Holding On to Hope: Finding God When You're Lost in Grief

The Weight of Grief and the Silence of God

I remember pulling my car over on an empty road during a solo drive, gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles were white. My young husband had died by suicide just weeks before, and I could no longer see the road through the torrential tears that were pouring. The world around me was blurred, distant—like I was moving through a life that no longer felt like mine.

Somehow, woven into my shock and numbness were waves of excruciating pain. My prayers at that moment were primal screams... which felt like they hit the ceiling and came back down, unanswered.

"God, where were you?! Where are you?! How could you let him die?! How am I supposed to keep living?!"

Maybe you’ve asked similar questions in your own grief and loss. Maybe you’ve screamed them into the void, hoping for something—anything—that would bring a sense of comfort. But you felt that all that came was silence.

Losing someone you love shakes the very foundation of your world. It can cause us to view life differently and ask deeper questions. It can also plunge us into darkness.

How do you hold on to faith and hope when the One you trusted feels absent?

When Hope Feels Distant and Trust Feels Unsafe

In grief, you lose more than just your person. Amongst many other losses that follow that first domino, a felt connection to God can be something that also falls down... and away.

You might find yourself wondering:

• Why did God allow this suffering?

• If He loves me/my person, why didn’t He stop it?

• Can I trust Him again when He let me experience this much pain?

Faith, once so sure, now feels fragile—too tender to touch. Hope seems like something meant for other people, but no longer for you. And if you’ve lost your person to suicide, the questions only multiply. The pain can feel unbearable, and the "whys" and "what ifs," unrelenting.

Maybe you've been told to "just trust God," but faith after loss has nothing to do with pat answers or pretending to be okay. It's about finding a deeper connection to God and a foundation of hope.... right under you in the middle of your devastation.

That is something entirely new- which you may find now in a way you never could while the structure of your life was still standing.

Holding On to the Love That Doesn’t Disappear in Grief

Although loneliness is so strong, God is not absent in your grief. But pain has a way of making Him feel incredibly distant.

Throughout scripture, we see people wrestling with this same ache:

• David cried out, "How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?" -Psalm 13:1

• Job, in his suffering, asked, "Why do you hide your face and consider me your enemy?" -Job 13:24

• Jesus, taking on the sin of the world in His final moments, cried, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" -Matthew 27:46

As much as we avoid the subject, lament (a passionate expression of grief, sorrow and confusion), is all over the Bible. Honest lament can open us to true connection with our Heavenly Father. It can lead back to trust, and be the first step in daring to hope again.

Repeatedly, God's response to lament is validation, compassion, comfort and reassurance.

Faith after loss doesn’t mean "being ok" or having all (or really, any of) the answers. It means trusting that love—God’s love—hasn’t disappeared, even in your deepest pain. It means allowing yourself to grieve with a God who grieves with you.

Taking the First Steps Toward Hope

If you're struggling to believe, if hope feels impossible, know this: faith is expressed in our willingness to turn to God, again, in our brokenness.

That's it. Just turn your tear-stained face His way. There's nothing you need to be and nothing you need to bring.

Here are a few practical steps as you start rebuilding on a foundation of hope:

1. Acknowledge Your Raw Feelings to God

You don’t have to filter your emotions before bringing them to Him. Tell Him exactly where you are. The anger, the doubt, the exhaustion—He can handle it. In fact, He is the only One who can take all of it. Pray raw, unfiltered prayers. Write them in a journal. Cry them out in a space that feels comfortable.

There aren't any "bad" or "wrong" feelings, thoughts, or words when you are bringing them to the safest place- the presence of the God of grace. He knows it all, anyway. When we come to Him with all our hurt, anger, and pain, we find God is near, even in the moments you feel furthest from Him.

2. Know the State of Your Brain Affects Your Experience

Here is some helpful science- the absence of feeling or hearing anything from God in your pain is not evidence of His silence or abandonment. It can actually be that your brain is in a state that is closed off to receiving any input.

Dr. Karl Lehman coined specific brain circuits "Relational Circuits (RCs), which serve our longing and need for relationship. When these circuits are "on," we are able to experience the presence and relational connection of God and other people. When they are "off," we are often unable to relate and connect.

"The activation of trauma-based feelings of being alone and in pain can turn off our RCs. The sudden blackout explains why we are sometimes unable to perceive Immanuel [God with us]." (Wilder, Kang, et al. (2020). Joyful Journey. p. 28.)

PS -I also highly recommend this book in learning interactive gratitude and "thought rhyming" to turn RCs back on!

3. Look for Hope- Every Way You Can

Hope doesn’t always come in grand revelations—it often comes in the small things and quiet moments:

• A song that reminds you that you’re not alone.

• The "faithful few" who can empathetically be with you in your grief.

• A verse or promise given to you that you can hold tight to.

• A memory of your loved one that brings warmth instead of just pain.

I remember that for many months following my husband's death, my trips to the local Sam's Club wholesale store were an embodiment of this principle. I entered feeling like the walking dead (truly; I struggled intensely with suicidal thoughts myself). The first thing I would do is plod into the aisle with all of the large, high-definition televisions. Then, I would stand there.

For at least 10-15 minutes, or more (most of my time there, in fact), I would stand and look at the natural wonders of this planet, displayed in bright colors. It was one small thing that stirred any feeling in my grief-stricken body and my numb soul. It gave the tiniest spark that there was still beauty here. It gave me a bit of hope. And I made it a point to do it every time, because I knew I desperately needed it.

Small moments and tokens are reminders: God is still present. You are still loved. Hope is still solid under your shaky feet. Today's reality isn't your forever reality.

A Final Word: The Faithfulness of God

The first (and pretty much only) words to me from a trusted, wise person after my husband died, when we came face to face at the back of a church sanctuary were this:

"Rachel, you are going to know the faithfulness of God." I am grateful to say that through it all... this has been so true that it has become the theme that I share of the worst 6 years of my life. Through it all, He has been so faithful.

If your faith feels shaky, if God feels distant, if you’re not sure how to trust Him again—you’re not alone. Faith isn’t the absence of the bloody struggles. It’s choosing to turn back toward Him to receive what we need (goodness knows, in our pain, we will be turning to something!).

God hasn’t abandoned you. He’s holding you fast, even in this. And step by step, through grief and suffering, a deeper hope can be found- the foundation underneath the "rock bottom" where we may find ourselves at this time.

You are going to know the faithfulness of God. Keep turning to Him, my friend.

With you,

Rachel

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