Chosen

Grief and joy. It’s strange how the two cannot only coexist, but actually thrive alongside one another. Lately, they’ve both made their home in me.

After losing my dad, I’ve walked through wave after wave of sorrow—and what has felt like relentless spiritual warfare. I’ve felt kicked while I was already down. Fear has gripped me in moments I thought I had overcome it. I’ve asked God, “How could anything else go wrong?” and somehow things have. I’ve started to wondered is it silly to keep hoping? Is it naive to believe so deeply in the redemptive power of God when it feels like everything around me is unraveling?

Yet, somehow, there’s still joy.

Not the surface level kind. Not the kind that’s dependent on good days, rest, or things going “right”. This joy in me is deeper. It’s the joy Paul wrote about in 2 Corinthians 6:10 “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing”. It’s a joy that sits quietly beside grief without being threatened by it.

Since losing my dad, I gave birth to my daughter. Her arrival was joy filled and celebrated, yet it came with a deep ache. I’m filled with awe and gratitude as I hold her in my arms, yet there’s a weight in my chest that won’t lift. She’ll never meet my dad. 

Is my son, who once ran to his grandpa with squeals of excitement, starting to forget the details? This thought guts me. I grieve what’s lost – but I also rejoice in what was. I’m thankful I got to see my dad as a grandpa. I got to witness how much he adored his grandson. There is grief in knowing he won’t be here to watch my daughter grow up – or see my brother become a father himself in just a few short days. But I hold tight to a hope that goes beyond this life. As 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says, “we do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope”. My dad is healed. Whole. With Jesus. That truth changes everything. It doesn’t erase the ache. But it transforms it.

There’s a strange tension in my heart right now, heavy with grief and light with joy. It’s as if the two emotions, instead of canceling each other out, are creating something sacred. Something only the Holy Spirit can produce. Romans 15:13 says, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit”. I think that’s what I’m experiencing. Joy that doesn’t make sense on paper, but is deeply real. Joy that allows me to celebrate new life, even while I mourn what’s been lost. Even when I’m fearful of what the future holds. Joy that allows me to laugh through tears. Joy that doesn’t deny the pain – but declares that pain doesn’t get the final word. The battle is already won. 

Maybe that’s the beauty of following Jesus in the middle of deep loss. We don’t have to hide the grief to have joy. We don’t have to pretend everything is okay to worship. We bring it all – our brokenness, our celebration, our weeping, our rejoicing. We lay it at His feet and He meets us there.

With love,

Ally Bowman