Open Arms
Joy Is a Gift, Not a Transaction
I have been pondering 2 Nephi 2:25: “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.”
What is joy? How do I experience it? Were questions I was considering. I questioned that joy must be something we earn—the result of doing something wonderful or mastering something well. But that didn’t feel right. Maybe joy is something we have to be worthy of? But that didn’t feel right either.
I decided to look up the definition of joy. In Greek, chara is closely linked with the word for grace, charis. It is described as a deep, unshakeable fulfillment that comes from a divine source, remaining steady regardless of a person’s immediate circumstances. That definition changed the way I had been thinking about joy.
What if joy is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father—a gift that can steady me through the storms that naturally come simply because I am living. An anchor that provides a firm grounding when everything around me feels challenging.
Somewhere along the way, I decided I had to earn the right to be happy. That belief crossed over into the way I understood joy. I had confused joy with happiness—as though joy were simply a heightened version of happiness that I had to be worthy enough to experience.
I am beginning to see it differently.
Joy is not a prize for good behavior. It is part of the gift of being created by a loving Heavenly Father. When joy is rooted in that divine design, I can begin to understand that even the hard things can serve a purpose. Difficulties are not necessarily signs that I have failed or that God has withdrawn His love. They are part of the landscape of a meaningful life. I can experience joy even when my circumstances aren't joyful, because my joy isn't dependent upon my performance or my circumstances.
Because of this, I am learning that it is okay to feel joyful simply because I am here. I don't need a massive achievement to justify joy. I am a child of God. I am fully known by Him, and I am deeply loved exactly as I am. There is an intentional purpose behind my creation, and simply living within that truth can be enough to bring a deep sense of joy.
Yet it is a strange thing to intellectually know a truth while spiritually fighting against it. I know the doctrine. I know that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23), and I know that it is only through Jesus Christ that any of us can be saved.
Somewhere along the way, though, a different lesson became tangled up in my heart. I felt that I needed to prove I was good enough. I had somehow come to believe that grace was something God offered only after I had exhausted myself trying to qualify for it.
So I have spent a lifetime serving, working, repenting, worshipping, and praying—trying to show a perfect God that I was worth the investment.
When I looked really deeply into my heart at why I have thought this way, I realized that it doesn't even make logical sense. But it comes from a deeply tender place. I simply did not want to cause “my Jesus” any more pain.
I know logically that He already paid the price. The agony of Gethsemane and the cross is already a historical reality. But perhaps, I thought, just maybe I could ease His burden if I could fix my own flaws and repair my own mistakes. If I could just be good enough on my own, then He wouldn't have to bleed for me quite as much.
But trying to protect the Savior from an Atonement He has already successfully completed is nonsensical. He didn't endure that pain because He was forced to. He chose it because He loves me. He chose me.
When I insist on fixing everything myself before I allow myself to receive the gift of His joy, I am unintentionally putting up a wall between myself and the very Savior who is offering it to me. I am, in a sense, telling Him that His sacrifice wasn't quite enough—that His grace is not sufficient.
Surrendering the desire to shield the Savior from my brokenness is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. It requires really seeing Him, seeing His outstretched, nail-pierced hands and realizing that the transaction is over.
The price has been paid.
The debt is settled.
The gift is already mine.
My refusal to accept it doesn't diminish His suffering for me. It only delays my healing.
I am beginning to realize that one of the highest forms of gratitude I can offer Jesus is not to exhaust myself trying to earn what He has already given me. It is to receive. Receive His grace. Receive His love. Receive His joy.
I imagine the Savior standing before me, inviting me—and you—into the safety of His embrace. His arms are already open. There is no transaction left to complete. I have spent years trying to give Jesus something He was never asking me to give Him. He has been asking me to open my arms and receive Him.
I have learned that Joy isn't a prize we earn by working hard enough or becoming flawless enough. It is a free and beautiful gift, offered to each of us simply because we belong to Him. I invite you, along with myself, to stop striving to earn what He is already offering. Open your arms and receive.