There are seasons when pain takes up so much space that it feels like there’s no room left for anything else. Trauma has a way of doing that. Grief does too. It narrows your vision. It absorbs your attention. And before you know it, everything in your day is filtered through what hurts or what’s missing.
I remember seasons like that in my own healing, when the sadness felt all-consuming.
Not just emotionally, but mentally. I wasn’t just carrying pain — I was living inside it. And with that came a quiet loneliness. Even when people were around, it could feel like no one was really with me in it.
One of the things that helped me during those seasons was something very small. I didn’t call it a tool back then. I didn’t even think of it as anything formal. I just started ending my day by asking myself one simple question: Was there anything today that made me smile, even for a second?
And the truth is, I still do this — almost every day.
Sometimes the answer is obvious. Sometimes it takes a little searching. And sometimes, honestly, it surprises me.
It might be the way the sunlight hit the trees in the morning. A spontaneous hug from one of my kids. A moment of laughter over something ordinary. Nothing big. Nothing that fixed anything. Just a moment that reminded me I was still capable of noticing beauty — and that beauty was still capable of finding me.
At first, I felt conflicted about it.
There’s an unspoken belief many of us carry during grief or trauma: that joy is somehow disloyal. That smiling means we’re minimizing what happened. That laughter is a kind of betrayal — of the person we lost, the pain we endured, or the seriousness of our healing.
But over time, I realized something important.
Noticing a moment of joy wasn’t denying my pain. It wasn’t replacing it. And it certainly wasn’t explaining it away. It was simply acknowledging that pain wasn’t the only thing present in my life.
Those moments became little reminders that I wasn’t as alone as the heaviness made me feel.
Sometimes those moments felt even more personal — like what I’ve come to think of as God’s quiet whispers. I would spend days praying for clarity or comfort, and then something small would happen that made me pause and smile. A conversation. A timing detail. A moment of peace that arrived without announcement. It didn’t answer all my questions, but it felt like a gentle nudge: I’m still here.
That, too, became a joy moment.
Not because everything suddenly made sense — but because presence doesn’t require explanation.
As I look back, I see how important those moments were in my healing. Joy wasn’t the destination. It was a companion along the way. A reminder that even in seasons of deep pain, there are still places where life quietly reaches toward us.
Naming the good that’s still here doesn’t mean we rush past what hurts.
It means we allow space for more than one truth at a time. Pain can be real. Grief can be heavy. And still — something good can exist alongside it.
Sometimes the most healing thing we can do is simply notice.
Tool of the Week: The Joy Moment
How to practice it
At the end of the day — or whenever things slow down — ask yourself one simple question:
Was there anything today that made me smile, even for a second?
That’s it.
Your joy moment might be: – A quiet morning sunrise – A kind word or unexpected hug – A moment of laughter over something ordinary – A sense of peace that showed up without warning
Sometimes it may even feel like a small God-whisper — a subtle reminder that you were seen, heard, or held in ways you didn’t expect.
A gentle reminder
You don’t have to explain your joy. You don’t have to compare it to your pain. And you don’t have to feel guilty for noticing it.
Naming the good that’s still here isn’t betrayal. It’s part of healing.
Optional reflection (no pressure)
You might jot your joy moment down, hold it in prayer, or simply acknowledge it quietly before moving on with your evening.
Even noticing it once matters.
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Pray • Share • Give
If this reflection encouraged you, would you take a moment to:
– Pray — that Faith in the Fog finds its way into the hands of those who need its message of hope and healing and that I listen to God’s voice in all that I do.
– Share — this post with someone who might need the reminder that they’re not walking alone.
– Give — if you’d like to help make it possible for Faith in the Fog to reach those who need help navigating the fog of healing, you can do that here.
