Learn to Grieve Well

Grief is like a room in a house. Everyone has this room, because everyone experiences loss. But its size and place differ. For some, it’s on the main floor, and every day they must walk through it. For others, it’s upstairs, where they visit once in a while, but not for long. And a few have it in the basement, far in the back, with the door tightly shut.

Whatever your experience of loss thus far, one thing is true: You shouldn’t be surprised by it. Yet many are, simply because we live in a culture that does its best to tell us that life is safe and all is fine.

But then a storm unexpectedly appears, and our world crashes in around us. That’s what happened in March 2020 when we found out my wife, Heather, had advanced stomach cancer with a six-month prognosis. All that was certain was suddenly not. Thoughts and plans for the future became meaningless. As a physician, I knew the facts. As a husband, I felt like I’d been thrown into the sea.

In my book Holding On in the Storm, I shared the details of our journey and the many ways God was faithful. On its cover is the famous Rembrandt painting The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, because the pain of deep loss is like a storm. It comes without warning and changes everything. Like the disciples, we’re afraid we’re drowning. And like the disciples, we might feel that Jesus is sleeping and wonder if he cares (Mark 4:35–41).

We cannot avoid the stark reality of loss and grief. It’s clear throughout Scripture that we live in a world of suffering. Job says, “Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward (5:7). The longer we live, the more we’ll lose. And the more we love, the deeper we’ll grieve. Because Jesus loves much, and therefore grieves much, we as his followers should be ready to grieve too.

But we needn’t “grieve as others do who have no hope (1 Thess. 4:13). Let me suggest five ways we can grieve well.

1. Grieve Honestly

Not all our responses to the pain of loss are helpful. We could bury it or run from it, acting as if it didn’t happen. Jerry Sittser tells the story of a dream he had after the devastating loss of his wife, his mother, and his young daughter in a car accident. He was frantically running west toward the setting sun, but the harder he ran, the farther away the sun moved, until it vanished on the horizon.

Because Jesus loves much, and therefore grieves much, we as his followers should be ready to grieve too.

To the east, he saw “a vast darkness closing in on [him].” He was “terrified by the darkness.” Later, he shared his dream with his sister, who told him that to reach the light, he should turn and run into the darkness that lies to the east—the direction where a new day will dawn. We too must honestly face the darkness of grief. It’ll be hard. But it’s the only way we’ll find the light.

2. Grieve Patiently

Grief has no timeline, no set of stages we move through progressively. In the beginning, it’s completely disorienting. Nicholas Wolterstorff describes his experience after losing his son: “I’ve become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it’s not mine. I don’t belong any more. When someone loved leaves home, home becomes mere house.”

At first, the drab color of grief paints over every moment of every day. But as time goes on, we allow other colors in, see other roles we have to play besides the role of the grieving person. We find new things to do, new people to love, and new groups to join. Yet deep loss is never something we get over. Four years after my loss, though I’ve learned to walk more steadily, I remain a man marked by sorrow.

3. Grieve in Community

We’re often tempted to grieve in isolation. Alone in our deep grief, we wonder if we’re going crazy. We don’t trust our thoughts or decisions because much of what we assumed is no longer true.

In my grief, I needed others. I took a risk. I chose to reach out and be vulnerable. It isn’t a stance easily taken, given how much our society and culture teach us to look good and be strong. But deep down, most people realize life is messy, loss is real, and sadness is all around us.

One way I pursued community was to share and pray with someone daily. But only after I’d shared with God—as the psalms show us, we can bring any emotion to God. Then, when we talk with others, we’ve already worked through some of the emotional heaviness.

What we certainly don’t want is to use our pain to manipulate others. We don’t want pity. We seek shared vulnerability, where our sharing of grief opens the other to his or her own sorrows. Together we pray, asking God to hold us up and be our strength.

4. Grieve with Gratitude

When a storm comes, we feel like the whole world is dark and dreary. But after we survive the first blow, we look around and see there’s more than just the storm. Even in Rembrandt’s painting, a small patch of blue is visible in the sky.

We must be diligent to look with gratitude for any signs that God is still at work in our lives. Eventually, we come to see that what we lost was never ours to keep. It was always a gift given, but only for a time—for that we can be thankful.

5. Grieve with Hope

In deep loss and grief, we must tenaciously hold on to hope, for despair hovers close by. The greatest reason for hope is that we have a Savior who suffered and died, who knows our pain and suffers our sorrows, and who seeks a deep relationship with us in our suffering.

When we wonder if God cares, we can turn to the Bible for great promises of presence and consolation. Psalm 34:18 reminds us of the wonderful truth that “the LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

When we wonder if God cares, we can turn to the Bible for great promises of presence and consolation.

Many other passages teach these same truths. Not if but when we feel that God is absent, our faith in these promises is the lifeline that will save us from drowning in our grief.

If we face our grief with honesty, patience, vulnerability, gratitude, and hope, there lies before us a great possibility—that we’ll become more like Jesus, “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3). And our heart will be more like God’s, who feels the pain of the afflicted and deeply cares for the plight of the poor.