, he is 18, that season well behind us.  He loves to wrestle with our two youngest sons, Sam, 6 and Charlie, 4. He cooks, and he cleans, we watch movies and he texts me and says, “Hey, I love you mom.”

 And he has had opportunities to leave and go live with friends or travel, but he loves being home.  A prayer answered.  Our other son, John, is 20 and a Marine.  Yeah, a Marine.  His absence is deafening.  And truth be told, he won’t be back. He is engaged and madly in love with the red head he’s like-liked since the fifth grade.  He will always be my son, but I know, it will never be the same.  And yes, this is okay.  It was to be expected. But I won’t lie, I miss the days when he was home, eating all the cheese and wrestling with his brothers.

I am afforded modern technological advances that make communication easier, but I can’t imagine what it would be like, to have no idea. And that is how I picture this man’s house, the infamous father of the prodigal son.  His wife dissolved to tears of worry and loss.  The other son, desperate to make up for the disappointments his brother inflicted on the household.

I have created images of a warm afternoon.  Olive trees bulging with ripe fruit. Bees and butterflies darting about the wildflowers. Birds adding to the fragrance and delight of a perfect mid-day chorus. Livestock lazily grazing in the fields. A babbling brook and an aged well, sheep and chickens napping in the sun. And, just up the hill a large stucco home sits high, the sea just barely in view.  And it is then he is spotted.  Servants rush to the house and the father, so delighted to know his boy is okay, runs out the door barking orders for a feast, desperate to hold his man-child, and welcome him home.

Most certainly you know the rest; the other son begins to stew.  He goes about his chores, madly and aggressively slamming things about.  He was doing everything right, and no one ever celebrated him.  When his father inquires, “what is wrong?” He lashes out at the injustices he feels he’s faced. And the father’s learned response, “All I have is yours son?”

And this sums up how I viewed God.  I did all the things. We adopted and fostered babies, I made organic spinach smoothies, and I rarely cussed. I taught Sunday school and volunteered.  We paid our tithes and did not cheat, steal, or lie.  Yet I felt jilted, as if I was being ignored.  Bad things happened, and I submitted to the belief God was “teaching me something.” I repented and begged, convinced I was the worst, a prodigal daughter who shifted back and forth in the receipt of my inheritance.

Truly, although I neglected to acknowledge Him as honest, I doubted He could really love a wretch like me. I never left and piddled away my inheritance. No, I just sulked, miserable that things weren’t better, fairer.  All along I wandered the halls of a sacred home, a place where He dwells, believing fully in my squalor.

“All that I have is yours…”

And I cannot regret the time I missed.  The banquet hall I stood outside of, wishing to partake but too busy trying to earn my place. In my hand I imagine the hand-written invitation lovingly signed, Abba.

This was the heavy burden of a walk with a condemning and demanding God.  Most often I consider what it is like to just be with my children. Their invitation to be my child was an organic passage sealed only in love.  In Luke’s hardest season, I was most in tune with how much I craved a peaceful existence, how much I missed his sincerity, his dimples and easy laugh. I craved his company and longed to just watch movies and visit. When he returned, there was no begging for repentance, I was entirely relieved he was home.

Simultaneously, John was a delight. But I cannot recall him ever asking, “am I still your son?” His place in our family is secure. He is our boy, err… Marine. For a season, as I exposed the message of grace, and the truth of my inheritance as daughter, these images were most intense and concentrated.  Not one of my children, whether honor roll or paroled have asked, “Am I still your child?” When they have succeeded they have never run to me and said, “Do you love me more now?” Moreover, when they have stumbled or failed, they have never approached me afraid to ask, “Do you still love me?”

This is most paramount in a relationship with anyone.  Conditional love, one that can be bought or traded for something better, that is a love I have no interest in pursuing.  Still, I believed in a performance-based relationship with the God who died for me.  Here among the fatigued and broken believers I propose we are standing outside the banquet hall, bartering for a ticket.

“All that I have is yours…”

Come to the Table

Come in.  Sit at the table with the God who heard your name as He was brutalized and answered “Yes.” For her, if it was only her, I will do this, so I can be with her forever.  Bought and paid for, the yes, you murmured to the Jesus who died earned you a place at the table.  No matter the calamity, failure, accolade, or misfortune He is with you and for you. 

No longer do I live as the son down the hill, trekking his way back to the father he rejected. I live as the son down the hall, with all the right and privileges of my birthright. I am His girl.  I needn’t ask or strive or crave His sweet company… All He has is mine and all that I am is He who died.

Welcome to the table dear one, the feast has only just begun. 

“All I have is yours, and all you have is mine. And glory has come to me through them.” John 17:10

About Jami
She is the wife of Justin, mom to Maggie, John (Marine-baby), Luke, Sophie, Sam & Charlie (the vandals.) She love words, chocolate, coffee, painting and Real Jesus. Jami and Justin have been married for 25 years… the original 4 babies are their biological children and then they started all over with foster care and adoption adding the new batch. They recently moved from their ranch in West Texas to the Houston area just in time for the launch of her first book, Stolen Jesus: An Unconventional Search for the Real Savior.

About Her New Book
From 9/17/18-9/30/18 if you pre-order Sacred Ground Sticky Floors from this link https://amzn.to/2PMnJlt and then EMAIL maggie@sacredgroundstickyfloors.com you’ll be entered to win an autographed copy of Stolen Jesus, an autographed copy of Made Like Martha by Katie M. Reid, a Sacred Ground Sticky Floors coffee mug, a $25 Starbucks card, and a $134 Luxury Bath Package from LUSH cosmetics!