A Childhood Glimpse of God’s Joy

I grew up living in two very different worlds.

At home, spirituality was heavy, confusing, and threaded with practices I didn’t have language for at the time. But at school, my mother—who didn’t attend church, didn’t pray openly, and didn’t follow Scripture—insisted I be placed in a private Christian environment. I didn’t understand why she was so determined to do this. I only knew there was something safer at school than what I lived with after the final bell.

I didn’t have the vocabulary then to describe the contrast. I only felt it.
And one small moment during those years became a quiet turning point.

A Ride I Never Forgot

I can still remember sitting in Mrs. Johnson’s car. I don’t recall where she was driving us—some school activity, no doubt—but I remember the atmosphere. She was there. Her husband was there. And both of them were lighthearted in a way that felt completely foreign to me.

They were funny. Not polite-church-lady funny. Genuinely funny.
A little goofy. Unpretentious. Free.

They teased each other gently. They made silly comments. They laughed easily.
And underneath it all was unmistakable kindness—warm, steady, and safe.

I had never seen Christians behave like that.

Up to that point, my understanding of faith came mostly from rigid environments, rule-focused teaching, and a whole lot of guilt and perfectionism. Christianity felt like something you performed—carefully, quietly, as if trying not to offend God.

But here, from the back seat of her car, I saw joy.
I saw believers who weren’t uptight.
I saw people who clearly loved God… and weren’t afraid to be human.

What Happened Inside Me

Something shifted in me that day.

A piece of the tough outer shell I had learned to hold together—the shell built from fear, performance, and the need to be “good enough”—cracked and fell away. And instead of feeling exposed, I felt relief.

I felt safe.

I felt a little rebellious.

It was almost too good to be true.
That you could love God and laugh.
That you could belong to Him and still be silly.
That you didn’t have to live locked behind rules and fear.

I remember hoping—praying—that this tiny glimpse was the real version of Christianity.
That God might actually be… like this.
Kind. Joyful. Approachable.
Someone who delighted in His people rather than scrutinized them.

I didn’t understand it then, but I know now: something soft and sacred was happening inside me.

What I See Now That I’m Grown

Looking back, I believe God knew how little of His true nature I had been shown.

He knew the false pictures I had been absorbing.
He knew the confusion and darkness surrounding my early years.
He knew how much unlearning my heart would one day have to do.

So He gave me a preview.

Through two ordinary adults in a car, He showed me:

• that He has joy
• that He delights in His people
• that He isn’t fragile, rigid, or easily disappointed
• that His presence brings freedom, not pressure
• that laughter belongs to Him long before it belongs to anyone else

And through their silliness—true silliness, the kind that doesn’t care what others think—He gave me permission to loosen the tight grip I had on perfectionism. He let me glimpse a God who loves without scowling, who watches without condemning, who lifts burdens instead of piling more on—a God who is serious and has a sense of humor.

This was my first gentle correction from God.
The opening crack in a wall I didn’t yet know was there.

A Quiet Encouragement for You

Sometimes God reaches us not through thunderclaps, but through the lightheartedness of His people.

Sometimes the smallest moment—a car ride, a laugh, a kindness—becomes an anchor we don’t recognize until years later.

If you’ve ever wondered whether God sees you, or whether He cares enough to weave small kindnesses into your story, I hope this reminds you: He does. He often begins our rescue long before we know we need saving.

Thank you for walking through this memory with me.