My job as a hospital chaplain has taught me a lot about what grief is—how it operates, how it affects us, and how it isolates those who suffer from it. In this devotional, we’ll talk about what it means to grieve. As you mourn your loss in the ways that come naturally to you, don’t limit yourself to the following few days. Take as long as you need.
HarperCollins/Zondervan/Thomas Nelson
Day 1
Scriptures: 2 Samuel 13:19, Luke 22:41-44
Grief Can Look Like Anything
I used to think grief had a singular, common expression, a somber response of tears and sadness.
I used to think that grief needed time, activity, and direction.
What I did not expect is that grief can look like everything. It can need anything.
We grieve differently, as much as we need differently.
You may be feeling like your grief is too much. Or maybe you worry your sorrow is a burden or the way you express your sadness is odd. My time as a hospital chaplain has shown me that there is no one right way to mourn. Sometimes, it looks or feels strange even as we experience or embody it. Amid your grief, do not give yourself a hard time by expecting your emotions or actions to look a certain way. Our bodies cling to what we need to survive the moment, even the smallest plank in the most difficult sea.
We know Jesus grieved when Lazarus died, even though he knew his friend would soon be brought back to life (John 11:35). Jesus’s example shows us that grief is natural and worthwhile—a universal expression of love and loss. The next time you worry that your sorrow is too much for the world, remember that Jesus himself mourned the necessity of suffering—and even if you believe he has conquered death, he still mourns with you nonetheless.
Reflect: What has your grief looked like in the past? What has brought you comfort?
Pray: Dear God, give me patience for myself during grief. Thank you for making space for all types of sorrow and sending your Son, who shares in all suffering. Amen.
Day 2
Scriptures: Job 17:11-16, Psalms 88:9
Grief Demands to Speak
No one enjoys grieving. We only grieve because we have experienced a loss, so nothing about it is a self-indulgent activity—and yet those of us who have suffered know that our grief can make others uncomfortable. Well-meaning outsiders hope to bring peace and harmony back to a situation, but in doing so they may silence grief that needs expressed. “Move on and let go,” they say. “Heal faster, why don’t you?”
This is a very attractive lie. At first glance, it’s almost a noble one. It’s hard to stay in pain. It’s hard to see somebody in pain. So the urge to fix pain is understandable. It’s born of charity, our innate need to make right and to rescue. Survival becomes a way of forcefully turning your neck to look away from grief. It’s as if grief is some toxic contagious substance that everybody has to bury as quick as their dead. We attempt to rush into solution and conclusion and hope—because pain is that hard.
But speeding through grief always has a cost. To bury somebody’s supposed-to-be is also to bury a story that’s untold. When you bury someone’s story like that, it gets lodged in the ribcage, it gets radioactive, it festers, it shouts to be heard. Grief is always a voice that needs to speak. If you suppress it, it still speaks—but not always in ways that are healthy. Not in the ways you need. It pushes through your skin like rogue splinters.
When you are tempted to silence your grief, remember that doing so only postpones your healing. You must move through your grief, not around it. Look for safe people and spaces where you can express your losses aloud. Honor your pain by giving voice to it.
Reflect: What grief, if any, have you refused to speak about? What might come to pass if you were to expose your grief to the light?
Pray: Dear God, here are my griefs and my sorrows. They are not too much for you. Give me courage and strength to speak about my troubles and cares, and grant me healing and peace in time. Amen.
Day 3
Scriptures: Ecclesiastes 3:1-4, Psalms 22:1-2
Grief is Defiance
I used to think that grief was about acceptance.
But—to accept the loss of the one you love is too much like approving death – a betrayal of their life.
Grief, I have seen, is defiance.
Everything in our body, it turns out, defies loss. To die goes against the intended order of things, against the divine nature inscribed on the human soul. As such, it is fitting for us to rage against it. The longer we live, the more likely we will experience losses and devastations too vile to comprehend. To accept them without a fight would be to dishonor the one lost.
Death is a permanent curtain of the ocean thrown over life, and we, the living, try to pull back at the edge of the water to reach under. But an ocean cannot be subdued. Never unraveled. There is no stitch at the horizon. The skyline is airtight.
Who can accept a thing like that?
To grieve is to acknowledge that death is not the natural order of things. Nobody, not a single person I’ve met, could accept a thing like death with ease. And why should they? Why should I? Why should you?
I want to tell you that you don’t have to. Do not succumb to the pressure to cauterize your wounds. Expressing your grief is an act of respect toward the lost, an act of resistance against the unnaturalness of death. As you mourn, do so with an emboldened spirit, knowing that even Scripture is filled with honest grievances—of desperate prayers, frustrations, and cries for relief from a pain-filled world.
Reflect: Have you ever considered grief to be an act of resistance? How might doing so change your mindset about the act and purpose of mourning?
Pray: Dear God, this world is too full of suffering. Have mercy on us in our sorrow. In your time, bring forth a great upending—a restoration of the fullness you intended for your creation. Amen.
Day 4
Scriptures: Psalms 5:1-2, Ezekiel 27:30-31
Grief is Never Too Much
I have seen so many things in hospital rooms—the kinds of losses no one should have to endure. I have been in rooms where the family is wailing, weeping, dancing, pacing, rocking, rolling on the floor, punching themselves, narrating their emotions, singing, cussing, laughing, vomiting, and screaming.
I have been in rooms where there is numbness, no tears, blank faces, hiding, falling asleep, flat affect, whispering, hardly able to speak a sentence, and even a guilty sense of boredom when the death is long and lingering.
There are both extreme expressions of emotion and complete deflation of the body.
Some may say it’s too much. Or fake. Or laughable.
I’m here to tell you there is no such thing as too much grief. You cannot be too sad, numb, or paralyzed by emotion. There is no right, elegant way to do this. From my experience, grief tends to be a scream or a whisper. There is little balance. In some rooms, the grief is an almost embarrassing release. Not everyone has to weep, not right then. Some need to laugh. Or eat. Or organize. Or sleep.
All of it, anything and everything is grief. And it is true.
I know this – grief cannot be evaluated or qualified. Everyone grieves the way they will. And the way you grieve is never too anything at all.
Reflect: In your experience, what does your grief look like? Have you ever been worried that your grief was “too much” for anyone or anyplace? Have you attempted to diminish your grief as a result?
Pray: Dear God, thank you for being a safe outlet for my grief. You have seen everything and know everything. Nothing is too much for you. Bring relief to my suffering and healing to my pain.
Day 5
Scriptures: Psalms 31:9, Jeremiah 15:18
Grief Is Not Moving On
Grief is the voice of what is gone. Not only the people we lose but dreams unmade, dignity frayed, and pictures with emptied frames. Grief is a reminder of what could have been, of memories we will never make.
You can try to bury that sort of thing. I get it. I’ve tried it. It seems easier to sever or shove it all into a box and force it shut. The more you try to bury grief, the more it demands to be heard. The more you deny what the loss meant to you, the more you disappear. The voice of grief makes its way through the seams, bursting at every clasp. The voice of everyone and everything buried runs up your throat, demanding to shout itself into being again.
Grief is a story gasping to be told.
What will never be is as much a part of you as what has been.
I’m telling you this because nobody else told me:
There is no such thing as closure.
There is no final stitch, no last loop.
We do not move on. We move with—with the pain, with the loss, with the absence. Some sorrows cannot be disposed of, but we can embrace living alongside them. Grie becomes a companion – a constant reminder that life will never be how it once was.
If you keep going, I hope I can impart three things.
One: Your loss is yours – nobody else’s.
Two: Your loss is not something you get over but something you carry everywhere you go.
And three: You can take as long as it takes.
Reflect: How does viewing grief as a constant companion change your attitude toward your sorrow? Does it bring you any relief to know that the closure we have been told to seek may not exist?
Pray: Dear God, help me to make peace with my grief. Make me unafraid of what I feel, and help me to be unafraid of the grief I see in others. Comfort me, and grant me strength. Amen.