Is It a Sin to Be Grumpy?

Almost ten years ago now, I shamefacedly confessed to a godly friend, “Sometimes I’m grumpy.”

She immediately burst out a vehement, “SO?!”

I was, momentarily, very taken aback. I was ashamed of my less-than-joyful spirit, and was hoping for some bracing words to help get my head on straight.

This one word, though, gave me permission to be what I was, without being perfect.

In retrospect, I don’t think she was actually telling me, “Please, go be as nasty on the inside as you can be.”

She wasn’t giving me a pass.

Her point was, “Don’t pretend like you have it all together. If you’re grumpy, don’t pretend like you’re not. If you do try to do that, you’ll end up having little fractures in your life—angry outbursts at your children, simmering anger below the surface with your husband. Acknowledge it honestly. Then deal with it.”

Today, I try to notice when I am dipping towards grumpiness. When I notice I’m not walking in joy and victory, I try to get away—maybe sit in the car by myself for a bit, or close the door to my bedroom and pray. Why am I grumpy? Why do I feel bad?

Here’s what I’ve noticed.

• Sometimes I’m sad. I wanted something good that I no longer have, or that didn’t come to pass. I need to ask God to carry that sadness, while also being okay with feeling sadness. Instead of grumpiness, I feel grief. I need comfort.

• Sometimes I’m confused. I have too many possibilities, too many options, too many distractions rattling around in my mind, and I need to see the one clear picture from the Lord that I’m supposed to do next, the direction I’m supposed to move forward. Instead of grumpiness, I feel confusion. I need clarity.

• Sometimes I’m irritated, upset, or discouraged. Maybe the boys were more contentious than usual. Or a stack of petty disappointments piled up over the course of the day, where any two would have been easily ignored, but twelve or fifteen feels like being pecked to death by ducks. Instead of grumpiness, I feel fatigue. I need encouragement and rest.

• Sometimes I’m angry. I can see how the accuser is at work in the world, and I am again taken aback by how personally malicious he is, by how horribly unkind, by how absolutely destructive his works are. Instead of grumpiness, I feel righteous anger. I need protection and to stand against him.

• Sometimes I’m lonely. Maybe I haven’t had enough time with Phil to feel like we’ve really connected. Maybe I have extra words that I need to get out. Instead of grumpiness, I feel loneliness. I need connection and friendship.

In going through this thought process, I realized that I don’t usually struggle with an actual complaining spirit. In Numbers 16:41-50, the Israelites complained to Moses, and God killed 14,700 people.

Obviously it’s not great to have a complaining spirit, a true lack of thankfulness.

But I had been assuming that any thought that was less than joyful was sin.

I don’t think that’s true. Some less-than-joyful thoughts are sin, but some are simply symptoms of a problem that needs to be addressed, a pain point that needs to be healed, a call to the deeper things of God.

I don’t have to be ashamed of the grumpy places and hide them. But I also don’t have to sit in the grumpiness.

God promises peace that passes understanding. I can partner with him and step into that peace.

Lord, your word says in 2 Corinthians 1:4, “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” Thank you that you are the comforter.

Thank you, God, that you don’t ask us to pretend we have no troubles and no emotions, that you are not a God who wants us to stuff unpleasant things deep down and ignore them. Rather, you named an entire book of your word “Lamentations,” and you recorded Job’s arguments with his friends in the midst of his sorrow. You display the range of emotions in the Psalms, and even Jesus was joyful, and snorted with anger, was sometimes a bit irritable or short with his disciples (“How long will I be with you?”).

Lord, thank you that you know what it is to be human. Thank you that you are not afraid of our feelings. Let us bring those feelings to you, and walk closely with you. We love you, Lord. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Grace to you and peace from God our father and King Jesus the Lord,

Amy Joy

P.S. One of the best ways I’ve found to start to break up the grumpiness is with communion.

In October 2021, Bob and I challenged our readers to take communion daily for a month, and we sent a daily meditation to facilitate that.

My friend Paul Van Hoesen then sent me this story.

I remember Mary and I were in a free fall one day, huge argument, and going to bed I had to take communion. We have done this for years now, but Mary went upstairs. She was not about to have communion with me.

I sat there and stared at the bread and the wine and said “I’m not worthy to take communion because I’m not right with my wife.”

The Lord said, “So you think you’re going to get better without this? Who died for who?”

I realized that the simple act of humbling myself and remembering the Lord’s sacrifice was enough to break the yoke of what was going on between us.

I prayed. I took communion. I went upstairs and we reconciled in just a few minutes.

There was a power released to heal me by taking communion alone, even when we were disconnected, that created the catalyst for reconciliation.

We then took communion again together.

Those October meditations are now compiled into Savor Communion, available in English and in Spanish.