I’ve often thought that grief can feel like a heavy shadow that refuses to lift. In the early days of loss, it may seem impossible to imagine a future where happiness could exist again. Every breath feels weighted, every step exhausting. Yet even in the deepest valleys, God plants something that has the power to keep us moving forward: hope.

Have you ever found yourself asking questions you never thought you’d ask? Questions that seem to echo into silence—like “Why, Lord?” or “How am I supposed to go on?” The questions grief brings has a way of opening our hearts to things we never imagined needing to ask. I’m currently reading the book, The Girl on the Bathroom Floor . It’s the heartbreaking story of the Smith family who lost their 3-year-old boy in a drowning accident. Amber Smith writes with such a profound gu

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.

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.

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.

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.

Memorial Day is traditionally a time to honor those who gave their lives in military service. But for many, this day holds a deeper, more personal weight. It’s a reminder of every kind of loss—the child gone too soon, the sibling who never came home, the friend whose laughter now only lives in memory.

Jesus, who wept at Lazarus’s tomb, understands loss. He is not distant from our sorrow; He enters into it with us.

When we face the loss of a loved one, a broken relationship, or another life-altering event, our world is turned upside down.

Although wounds do become scars, those scars become stories. I truly believe we are meant to share our stories with one another. By doing so, they offer hope to others along the way.  

Some say that time heals all wounds, but I don’t believe it. What I do believe is when we walk in faith, God continually heals our broken heart. I believe a scar begins to develop over the open wound in our heart and as time goes by the pain may begin to ease.

You would think that despite the passage of time our emotions accompanying grief would dissipate. I will admit, the intensity of them does lessen. Yet, they are always there, simmering just underneath the surface like the hot, red lava that bubbles up after a volcanic explosion.