Where is God in Our Grief?
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
Psalm 34:4
Some things have been aching within my heart lately.
I watch Everett, my oldest, from the window, his solitary form growing smaller as he walks out of sight toward the creek to play. Behind me is his brother, inside and glued to his tablet, tapping the same song repeatedly.
A well of tears I fear may never run dry rises within me, and I wish my boys, the brothers who live within the walls of our home, could run and play and walk to the creek together on this day.
It’s a familiar feeling–like a heavy chain around my heart that won’t ever let loose. We have a word for this feeling: this uninvited guest that claims all of us at one point or another.
Grief.
Grief is a thief, I think to myself as I encounter the coldness of its clouds, which darken my days and hide the warmth of the sun I once knew and loved.
When we’ve lost all we thought we could lose, grief shows up and takes some more.
Or so it seems.
As I sit with my own grief, and I imagine you sit with your version of it as well, I can’t help but wonder about its purpose. My faith won’t let me believe that grief isn’t purposeful—because it sure is powerful.
Scripture Spotlight
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
Psalm 147:3
The Many Ways a Heart can Break
I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t know the truth about grief–that there are several ways we find ourselves face-to-face with it–until I experienced it firsthand when my oldest child was born. And it was the first time in my life that I realized loss and grief come in many forms.
My oldest was born unexpectedly premature, and I quickly found myself being rushed into an operating room for an emergency c-section.
Lying under the effects of anesthesia while the surgeon pulled my baby from the womb was not at all how I imagined his birth taking place.
When I awoke from the c-section and reached down to my belly, my baby was no longer nestled inside. What once physically tethered us to one another had been severed while I laid asleep, missing entirely the experience of bringing my first child into the world.
His first moments, first breath, first cries are things I’ll never know about.
It was heartbreaking—feeling robbed of those precious moments that we as moms hold so dearly in our hearts.
I met my baby boy for a few short minutes before he and my husband left with the flight crew to board a plane and fly to the nearest NICU since I had delivered in a smaller hospital without the care my preemie baby now required.
From the moment they left the room, and in that instant, grief struck me with its sharp sting. From the hollow space freshly carved into my heart, grief settled in, making itself at home.
As many of us know well, grief isn’t limited to the loss of a loved one—it can arise from various heartaches. And whether grief is whispering or shouting, our ears are acutely aware of when it calls our name, our hearts growing heavy at the sound of its voice.
Even Jesus Wept
When we feel isolated in our grief and the weight of our aching hearts feels too much to bear, I want us to turn in our Bibles to John 11:35, “Jesus wept."
Here we have the shortest verse in all of Scripture holding a depth of meaning that reveals both the heart of Jesus and the character of God—His compassion, His nearness in our sorrow, and His willingness to enter into our pain with us.
Jesus wept because He was deeply moved by the sorrow of those around Him. When He arrived in Bethany, He found Mary and Martha grieving the loss of their brother, Lazarus. Though Jesus knew He would soon raise Lazarus from the dead, He didn’t rush past their pain.
Instead, He stood with them in their grief, fully feeling the weight of their sorrow. Seeing Mary weeping and the mourners surrounding her, Jesus was overcome with compassion.
His tears weren’t just for Lazarus but for the brokenness of a world touched by death and suffering. In that moment, He showed us a God who doesn’t remain distant from our pain—He enters into it with us.
While there are several examples throughout Scripture showing us God’s love, compassion, and nearness to grieving hearts, I have always found such comfort in those two words, “Jesus wept.”
I can’t speak for you, but I am quite familiar with my own heart breaking when I see someone else in pain. I know well the way my own eyes fill with tears when I see a loved one break down in heartache.
And knowing that my Savior felt the weight of grief Himself—that sorrow washed over Him just as it does me—brings a comfort nothing in this world could ever provide. He not only understands my pain, but He also meets me in it, drawing near and refusing to leave me alone in my sorrow and brokenness.
Light Along the Path of Loss
Grief is heavy. When it first settles in, it can feel almost unbearable—like a weight pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to see beyond the pain. But over time, something shifts. The weight doesn’t disappear all at once, but it lifts, little by little. And in those moments of release, something else begins to take its place.
Maybe it’s peace. Maybe it’s joy. Maybe it’s just a quiet sense of hope whispering that all is not truly lost.
For those grieving the loss of a loved one, their absence remains, but so do their love, their laughter, their imprint on our lives. Their memory stays, not as a burden, but as a gift. And for those of us grieving something different—a dream that won’t come to be, a diagnosis that changed everything, a life that doesn’t look the way we once imagined—we find that, in time, we begin to see what is instead of only mourning what isn’t.
And what is still holds beauty. The path of grief, though winding and unpredictable, often leads us to a place we never expected—to peace, to acceptance, to a deeper understanding that even in loss, life is still full of meaning.
We learn that joy and sorrow can exist together, that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, and that hope has a way of making its way back to us, even when we least expect it.
Grief to Peace
As I sit on either side of grief–a grief I’ve gotten to know well these last couple of years–I see the beauty in its purpose. I see how grief has a way of cleansing my soul at times, giving me the opportunity to feel those big and heavy feelings, even when I don’t want to but need to.
Grief has a way of setting my heart on a path toward Jesus, even if I’m angry, I’m still headed in the right direction.
Any kind of loss often feels like a story ending before we’re ready to turn the final page. Like a favorite TV show that ended on a cliffhanger or without its happy ending. But the good news is that nothing in this world is ever the end, Jesus is our bridge to eternity.
And perhaps, while we live out our earthly days, grief is our bridge, connecting us from loss to hope, from grief to peace.
Reflect
Grief is never easy, and it rarely follows a straight path. It comes in waves—some gentle, some crashing—and in moments when we least expect it. But as we walk through it, we can trust that we are not alone.
Jesus, the One who wept with Mary and Martha, the One who understands our sorrow, walks with us through every tear, every ache, and every moment of longing.
Take a moment to reflect:
In what ways have you felt the weight of grief in your own life?
How have you seen God draw near to you in your sorrow?
Can you look back and see moments where grief, though painful, led you toward deeper trust, peace, or even joy?
No matter where you are on your journey, know that grief is not the end of your story. It may change you, but it does not define you. And through it all, Jesus is near, holding your heart and leading you toward hope.
Pray
Dear Heavenly Father,
You know the grief that lies heavy on my heart and the way my heart aches for what used to be or what could have been. You know every way my heart breaks and are no stranger to the pain I feel.
You, above all, know the sorrow I carry. When I feel unseen by others, You see me completely.
Lord, Your Word reminds me that You see every tear I shed and none of my grief goes unnoticed. As Psalm 56:8 says, "You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?" I take comfort in knowing that You hold each tear close and that You care deeply about the pain I carry.
When grief feels heavy and overwhelming, help me to remember that You are keeping track of every moment, every heartache, and every loss.
Thank You for being so intimately present in my suffering, for never leaving me alone, and for bringing me peace in the midst of my sorrow. I trust that You are near, and that in Your perfect time, You will turn my mourning into joy.
In the precious and holy name of Jesus, Amen.