If you've ever sailed before, you know that feeling. That moment when the wind shifts without warning - not a gradual change that gives you time to prepare, but a sudden, unexpected turn that catches anyone off guard. One minute you're cutting smoothly through the water, confident in your course, and the next you're scrambling to adjust the sails before you lose momentum or worse, capsize.
Life's trials arrive the same way. They start with a single moment - a phone call, a conversation, a realization - and suddenly the landscape of your life is different. The ground that felt so solid yesterday shifts beneath your feet. The certainty you counted on washes away, leaving you to find new footing on unfamiliar terrain.
It's in those moments that I've discovered what James meant when he wrote, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." (James 1:2-3)
Joy wasn't my first response to trials. Or my second. Or even my tenth. My first responses were usually fear, frustration, and a desperate attempt to regain control. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. I began to notice what those storms were leaving behind after they passed.
They were leaving courage where fear once lived. They were carving out deeper spaces for trust. They were teaching me that God's presence isn't dependent on favorable circumstances.
I've come to see trials not as punishment but as invitations to grow. Not as evidence of God's absence but as classrooms where He teaches us to recognize His presence in new ways.
When everything stable is shaken, we discover what cannot be shaken. When our own strength fails, we learn to rely on a strength that doesn't. When our understanding reaches its limits, we find there's wisdom available beyond what we can reason out on our own.
Think about the trials you've walked through. Not the ones you're still in the middle of—those are too raw, too immediate to see clearly. But the ones you've emerged from, the ones you can now look back on with some perspective.
What did they teach you? How did they change what you're certain of? Where did you find God showing up in ways you hadn't noticed before?
For me, trials have stripped away the illusion that I can control everything. They've silenced the voice that says I should be able to handle life on my own terms. They've created space for a different kind of faith to grow—one that's less about having all the answers and more about trusting the One who does.
Each difficulty I face becomes a choice: Will I allow this challenge to drive me toward God or away from Him? Will I let it make me bitter or more compassionate? Will I see it as meaningless suffering or as a teacher with difficult but valuable lessons?
The amazing thing about faith is that it grows stronger not in perfect circumstances but in tested ones. If you're walking through a trial right now, take heart. What feels like it might break you may actually be strengthening you in ways you cannot yet see. What seems like an obstacle may become the very thing that deepens your trust.
And perhaps that's where joy is found—not in the trial itself, but in knowing that it's producing something valuable in you. Something that couldn't be formed any other way. Something that will remain long after the storm has passed.