Choosing Joy: A Dog’s Perspective
Choosing Joy: A Dog’s Perspective
“Your grieving of sin should never overshadow God’s forgiveness of sin.” – Pastor Tony Walliser
Read Nehemiah 8:7-12
I was stretched out in my usual spot today—half in the sun, half in the shade—when I heard my human reading out loud from Nehemiah 8. I didn’t catch every word, but I knew the tone. It was one of those passages that makes a man sit up straighter and an old dog lift his head.
The porch gets the early sun, and if I settle just right, the warmth sinks into my old bones.
I don’t rush it.
I don’t earn it.
I just receive it.
Joy works a lot like that, I think.
It’s something you choose to settle into, even when the day feels heavy.
In the passage from Nehemiah, the people had gathered early, hungry for something more than breakfast. Ezra read God’s Word to them from sunup until noon, and as the words settled in, something happened.
They started to weep.
They heard the law, and they realized how far they had wandered, and how much they had missed.
And they wept.
I understand that feeling.
I’ve chased after things that didn’t matter—like squirrels that were never mine to catch or shadows that disappeared the moment I reached them.
Sometimes I come back tired and a little ashamed, knowing I wandered farther than I should have.
But here’s the part that made my tail thump.
Nehemiah and the Levites didn’t tell the people to stay in their sorrow.
They didn’t say, “Sit with the guilt a little longer.”
They said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks… Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
Not your joy in the Lord.
But The joy of the Lord.
See the difference?
You see, joy isn’t something we dig up from inside ourselves when we’re feeling strong—it’s something the Lord gives when we’re weak.
It’s not denial of our brokenness—it’s confidence in His faithfulness.
I’ve noticed something about my human. When I mess up, when I track mud across the floor or chew something up that I shouldn’t have, he doesn’t leave me outside forever.
Correction comes, yes—but it’s followed by a hand on my head, a scratch behind the ears, and a place at his feet again.
I don’t earn my way back.
I’m welcomed back.
That’s what those people in Nehemiah 8 were learning. God’s Word exposed their need, but God’s grace invited their joy. The same Word that convicted them also reminded them who they belonged to.
Joy, it turns out, is a choice.
Not a shallow smile or a forced cheer, but a decision to trust that God is still good, still near, still working—even when our eyes are wet.
So they went home.
They ate.
They shared.
They celebrated.
Not because life was easy, but because the Lord was faithful.
I think we’d do well to learn from that.
When the Word of God shows us where we’ve gone wrong…
Allow it.
Sit for a moment in it.
Listen.
But don’t stay there.
Lift your head up.
Choose joy—not because you feel strong, but because He is strong.
For the people of Nehemiah 8…
Joy came not because life was easy, but because God was present.
Joy came not from ignoring the truth, but from trusting God’s mercy.
Joy came as a choice—to lift their heads, open their hands, and step forward in obedience.
Choosing joy doesn’t mean we never weep.
It means we don’t live there.
We listen to God’s Word and we arise strengthened by His joy.
So today, if your heart feels heavy, listen closely.
The Word is being opened.
God is near.
And the joy of the Lord is our strength.
Amen