Grief has a way of narrowing our vision. In the midst of loss, it can feel as though the world has been drained of color, leaving only shades of sorrow. Ordinary moments that once brought delight may now feel hollow, and the weight of absence overshadows everything else. Yet even in the valley of sorrow, God offers us glimpses of beauty—the power of small joys in grief that whisper hope into our hurting hearts. I remember days when getting out of bed felt like an impossible t

When the loss of someone we love turns our world upside down, and when our faith feels fragile, grief has a way of shaking us at the core. We may find ourselves asking questions we never imagined we’d ask: Where are You, God? Why did this happen? How do I go on from here?

When loss first enters our lives, it can feel like the very air has been taken from our lungs. Grief has a way of pressing down so heavily that even the simple act of breathing feels like too much.

Time does not erase the ache of losing a child—it only teaches us how to carry it differently. Yet even in the darkest seasons, I have seen how God begins to move a heart from sorrow to strength, gently leading us toward hope we never thought possible.

When the world rekindles our grief with a news headline, a tragic story, or a violent act it can reopen wounds we thought were finally healing.

Grief can feel like waking up inside a nightmare that doesn’t end when the sun rises. It’s as if time itself slows down, trapping you in moments that others move past easily.

If you’ve ever battled a stubborn illness, you may have heard the discouraging words: “It just needs to run its course.” There’s no quick remedy, only the passage of time. Grief feels much the same. There are no shortcuts or formulas—it’s a journey that unfolds slowly, often far longer than we would like. It’s the slow grace of healing. Loss disrupts everything familiar. The routines we once relied on vanish, leaving us in a landscape that feels foreign and unsteady. We long

Our bodies carry the weight of loss too. Sometimes the heart’s ache is mirrored in aching muscles, a racing pulse, or a fatigue that feels bone-deep. Just as grief is more than one emotion there is a physical side of grief.

Even if it’s hard to believe it right now, as you move forward your heart won’t always feel as tender or your grief as intense as it does in the early days, weeks, and months following a loss. When grief shatters our hearts, choosing joy can feel like an impossible choice.

Most people think the grieving period is over after the funeral and we should simply pick up the pieces and move on, forgetting our loved ones who are no longer with us. Kind of like “out of sight, out of mind.” But for those walking the journey we know all too well this is just the beginning of a journey filled with many ups and downs. Even if our loved ones are no longer in our sight, they will forever be in our hearts and mind.

August marks International Overdose Awareness Month—a time to remember the precious lives lost to overdose and to stand in solidarity with the families left behind. For many, this month is deeply personal. It’s not just a global observance—it’s a reminder of sons and daughters, siblings and friends, whose stories were cut short by substance use disorder. It’s about honoring lives lost to addiction.

When grieving a loved one, it’s pretty typical to question God and even turn away from Him. Our silence toward Him is exhibited in a variety of ways. Have you found yourself angry with God for letting your loved one die? How often have you shared some words with God that weren’t so pretty? Anger is grief that has been silent for too long.

There are no shortcuts through grief. Covering my ears, or covering my heart, only keeps the sorrow at bay temporarily. Feel all the feelings. Cry all the tears—though it seems the more we let them fall, the more they produce. Perhaps we can think of them as holy raindrops.

When tragedy strikes and the dam of sorrow bursts, we are thrust back into a place we thought we had left behind. The ache is raw, and the grief feels new, even if it’s old. What do we do?

No matter how long it’s been since my daughter ran ahead to Heaven, I have come to terms with the fact that grief is a lifelong journey. Because of that, I’m always continuing to learn how to live life around it.

As time moves forward it’s quite natural that others around us seem to forget that we are still missing a big piece of our hearts. I don’t blame them for forgetting. It’s not until a piece of our heart is no longer with us that it hits home.

Every year the month of July is designated as Bereaved Parents Awareness Month. There was a time in my life when I never knew such a thing existed. However, now, as a parent who has a child who ran ahead to heaven, I’m all too painfully aware.

No matter the storm, sing. Give thanks. Stare at majesty.

But I discovered that God walks alongside us as we are surviving grief.

I’m sure you’ve heard that grief is like the ocean—vast, deep, and ever-changing. One moment, the waters are calm, and you find a sense of peace as memories gently brush the shore of your heart. The next moment, without warning, a storm rolls in, and you’re overwhelmed by crashing waves of sorrow and longing. It doesn’t follow a schedule or respect the passage of time. It simply is—a force of nature that becomes a part of us.