Introduction

Joy is a funny thing.

It’s often confused with happiness, excitement, or celebration—but biblical joy is something deeper, sturdier, and more surprising. Especially when it shows up in places where it doesn’t seem to belong.

That’s why this week’s Advent theme—Joy—has been sitting with me in a new way.

Isaiah describes it beautifully in a passage that Christians have been reading during Advent for centuries. Here it is from The Message:

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light.
For those who lived in a land of deep shadows—
light! sunbursts of light!

You repopulated the nation,
you expanded its joy.
Oh, they’re so glad in your presence!
Festival joy!
The joy of a great celebration,
sharing rich gifts and warm greetings.
—Isaiah 9:2–3 (MSG)

Joy here doesn’t come after everything is fixed.
It comes in the midst of darkness, right as the light breaks in.

That’s an important distinction.

Stepping from Darkness into Light

One of the clearest pictures of this kind of joy comes from an unexpected place: blindness.

In Acts 26, the Apostle Paul recounts his conversion—back when he was still Saul. On the road to Damascus, Jesus interrupts Saul’s life so completely that Saul is struck blind. Ironically, it’s in losing his physical sight that Saul finally steps from darkness into light.

Jesus explains His mission to Saul this way:

“I am sending you to them to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God…”
—Acts 26:18 (NIV)

Saul thought he was doing everything right.
He thought he was a “good man.”
He thought he could see clearly.

But it turned out he was blind to the very truth he needed most.

That story resonates deeply with me—because I see myself in it.

When “Good Enough” Isn’t Enough

I became a follower of Christ when I was 15 years old. Up until that point, I thought of myself as a good guy.

By my standards—and by the world’s standards—I was doing fine.

I wasn’t mean.
I didn’t cheat, steal, or lie (much).
I tried to be decent.
I might even support a righteous cause or two.

And I know I’m not alone. I meet a lot of people who live in that space.

I think that’s why Jesus once said:

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
—Mark 2:17 (NIV)

I don’t think Jesus meant that some people don’t need saving.

I think He was using holy irony.

We all need a doctor—but only those who recognize their sickness will go looking for one.

For me, that recognition was stepping from darkness into light.

It happened at Forest Home Christian Conference Center in the mountains of Southern California. I remember buying a t-shirt that said “Aslan Is Near”—a reference to C.S. Lewis’s Christ figure in The Chronicles of Narnia.

Like Saul, my life would never be the same.

A Winding Path—and a Faithful God

That doesn’t mean my life suddenly became neat, tidy, or predictable.

Far from it.

My journey with Christ has been hilly, rocky, and full of sharp turns.

As a kid, I wanted to be either a professional hockey player or a writer.

God had other ideas.

A serious knee injury my senior year of high school effectively ended my hockey dream. At the time, it felt devastating. Looking back, I think God knew that life might have consumed me in ways that would have crowded out other callings—like marriage, family, and faith.

As for writing? The jury’s still out.

I’ve written a few complete manuscripts. None have been published, although I came close with one. I have ideas for more, including one I’m working on now. For the moment, God seems to be inviting me to use this gift here—writing words of encouragement, pointing others toward hope and faith.

It’s not how I imagined things.
But I’m learning that God is far more interested in advancing His Kingdom than in fulfilling my carefully crafted career plans.

My job is faithfulness.
His job is outcomes.

Learning to Rejoice Anyway

Fast forward to today.

My life doesn’t look like I once thought it would—and I’m genuinely grateful for that.

I’ve experienced twists and turns I would never have chosen for myself, but they’ve shaped me into who I am and led me exactly where I am now. Along the way, I’ve learned something simple and profound:

There is nothing more lasting in life than to love and be loved.

Does that mean life is easy?
That I’ve figured it all out?

Absolutely not.

But it does mean that with Christ as the bedrock of my life, I’ve learned how to rejoice even when things are burning down around me.

That kind of joy shows up in unexpected ways—little Easter eggs of grace that remind me God is near. They strengthen me.

A Song That Taught Me How to Rejoice

This idea of rejoicing in the midst of it all always brings me back to the Christmas hymn “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”

Years ago, God dragged me (gently… and not so gently) out of my comfort zone and dropped me into the praise band at church. One Christmas, we sang this song for the congregation.

What struck me—rehearsal after rehearsal—was how somber it is. It’s written in a minor key.

The verses sound almost like a funeral dirge.
Heavy.
Pensive.
Mournful.

And then comes the chorus:

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee…

Even then, it’s not a bubbly, carefree joy.
It’s a defiant joy.
A joy that exists because things are hard, not because they’re easy.

That’s been true in my own life.

Sometimes my song sounds like those verses—quiet, reflective, weighted by loss or uncertainty.
Other times, it sounds like Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”

And sometimes?
The best I can do is a trembling, imperfect “Rejoice,” in a minor key.

But even that is enough.

Joy Rooted in Light

Whatever the season, I can rejoice because I know this:

God stepped into my darkness.
He opened my eyes.
He led me into His marvelous light.
And He has never stopped walking with me since.

That’s the joy of Advent.

Not joy because everything is fixed.
But joy because the Light has come—and the darkness will not win.

So in the midst of it all…

I rejoice. Even sometimes in a minor key.