I Got Joy for Days

There are days when the world just feels heavy. Days when you wake up already tired, when your heart feels like it’s dragging behind you, and the smallest things feel like mountains you can’t climb. You look around, and everyone else seems to be moving forward while you’re standing still, trying to make sense of what went wrong. You feel left behind, unseen, and maybe even a little forgotten. You’re sick and tired of feeling sick and tired—emotionally worn, spiritually drained, just trying to breathe in a world that feels too loud.

You tell yourself you’ll push through, but there are moments when even that feels like too much. You want to hit reset, to go back to a time when things made sense, when life didn’t feel like such an uphill climb. Some days you just want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and hide from it all. But that’s when I’ve learned something simple and true: when the world feels too heavy, look up.

Just look up.

Because the moment you lift your eyes off the mess, something shifts. When you set your mind on things above—on the One who holds your heart, your past, and your future—the chaos starts to lose its grip. Heaven has this way of realigning what earth tries to distort. You remember that you are loved—fully, unconditionally, eternally loved. And in that reminder, you realize that even though nothing feels right, you are still held by the One who never changes.

You are not alone. You are not forgotten. You are not behind. You are exactly where grace can find you.

When you look up, you see that God is still on the throne. He’s still writing your story, still working all things together for good, even when the page you’re on feels painful. The things that felt impossible begin to look different when you remember who your Father is. You’ll never see anything the same once your eyes are fixed on Him. Because the truth is, He’s not asking you to have it all together—He’s just asking you to lift your gaze.

And that’s where the miracle begins.

That’s why I dance like Fred Astaire, even though I’ve got no rhythm. I don’t dance because life is perfect; I dance because I’m free. I dance because grace gave me back my footing when the ground fell away. I dance because I know who caught me when I stumbled. It’s not about being graceful—it’s about being grateful. It’s about letting joy move through me, even when sorrow tries to stay.

That’s why I sing no matter where I am. In the car, in the shower, in the kitchen, in the dark. Not because my voice is perfect, but because my soul remembers what it feels like to be redeemed. I sing because I have a reason for living—something bigger than me, bigger than pain, bigger than this world. My song isn’t about how good life feels; it’s about how good God is.

I’ve got grace—grace that saves, grace that sustains, grace that keeps showing up even when I don’t deserve it. Grace that meets me in the morning when I don’t want to get out of bed. Grace that whispers, “You’re still mine.” Grace that carries me when I’ve run out of strength. That kind of grace changes everything—it’s not just forgiveness, it’s fuel. It’s the breath that fills my lungs when I thought I’d forgotten how to breathe.

And I’ve got joy—deep, quiet, unshakable joy. Not the kind the world sells, not the kind that depends on everything going right, but the kind that comes from knowing who holds me when everything goes wrong. I’ve got joy that laughs through tears, joy that dances through pain, joy that doesn’t make sense but never runs out.

Joy for days.

Because joy isn’t a feeling—it’s a foundation. It’s built on the truth that no matter what happens, I am loved, I am seen, and I am redeemed. It’s knowing that even in my weakest moments, God is still strong. It’s remembering that He has never failed me—and He’s not about to start now.

So yes, there will be days when I still feel alone, when the weight of the world tries to pull me down again. But I know where to look. I’ll lift my eyes. I’ll remember I’m loved. I’ll remind my heart that grace is still enough. And then—I’ll dance. I’ll sing. I’ll smile, even if my voice cracks or my steps falter, because I’ve got something this world can’t take away.

I’ve got grace that saves and joy that stays.

And that’s enough to keep me moving, to keep me praising, to keep me hoping.

So when life gets hard, and you feel forgotten, don’t give up. Just look up. Because when your eyes meet His, everything changes. The pain might still be there, but so is peace. The struggle might not vanish, but neither will His strength. You’ll find yourself standing again, breathing again, maybe even dancing again—not because life got easier, but because His grace carried you through.

That’s the beauty of faith. It turns the weary into worshipers. It turns the broken into believers. It turns every valley into a place where joy grows wild.

So if you see me dancing like Fred Astaire, just know it’s not about rhythm—it’s about redemption. If you hear me singing off-key, it’s not because I’m carefree—it’s because I’m cared for. I’ve got grace that holds me and joy that won’t let go.

And I promise you this: if you lift your eyes and set your mind on things above, you’ll find that same joy too. You’ll find that same grace. You’ll remember you’re loved. And once you do, you’ll never see anything the same again.