Letter to a Grieving Friend.

A gentle lifeline to those drowning in sorrow.

Hey Friends!

Before you jump into this week’s article, I just wanted to make sure that you were aware that The Lighthouse is a podcast too. Each week I record and post this same article, because I know some people prefer to listen rather than read. If that’s you, subscribe to The Lighthouse Podcast wherever you listen. For sake of ease, you can find links to subscribe on Spotify and Apple Podcasts below. I hope it’s helpful!

- Ryan

Dear Friend,

I know you’re grieving. In a sense, we all are. Sadly, there is no life without loss. As a result, we all live in some state of grief. But I also know that your grief feels particularly acute at this moment.

I want to be careful not to assume how you feel, but I remember my own most intense seasons of grief. It felt like drowning—so overwhelming that I wasn’t sure which way was up. It felt like there was no way forward, like the severity of the pain would never end.

I needed encouragement from external sources, because internally, the pain was so severe. That’s why I’m writing this. I want to speak some gentle encouragement into your pain. Not to “fix” it. Not because any of this will take the pain away. Not because I expect you to remember it all. I simply want to throw you a lifeline of sorts, something you can return to as needed and be encouraged again. So, as best you can, invite the Holy Spirit to open your heart to receive.

It is good for you to grieve.

The Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote, “Grief is the natural response to loss. It’s the emotional suffering you feel when something or someone you love is taken away.” Notice that grief is the “natural” response to loss. It’s automatic. The Genesis story reminds us that God never intended for you and me to experience loss. In a sense, grief is the means He has given us to both endure it and metabolize it. To experience loss and not grieve is unhealthy. It’s like refusing to allow yourself to breathe. Your soul needs to grieve right now. So welcome it. I know it feels terrible, but grief is also a sign that you’re healing.

God is with you in your grief.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is near the brokenhearted…” Think about this promise for a moment. The Scriptures teach that God is always with you. He’s omnipresent, which means there is nowhere you can go that He is not. And yet, when your heart is broken, God is near. I believe this means that there is a special and unique manner in which God is present with us in our pain. In 2 Corinthians 12:9, Paul reminds us that we experience God’s strength most in our own weakness. In a similar way, we often experience God’s presence most in our pain. I know it can be hard. Sometimes the pain eclipses any sense of His presence. But I promise you, He’s right there by your side, covering you with His own tears.

Jesus knows your sorrow.

I’ve lost people I love. Most of those losses came unexpectedly. I remember how it feels to wake up the day after and watch the entire world go on like nothing happened. That experience can create a felt sense that no one understands or cares what you’re going through. But Jesus does. Isaiah 53:3 calls Jesus “a Man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…” Jesus didn’t just “get sad.” Jesus was and is a Man of sorrows. It’s not a stretch to call grief Jesus’ baseline. I’m confident Jesus laughs and feels joy too, but He is a Man of sorrows nonetheless. So take comfort in the fact that He understands. Today isn’t “business as usual” for Him. If you’re hurting, so is He.

The Holy Spirit will comfort you.

When grief is at its height, it is normal to fear it won’t end. When grief overwhelms us, we are unable to imagine it ever going away. So let me encourage you. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4) Furthermore, in John 14:16, Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would be our Comforter. God isn’t just with you in your grief. Jesus doesn’t just understand your sorrow. The Holy Spirit wants to actually do something about it. So even if it doesn’t feel like it, even if you can’t fathom it, take heart—comfort is coming.

Ride grief like a wave.

I know people talk about “the stages” of grief. The problem is, that research and teaching are often stripped out of context. When that happens, it creates a belief that grief is a linear or predictable process. Anyone who has ever grieved knows that isn’t true. C.S. Lewis wrote a series of reflections on grief after the death of his wife. The book is called A Grief Observed. In it, he wrote, "In grief, nothing 'stays put.' One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats." So don’t try and force your grief to move in a straight line. If it comes as sorrow, ride it. If it comes as anger, feel it. Ride each wave as it comes.

You can go slow and get rest.

Rest is one of the most important ways we tend to grief. Because sadness is so uncomfortable, we often want to make it stop. We want to get over it as soon as possible so we can stop feeling so bad. The problem is, grief isn’t quick. Plus, it radically diminishes your energy and capacity. I think this is by God’s good design. Healing takes time. So take a breath, even right now. Take a breath and let go of the pressure to make yourself feel better. Grief isn’t a sprint. It’s not even a marathon. It’s more like an uphill hike. So it’s okay for you to go slow. And you can stop and catch your breath as much as you need.

Allow yourself to take small steps.

Grief is often accompanied by a sense of dread. The dread says, “The way you feel in this moment is how you’re going to feel in every moment going forward. This pain is your new normal.” That’s not exactly an inspiring script, is it? So every time you hear dread reciting that script, I want you to imagine Jesus looking you in the eyes and inviting you back to the present moment. Imagine Him saying, “…don’t worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Matthew 6:34) The truth is, you don’t know how you’re going to feel tomorrow. And even if tomorrow ends up being hard for you, worrying about it today does nothing to change that. So stay focused on taking each day as it comes. That’s how you take small steps forward.

I know that’s a lot. But again, you don’t have to remember it all. I wrote it down so you can come back to it anytime you need to be encouraged. More than anything, I want you to know that I’m so sorry you’re hurting. But you are also healing. It may not feel like it today. It probably won’t feel like it tomorrow. But you are healing. God is with you. Jesus understands you. The Spirit will comfort you. So you can ride each wave of grief as it comes. You can go slow and rest as you can. You can take small steps each day. I know it hurts like hell. But it will get better.

Through tears,

Ryan