“There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down.” -Megan Devine
Accidents.
Illnesses.
Natural disasters.
Man-made disasters.
Violent crimes.
Death by suicide.
Death, period.
Grief.
It really is as bad as you think it is.
What has been lost cannot be restored.
You cannot “kiss it and make it better.”
You don’t need solutions.
You don’t need to “move on.”
You do need to be seen.
To be held in the love and grace of others and God as you stare at the gaping hole in your soul.
There are things in our lives that cannot be fixed.
They can only be carried.
It’s the shortest yet one of the most profound verses in scripture.
“Jesus wept.” – John 11:35
These two words carry the deepest validation of human grief.
Even Jesus, who knew he would raise Lazarus, took time to simply feel and express his sorrow. Megan Devine writes that “the reality of grief is far different from what others see from the outside. There is pain in this world that you can’t be cheered out of.”
This truth echoes in Jesus’s response – he didn’t rush to the miracle; he first honored the pain of the moment.
We often treat grief like a problem to solve rather than an experience to be lived. When Mary, Lazarus’ sister, fell at Jesus’s feet saying, “if you had been here,” he didn’t correct her theology or remind her to trust – he wept with her.
What if we viewed our grief not as a spiritual failure but as testament to our capacity to love?
When someone dies, our instinct is to search for meaning. To find the silver lining. To trust that “everything happens for a reason.” But some pain defies meaning-making. Some losses shatter our carefully constructed frameworks of faith and understanding.
And perhaps that’s okay.
Perhaps faith isn’t about having answers but about having the courage to face the questions. Perhaps hope isn’t about feeling better but about finding ways to carry what cannot be fixed.
When Jesus wept, he validated not just grief itself, but its ability to bring even God to tears.
Your pain is not a failure of faith.
Your struggle is not a sign of spiritual weakness.
Your grief is a testament to love’s depth and loss’s reality.
Prayer:
God of the tears, Today I don’t need answers. I don’t need explanations. I don’t need to be reminded of Your plan. I need You to sit with me in this pain, To hold space for what cannot be fixed, To weep with me as You did at Lazarus’ tomb. Help me trust that my grief needs no justification, That my pain requires no defense, That my tears are as holy as my hallelujahs. Grant me the courage to feel what I feel, To name what I’ve lost, And to know that You are here, Not to fix it, But to feel it with me. Amen.
For Today:
- Give yourself permission to name your loss without trying to find its meaning
- Write down one thing you miss most about your person/situation – not to “process” it, just to acknowledge it
- If you feel overwhelmed, simply whisper “Jesus wept” – letting these words remind you that even God understands grief’s depth
Remember: You don’t have to carry this alone.
But you also don’t have to pretend it’s not as heavy as it is.
There are no trophies given out for “Grief Winners.”
Your grief is not a problem to be solved. It’s not a lesson to be learned. It’s not a blessing in disguise. It’s simply the price of having loved deeply. And love, in all its forms, Is worth the cost.