There have been seasons when disappointment seemed to arrive faster than I could process it.
One thing would happen.
Then another.
Then something else.
After a while, I started thinking about something I had worried about years earlier in a completely different part of my life:
I don’t want my heart to become jaded.
I first remember thinking about that in my auditing career.
When your work requires you to examine problems, identify exceptions, question discrepancies, and sometimes consider the possibility of fraud, it would be easy to begin approaching everyone as though they’re dishonest.
I didn’t want that.
Later, after relationships ended with hurt and disappointment, I found myself thinking about it again.
I didn’t want painful experiences with some people to convince me that connection itself was unsafe.
And after walking through a particularly difficult season of life, the concern returned in another form.
I didn’t want experiencing so much pain to train me to notice only pain.
Because after enough disappointment, it’s easy to start expecting the next one.
Something goes wrong and you think:
Of course.
Here we go again.
And the difficult part is that sometimes you’re not imagining it.
Things really have been hard.
So what do you do with that?
Paying Attention Honestly
I’ve been learning that joy and gladness don’t require me to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.
I don’t have to rush past disappointment.
I don’t have to call something good when it hurt me.
And I don’t have to manufacture gratitude because I think that’s what a faithful person is supposed to feel.
I’ve learned to treat my emotions more like information.
If something makes me angry, sad, afraid, disappointed, or frustrated, I can pay attention.
What is this telling me?
Did something hurt?
Do I need to speak up?
Is there something I can do?
Do I need support?
Or is this one of those situations where I’ve done what I can and now I have to wait?
The emotion can tell me something without becoming somewhere I have to live indefinitely.
I’m learning to let it inform me and, when I’m ready, allow it to move on.
That matters to me because my energy is limited.
I have to be increasingly intentional about what receives it.
And I’ve realized that the same is true of my attention.
Nothing Happens Before Its Time
Patience has never exactly been my strongest spiritual gift. 😆
My mother has reminded me for years:
“Nothing happens before its time.”
I cannot tell you that hearing this magically made me patient.
Apparently, repetition was required. 😂
But recently, something happened that made me realize how deeply her words had settled into me.
We were talking about circumstances I’ve been waiting to see resolved, and this time I reminded her of what she had always told me.
Nothing happens before its time.
Her response was simple.
Essentially:
Yeah. You got it.
And that little exchange meant something to me.
The lesson hadn’t changed.
But somewhere along the way, it had become mine.
I’m still learning patience. I still want answers. I still want resolution.
But I’m getting better at recognizing the difference between something that requires action from me and something I simply cannot make happen faster.
I can ask questions.
I can advocate for myself.
I can seek clarity.
I can make another attempt when something doesn’t seem right.
I can do what’s mine to do.
And eventually I may reach the boundary of my own control.
Then?
I wait.
I don’t particularly enjoy that part. 😆
But waiting doesn’t require me to put the rest of my life on hold.
When the Circumstances Haven’t Changed
This is something I’ve found particularly interesting about joy lately:
Some of the external circumstances haven’t changed very much.
Some difficulties are still present.
Some things are changing gradually.
Some things remain unresolved.
There are things I still wish were different.
And yet, I’ve noticed a change in what I’m able to appreciate while I wait.
Sometimes it’s incredibly simple.
A pleasant interaction with someone.
Feeling heard.
Being taken seriously.
Recognizing that I spoke up for myself instead of dismissing my own concern.
Talking with someone I love.
Laughing until my stomach hurts.
Having a conversation where I can express what I’m actually thinking and feel understood.
Realizing that something I’ve experienced might help another person feel a little less alone in theirs.
None of those things resolves everything else.
They don’t have to.
I’ve spent enough time documenting exceptions as an auditor to recognize what happens when we only look for evidence of what’s wrong. 😆
If I document every disappointment and ignore every moment of kindness, connection, progress, beauty, relief, or laughter, I’m not necessarily seeing my life more honestly.
My sample is incomplete.
And apparently, we’re auditing joy now. 😂
Both Belong
There are things I grieve that I wish were different.
And something else in my life can still be worthy of gratitude.
I’ve had to learn that both can be true without forcing either one to disappear.
Gratitude doesn’t need to erase grief.
Joy doesn’t prove that something didn’t hurt.
Laughter doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what made me cry.
And a difficult season doesn’t require every moment within it to be difficult.
Both belong.
For me, learning to notice joy again has meant widening my attention.
Not away from reality.
Toward more of it.
There is pain here.
What else is here?
There is uncertainty here.
What else is here?
I’m tired.
What else is here?
Sometimes the answer is small.
But small doesn’t mean insignificant.
Sacred Pause
Think about the season you’re currently living through.
Has something difficult become so prominent that it’s harder to notice what else is present?
You don’t need to minimize it.
Acknowledge what hurts.
Then, without asking that pain to disappear, look around it.
What else is true?
Where have you experienced kindness?
What has made you laugh?
Who has made you feel seen?
Is anything changing, even slowly?
Is there something you can appreciate without requiring it to compensate for what you’ve lost?
And if you’re waiting for something you cannot make happen any faster:
What is still available to you while you wait?
Scripture for the Season
“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”
— Psalm 126:5
Tears and joy appear in the same passage.
Maybe that’s worth noticing.
Our lives don’t always divide themselves neatly into seasons where we only grieve and seasons where we only rejoice.
Sometimes both belong to the same stretch of road.
Carry This With You
I’m learning that noticing joy isn’t the same thing as denying pain.
It’s paying attention honestly.
My circumstances don’t have to become perfect before I allow myself to appreciate something good.
I can respond to what needs my attention.
I can speak when I need to speak.
I can act when something is mine to do.
I can wait when waiting is all that’s available to me.
And while I’m living through all of it, I can remain attentive to the moments that remind me life contains more than what hurts.
I’m not interested in performing joy.
I want to recognize it when it’s actually here.
To let myself experience it.
To be grateful for it.
And perhaps, after a season that has given me plenty of reasons to become jaded, simply remaining willing to notice goodness is part of how I keep my heart open.
