Taking Our Joy Back
Last week, Angelina and I were running behind one morning—nothing major, just one of those days where time seemed to slip faster than we could catch it. I could feel myself getting tense, already counting the minutes until we’d be late for school. But instead of rushing through and stressing us both out, I ushered us into the car and hit reset. I turned the radio up and put on Angelina’s favorite playlist.
For anyone new here, Angelina is our six-year-old—creative, sensitive, and full of big questions about life and faith. A few weeks ago, she and I lost our best girl—our sweet dog, Abby. This has been Angelina’s first real experience with grief, and I’ve watched her process it in ways that are both tender and full of faith.
As we got closer to school, Take It All Back by Tauren Wells came through the speakers, and I could see Angelina’s face change in the mirror. From the driver’s seat, I watched her singing from the back, eyes closed like she meant every syllable.
She told me that the angels are fighting with her so she doesn’t stay sad about losing Abby. And when she sings those words, she means them. You can see her taking her joy back—one lyric, one moment of worship at a time.
So when the song came on, I didn’t hurry her out of the car. It didn’t matter that we only had four minutes until the bell rang. I gave her space to share both the grief and the joy in her heart. I turned the volume up. We jammed together for a few extra minutes before school drop-off—hands waving, voices loud, laughter bubbling up between the notes. It wasn’t quiet or reverent, but it was holy.
It was one of those rare, sacred glimpses of faith in motion—grief and joy woven together, held by the same small heart learning that God is big enough for both.
That’s the part of faith I never want her to forget: that even in loss, we can take back what the enemy tries to steal. We can reclaim peace. We can dance again. We can sing louder than our sadness.
And sometimes, that starts in a car line, with a little girl reminding her mama what it means to worship through the messy, beautiful middle.
Ink It Out
Sometimes faith looks like fighting for joy. Sometimes it looks like singing through the sadness until your heart remembers how to find peace again.
Journal Prompts:
What’s something the enemy has tried to steal from your heart—joy, peace, hope—and how can you take it back today?
Where have you seen faith rise up in unexpected places, even in moments of grief?
How can you make space for worship in the middle of your ordinary routine?
Scripture to carry with you:
“The joy of the Lord is your strength.” — Nehemiah 8:10
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” — Exodus 14:14
