“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)
It’s a verse I’d rather skip. Maybe you feel the same.
Count trials a joy?
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.
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? Anticipating joy does not mean the trial isn’t hard. But a “count it all joy” mindset means we understand that inside our trials, we gain more of Him.
It’s a big ask. Yet, as I write this, I find myself on the other side of a quietly held chapter of extended pain. I had no idea the depth of woundedness that waited dormant. I didn’t see it coming. But years of counseling and intentional heart work with Jesus guided me from unawareness to acceptance to restoration inside my soul for a situation that still sits unresolved and unrestored.
The work that Jesus did in the deep places found me holding armfuls of the strangest newfound sense of peace.
At the bottom of my wounds, I found an opening, like a frosted window, that softened the view of the pain.
As He renewed my mind and transformed my heart, my view through the window grew softer in layers. The hurt sits deep, but its initial angry, thorny red melted, changing to a bleeding magenta and then to a pale, almost-white pink, as it continues to be covered by peace and love.
It isn’t fixed. It isn’t over. And He holds my heart in it still.
I suspect that this is a picture of steadfastness, as James describes. I used to think being steadfast looked like a stalwart soldier standing firm, with a resolute hardness.
But maybe steadfastness has rounded, wise edges and layers of softness that receive heartache, like my great-grandmother’s apron. Maybe counting it all joy means sitting with the layers that come in trials, asking God to soften, soften, soften.
Jesus tells us, “I am the vine,” and He instructs us to abide in Him and His love, to keep His commandments. And when we do that, His joy remains in us – and our joy may be full. Complete. (John 15:12)
I know this to be true because as we abide with Him and in Him, our view changes. We step towards His joy, perfection, and completeness—even in pain, trials, and places that won’t be restored this side of heaven.
He holds us in a soft place.
He gives us His joy in grief.
He offers peace inside the pain.
He turns mourning to dancing.
All is gift.
“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)