When my daughter Abigail was born, I did what many fathers do—I researched her name. In Western contexts, Abigail is often translated as "Father's Joy," which is beautiful enough. But the deeper etymology tells a richer story.
Abigail comes from two Hebrew words: Avi (father) and Gael (joy). The meaning isn't "Father's Joy" as in something the father possesses. It's "Her Father is Joy." Yahweh is Joy. Joy isn't a character trait He possesses—it's who He is.
That distinction has stayed with me.
I'm writing this from Southeast Asia, where I've traveled to visit my father in South India. He's 91 now, facing the realities that come with age—health challenges, the slow loss of muscle mass, the quiet indignities of a body that no longer cooperates the way it once did. Watching him navigate this season has stirred something in me. In the midst of the anxieties that accompany these visits—the weight of distance, the uncertainty of time, the ache of watching a parent grow frail—my mind keeps returning to this question of joy. Not as an escape from what I'm feeling, but as an anchor through it.
Some Thoughts on Joy
Joy isn't dependent on your circumstances being perfect. Joy is the supernatural gladness that comes from knowing you're deeply loved, never alone, and that God is working everything together for your good.
This is why James opens his letter with what sounds like madness: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of various kinds" (James 1:2). He's not suggesting we enjoy suffering. He's pointing us to something deeper—that trials produce perseverance, and perseverance shapes us into people who lack nothing (James 1:3-4). Joy becomes possible in difficulty because God is doing something through it.
The Father doesn't withhold joy until your problems are solved or your life gets easier. His Joy is available in the midst of challenges because it flows from His unchanging character and His delight in relationship with you.
Peter understood this paradox intimately. Writing to believers scattered by persecution—people who had lost homes, livelihoods, and safety—he describes them as those who "rejoice with an inexpressible and glorious joy" even while suffering grief in all kinds of trials (1 Peter 1:6-8). How? Because they loved Someone they hadn't seen. Their joy wasn't anchored in circumstances but in a relationship with the living Christ.
Joy isn't about pretending everything is fine or forcing a smile through pain. It's about accessing the deep, unshakeable gladness that comes from your secure position in God's love. Peter calls this inheritance "imperishable, undefiled, and unfading" (1 Peter 1:4). No trial can touch it.
Here's the beautiful reality: You can experience genuine sorrow about circumstances AND supernatural joy about your relationship with God at the same time. Joy doesn't cancel out human emotions—it provides a foundation underneath them. Peter's audience was grieving (1 Peter 1:6). James acknowledged the weight of trials. Neither pretended the pain wasn't real.
When life feels heavy, joy reminds you that this isn't the end of your story. When circumstances feel overwhelming, joy points you to the God who is bigger than any situation you're facing. James promises that those who persevere under trial will receive "the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him" (James 1:12). Peter assures us that the genuineness of our faith—tested by fire—will result in "praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed" (1 Peter 1:7).
Kingdom Routine for today: When joy feels distant, ask God: "What brings You joy about our relationship right now? How do you see this situation I'm facing? Help me access the joy that comes from being Your beloved child."
Joy isn't the absence of difficulty—it's the presence of God's gladness in every season.
Shalom,
Dr. Sam Kurien
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