Grief refuses to stay politely at the edges of life. It does not knock before entering. It does not ask whether we are ready. It simply arrives. Sometimes as a slow ache, sometimes as a tidal wave—and it rearranges the furniture of the soul. No one escapes it, and no one handles it with complete dignity.
And yet Scripture makes this claim: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Notice that God does not promise to be close to the strong, the triumphant, or the emotionally composed. He draws nearest to those whose bottom has fallen out of their lives. In the economy of heaven, weakness is not a liability but an invitation.
Why is God especially near the brokenhearted? Perhaps because grief strips away the illusions we typically rely on. When loss comes—whether the loss of a loved one, a relationship, a dream, or even a sense of stability—we suddenly recognize how fragile we are. The masks we wear, the strength we project, the control we imagine we have: grief pulls them off one by one. And what remains is a heart open enough, desperate enough, honest enough for God to enter.
Throughout Scripture, God reveals Himself as the One who bends low. He hears Hagar crying in the wilderness. He weeps at Lazarus’s tomb. He comforts Elijah under the broom tree. In Jesus, God does not stay far off; He steps into a world of tears and becomes a “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). This is the God who stands with us in the valley, not just
on the mountaintop.
Thank you to Jeff Jenkins, whose grief seminar has helped us give language to our losses, to learn how to carry them, and to discover once again that the presence of God is a promise— especially to those who hurt.
Maranatha,
Jordy
