How Easily We Put Joy on Hold

Dear friend,

A friend and I had hoped to spend some time together recently. But her days were so full that she didn’t even have a moment to tell me she couldn’t make it.

I wasn’t angry. I love her, and I know how quickly a day can get away from us. Still, after a while I found myself thinking about her. Not about the time we’d missed together, but about how little room there seemed to be for her in her own life.

Perhaps you know what that feels like. I do.

I’ve woken up with my mind already running ahead of me. There was someone to answer, something to finish, a problem I knew I could solve. I was good at seeing what needed doing, and I cared about the people who needed me. So I fitted in one more thing. Then just one more.

By evening, I’d been useful to everyone, but I couldn’t quite remember whether I’d had a moment to breathe. And even then, my mind was already wandering toward the tasks waiting for me tomorrow.

I wonder how often we fill our days with things we can do without stopping to ask whether they’re ours to carry. Sometimes we say yes because we want to help. Sometimes because we’re afraid of disappointing someone. And sometimes we’ve been moving so fast for so long that we’ve forgotten we’re allowed to ask the question at all.

And that’s how easily we put joy on hold, often without even noticing. We tell her we’ll make time later, when the work is done and life is quieter. Then later comes, and we’re busy again.

Have we been ghosting joy and still expecting her to show up and change how we feel?

Maybe joy hasn’t disappeared.

Maybe we’ve been moving too quickly to welcome her in, sit with her, and let her do her work in us. What is all that hurry costing you, friend?

I know your desire to serve is real. I don’t want to make your generosity sound like a fault. But even those of us called to serve—and especially those of us who lead—need to tend to the life we’re serving from. When you never allow yourself to rest, receive, or be nourished, you may still keep showing up for people. But it becomes harder to bring them your full heart, your clear mind, and the particular gift God has given you to share.

Perhaps a conversation with someone you love becomes another thing you need to fit in. Perhaps your body asks for rest and you promise you’ll listen later. Perhaps an idea that once lit you up is still there, but you can hardly see it beneath everything else demanding your attention.

You keep doing the work. From the outside, you may even look as though you’re managing it beautifully. But inside, the excitement is quieter. Your thoughts race from one small task to another, while the bigger vision that used to guide you fades further into the distance. You’re turning toward every call, every request, every loose end, and wondering why you feel so far from yourself.

And if you’re building a business, this reaches into your work too. When you’re rushing to answer every request and complete every small task, when do you have space to think clearly about what you’re building? Your message can become harder to hear, even to you. You may find yourself taking on work that pulls you away from the people you’re called to serve, while the thoughtful conversations that help those people find and trust you keep getting squeezed out of your day. That costs more than time. It can cost your business the clarity and connection it needs to grow.

I heard someone say recently that happiness and hurry don’t coexist. I’ve been thinking about that, and about how much goodness hurry can carry us past.

An encouraging word reaches you, but you’re already thinking about your reply to the next message. God stirs something in your heart, but before you’ve had time to sit with it, another obligation takes its place. You feel the impact of these moments as they arrive. You may even know they matter. But there’s no space for their goodness to settle into you.

It’s like rushing away from the table just as the meal is being served. You caught its beautiful aroma. You may have taken a bite. But you left before it could nourish you.

Roots need time to grow deep, to make their way into the warm brown earth and find what will sustain them when the weather changes. And so do we. We need space to reflect. We need light and air, a little freedom in our days. We need time for what God is teaching us to sink in slowly, to reach the places beneath our busy thoughts, until it becomes part of how we live.

When everything comes at us fast and hard, we feel each impact. We may get through it all. But we can miss the goodness that could have made us stronger.

Maybe that’s why the moments you manage to steal for yourself don’t feel restful. You sit down, and guilt sits down beside you. You think of the things still undone. Even joy starts to feel like something you’ll have to make time for later—once everyone else is cared for and the list is finally clear.

"Friend, I don’t want you to have to lose yourself before you give yourself permission to pause."

So can we stay at the table for a moment? No rushing to find an answer. Just look at what has been filling your days. What is yours to do in this season? What have you been carrying because you’re capable, or because saying no feels harder than saying yes? And what has God placed in front of you that you haven’t yet had the chance to receive?

You don’t need to finish everything before you can experience joy. Perhaps joy is waiting here, in the breath you take before the next task, the conversation you let linger, the truth you give time to sink in.

With joy,

Nikki

Ready to Make Room for Joy?

Watch the video below and take a moment to reflect on where you might be rushing past the joy already waiting for you.