How to Find Strength When You're See-Sawed by Grief

It’s usually when we least expect it. The diagnosis. Death. Hard and beautiful news that will forever change life.

It’s then that the chasm between all that’s good and all that’s not yet seems wide. When we’re see-sawed by rolling waves of grief and questions begging hard for answers. Wrung and undone.

Maybe you’re freshly here too. Or you’ve been here much longer than you thought it would take to heal.

You’re re-playing what happened. What didn’t. Looking for something you missed. Something that could have changed the way the dice landed.

Trying to be strong. For everyone else.

I hope these words feel like a hug:

You can be raw-honest with God. That’s His invitation.

And if you’ll come, He’ll meet you. That’s His always-promise, right here for you in James 4:8.

Move your heart closer and closer to God, and he will come even closer to you.
TPT

I know it’s true, because I’ve been living it.

Here, then gone

Today I’ll wear black in honor of a man who taught me that loving those around us can be as simple as hello. Eye contact. Making each other feel human and worth noticing.

We spoke little, but often, both ways through the school intersection. Somedays he beat me to saying “Have a great day!”

The last day he directed us through the intersection, he’d paused to offer me permission to u-turn. I told him it was kind but I didn’t mind to turn around where all the cars looping left changed directions. I waved as I drove past him one last time, and he nodded his usual goodbye. I learned he was hit minutes later. Badly injured.

The other crossing guard kindly shared updates the next couple days as we crossed paths. Day two’s announcement: he hadn’t made it through the night.

I’ll wear the dress I wore to my grandpa’s funeral. It’s a bit faded now, and there are a couple small holes near the hem from years of stepping on the skirt.

Those holes remind me of the prompts in Jennifer Dukes Lee’s guided journal, Stuff I’d Only Tell God, to write the scars that can be seen, and the ones that can’t. (Take a peek here, and pre-order the journal here.)

We each bear scars barely visible, but we know they’re there. Pin pricks of pain that haven’t healed. Doubts about ourselves. Or God. Guilt. Shame.

Grief pushes us face-to-face with the things we haven’t let go. But it also makes space for deeper healing. Because that’s how good our God is. He lends His strength when we’re weak. Heals the hurt. Makes us whole.

How to strengthen grief-weak knees

This morning, I opened my well-trusted friend, a little blue New Testament in The Passion Translation. As I scanned pages heavily colored with pen, this verse invited me to pause. Meditate. Say thanks.

So be made strong even in your weakness by lifting up your tired hands in prayer and worship. And strengthen your weak knees, for as you keep walking forward on God’s paths all your stumbling ways will be divinely healed!
Hebrews 12:12 TPT

What I notice first is the command: “Strengthen your weak knees.” When we feel at our lowest, when we’re most incapable, beyond capacity to even pretend it’s all okay—precisely then we’re told to be strong.

When we feel at our lowest, when we’re most incapable, beyond capacity to even pretend it’s all okay—precisely then we’re told to be strong.

Because it’s phrased as a command, we know strength is not hypothetical but actual-possible.

But how?

By “lifting . . . tired hands in prayer and worship.” Gratitude paves the way forward. It’s the catalyst for part two of the verse, “walking forward on God’s paths [so] all [our] stumbling ways will be divinely healed.”

I write the word nevertheless next to the verse. That word that means we praise God in the raw of right now.

We name His goodness, and we get fresh vision to see that He’s “a safe and powerful place to find refuge . . . a proven help in time of trouble—more than enough and always available whenever [we] need [Him]” (Psalm 46:1 TPT).

When you’re weak with grief, the answer is not self-sufficiency but our Savior’s consistency.

God is Promise-Keeper.

Finisher-Of-All-Good-Things.

Most-Trustworthy-And-Faithful-Friend.

His love is raging and wild. Relentless and constant. Jealous and tender.

When you’re weak with grief, the answer is not self-sufficiency but our Savior’s consistency.

Here’s one to remember:

You keep every promise you’ve ever made to me! Since your love for me is constant and endless, I ask you, Lord, to finish every good thing that you’ve begun in me.
Psalm 138:8 TPT

I know it’s hard right now, but you can trust Him with your pain, your questions, your what-ifs, and why-Gods, and tear-soaked face. He’s here for all of it, because He’s here for you. And He’s here to stay.

Sometimes you don’t have words so you pray God’s very own words back to Him. And maybe that’s where you are today.

Would you pray Psalm 139:23-24 with me?

God, I invite your searching gaze into my heart. Examine me through and through; find out everything that may be hidden within me. Put me to the test and sift through all my anxious cares. See if there is any path of pain I’m walking on, and lead me back to your glorious, everlasting ways—the path that brings me back to you.
TPT

Jesus, You’re so very gentle and kind. You take our bruised and busted lives and lead us to You so You can fill us with Your strength. Wisdom. Hope. Peace. Joy. Do it again, Lord, for the ones grieving a loss, a not-right, or a not-yet today. Meet them with your compassionate gaze that sees us through to core and loves us even more. May they know that You are good nevertheless.

Just a friend over here in your corner,

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