All is Gift: A Reluctant Examination of Holding Joy in Hard Places

Published at Family Christian.

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” (James 1:2-4, ESV)

You know this verse? It’s a verse I’d rather skip. Maybe you feel the same.

Count trials a joy? Know that testing leads to steadfastness?

Not once have I written “be steadfast” on my list of heart longings. And the phrase “Count it all joy” kind of makes me want to stomp my feet. I do like the part that says steadfastness leads to being perfect and complete, lacking in nothing—but maybe without the trials.

Like yours, my list of hard things is long. Trials of so many kinds have emptied countless tissue boxes. As I picture those crumpled tissues and weigh whether or not they add up to joy, I have to say that while I don’t want more trials, I’ve come to know something I didn’t used to know.

How we define “joy” matters.

Joy isn’t always rooted in sunsets, beach walks, and baby giggles. Joy comes in other, less “desirable” places. Teresa of Avila is attributed with saying, “All is gift,” and that is the very mindset that lives tucked inside: “Count it all joy.”

I admit I most appreciate my life during a succession of easy, quiet days where I have my coffee, walk my dog, write or record or edit a podcast, and plan dinner. Trials, then, are the things that negatively interrupt or knock into those “normal” days. As such, I am tempted to assign the routine days as the “good” ones, special days of celebration as “joy” days, and all the hard, unplanned, uninvited days as “bad.”

But “all is gift” means instead of designating days or events as “good” or “bad,” they would all receive the simple designation of “gift.”

You don’t like it, do you? I don’t like it either. It’s stretching my heart as I write it.

C.S. Lewis said, “We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do His best for us; we are wondering how painful His best will turn out to be.” And that might be exactly what I’m thinking right now. Fear sits there, loud.

Can we trust that all is a gift? Can we count it all joy? Does it feel like bumper sticker theology? Or is it possible to enter trials with a heart that watches for the gift?

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