Grief (Ode to a Friend)
I wrote this after seeing a friend—someone dear to me—post on social media about the loss of a family member. I reached out. Below is the brief conversation.
I’m not entirely sure what it was about her response that hit me so hard. But the weight of that grief settled on me as the hours went on. My thoughts drifted toward loss—and the strange way grief reveals the depths of our care.
“He always comes alongside us to comfort us in every suffering so that we can come alongside those who are in any painful trial. We can bring them this same comfort that God has poured out upon us.”
— 2 Corinthians 1:3–4 (TPT)
God gives us not just permission but responsibility—to comfort others. But it’s not any kind of comfort. It's not the awkward silence or the distraction-based advice. Paul writes: “with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” That kind of comfort is worth exploring.
“The thief comes only in order to steal, kill, and destroy. I have come in order that you might have life—life in all its fullness.”
— John 10:10 (GNT)
If you’ve met this friend of mine, you know she carries a light-heartedness that’s rare. She laughs easily, carries joy loudly, and has this grace that brings peace into a room. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her actually angry before. That kind of presence is a gift. It’s not common—and perhaps that’s part of why this grief feels heavier than usual. Because sometimes, life threatens to steal or crush the very virtues that make us feel most human: joy, kindness, peace. Grief has a way of targeting the light.
So when Scripture talks about “the comfort that God has poured out upon us,” it reminds me that comfort isn’t just about soothing pain. It’s also about guarding light. It’s about ensuring that grief doesn’t smother the beauty God placed in someone. It’s not about distraction or numbing—it’s about presence. Gentle, steady, healing presence.
“…Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”
— Psalm 30:5 (NKJV)
This verse is often quoted at funerals, but it isn’t meant to be cliché. It’s a truth soaked in mercy. God doesn’t tell us not to cry—He promises that crying has a context. It has a time. But it doesn’t get the final word. Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us that there is a season for everything including weeping, laughing and mourning. The kind of comfort God gives embraces the now, but gently points toward the morning.
“Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.”
— 1 Peter 5:7 (NKJV)
I don’t believe in pretending pain away. I don’t believe in spiritualizing our way around sorrow. I believe in naming what’s hard. Sitting with it. Talking to God about it, because He cares deeply. And one of the ways He shows that is through the kind of community that sits with you in the grief—not to fix you or distract you, but simply to be with you.
I pray that anyone navigating grief—whether fresh or lingering—experiences that kind of comfort:
The comfort that holds you in the pain…
…and quietly reminds you that joy still comes in the morning.
Don’t forget you can message us under the CONTACT US link or just email us directly at faithlovemedicine@gmail.com about anything!
