I recently heard a statement that made me stop and think: Even though we are living in God’s love story, it is set in a world at war.

There is so much packed into that one sentence. We are living in God’s love story. That is the larger story, and it is where our hope is found. But right now, that story is unfolding in a world where a war is still being fought between good and evil, light and darkness, life and death.

Holding on to God’s love after child loss means trying to hold both of those truths at the same time. We are deeply loved by God, and we are living in a broken world where devastating things happen.

As pareavors, we understand the casualties of that war in a way we never wanted to. Our children have died, and we are left trying to understand how something this painful can be part of a world held by a loving God.

I am not going to pretend that there is a simple answer that makes the pain go away. There isn’t. But this picture of God’s love story taking place in a world at war has helped me hold a few things together that can feel impossible to hold at the same time.

The War Is Not the Whole Story

The setting is a world at war, but the war is not the whole story. And it is not the ending.

When our children are taken out of this earthly setting, they are moved into an eternal place of peace, fullness, ultimate love and glory. They are where there is no more evil, no more suffering and no more war. Ever.

Of course, I would rather have my daughter, Becca, here with me. I would rather be making more memories with her, hearing her voice, hearing her laugh and sharing all the ordinary parts of life that I miss so deeply. I do not say any of this to minimize that ache, or to make myself feel as though I should not want her here.

But once in a while, it helps me to remind myself not only of the good things we are missing together, but also of the evil she is no longer facing. She is no longer living in a world where bodies fail, people hurt one another and darkness can touch the lives of those we love. She has been removed from this setting of war and brought fully into the love story.

Holding on to God’s love after child loss does not make me miss Becca less. It gives me something larger to hold while I miss her.

Seeing God’s Goodness in the Contrast

I am coming to realize more and more that I would not understand how good God is if I could not also see how horrible evil is. We recognize light because we have known darkness. We long for what is whole because we have lived with what is broken.

That does not mean God sends evil so we can appreciate Him more. Evil is not evidence of God’s goodness. It is the opposite of His nature. But the contrast helps me see more clearly who He is and what He is rescuing us from.

As that contrast grows clearer, my love for Him grows stronger. I see more of His compassion. I see that He is not standing at a distance from our pain. He hurts with us. He entered this broken world Himself through Jesus, and He has promised that evil will not have the final word.

For me, this has become part of holding on to God’s love after child loss. I do not have to call evil good, in order to believe that God is good.

Hope While the Story Is Still Being Written

Romans 5 talks about rejoicing in the hope of the glory of God, and it also speaks about suffering, perseverance, character and hope. I do not believe that passage is asking us to celebrate the terrible thing that happened. It is showing us that God can still be at work while we are suffering, and that what we see right now is not the completed story.

I think of following a recipe. There are ingredients you would never want to eat by themselves. If you tasted the mixture halfway through, you might decide the whole thing was ruined. But the recipe is not finished yet. More ingredients still need to be added. It still needs time and heat before what is being made becomes something completely different from what you tasted in the middle.

Grief can feel like being forced to taste something bitter and being told to wait. I don’t like that. I would never have chosen it. And I am certainly not going to call the death of my child a good ingredient.

But I can believe that God is not finished. I can hold on to the hope that when the entire story is seen from beginning to end, His goodness will be there. We may feel deeply disappointed by what has happened in this part of the story. But the last page has not been written, and the war does not get to decide the ending.

Holding on to God’s love after child loss does not require me to understand what God is doing. It allows me to believe that He can still be at work even when the story looks unfinished from where I am standing.

What Do We Expect the Christian Life to Be?

The picture we use to understand the Christian life shapes what we expect from God and how we interpret what happens to us. If I believe following God means He will protect me from every painful thing, then the death of my child can make it seem as though God failed me, or I failed Him.

But the Bible does not give us a picture of people who never face war, distress or deep sorrow. The Psalms are filled with cries from people who feel surrounded, frightened, abandoned and overwhelmed. Psalm 23 gives us the beautiful picture of green pastures and still waters, but even that psalm goes on to speak of walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

The Shepherd is present in both places.

Sometimes He leads us beside still waters. Sometimes He walks with us through the darkest valley. His love is not measured by which setting we are in. His love is revealed by His presence with us in every setting, and by His promise that the valley is not our forever home.

Are We Seeking His Presents or His Presence?

That brings me to some difficult questions that I have had to ask myself. Am I seeking God for His presents, the things He can give me, or for His presence? Am I looking only for His hand and what He can do for me, or am I also looking for His face? Am I seeking Him, or only the outcome I desperately want Him to give me?

Those are not questions I ask to shame myself or anyone else. After our child dies, of course we want God to change what has happened. Of course we plead for relief. Of course we want Him to take away the pain. That is not a lack of faith. That is the cry of a shattered heart.

But there may come a time when we begin to discover that even when God does not give us what we are asking for, He still gives us Himself. Slowly, sometimes almost without realizing it, we can begin to want His presence, not because it replaces our child, but because we know we cannot survive this world at war without Him.

Holding on to God’s love after child loss may begin with nothing more than asking Him to stay close when we cannot feel Him and do not understand Him.

Deep Sorrow Is Not Self-Pity

I want to be careful here, because intense grief is not the same thing as self-pity. Being overcome with sorrow does not mean we have crossed some spiritual line or become a victim. In early grief, surviving the next hour can take everything we have. There is no shame in that.

The question is not whether we still have days when grief knocks us down. The question, over time, is whether we are willing to reach for the help God places in front of us and take one small step when we are able.

There is a difference between acknowledging that something devastating happened to us and allowing that devastation to convince us that we are completely powerless over what happens next. We did not choose the death of our child, and we cannot choose how or when grief hits us. But over time, we may begin to discover that there are still some small choices we can make in how we care for ourselves, whether we reach for help and what our next step might be.

At first, those choices may be painfully small: getting out of bed, answering one message, eating something or whispering one honest sentence to God. But those small choices matter.

We do not lift ourselves by pretending we are fine. We lift our eyes by remembering that sorrow is not the only thing that is true. We are grieving, and we are loved. We have been wounded, and God is near. Our children are no longer here with us, and they are no longer in the war.

The Love Story Still Holds Us

God is a God of promises, and one of the realities of this world is that He has given people the freedom to choose. That freedom means love is real, but it also means people can make choices that cause terrible harm. Add to that the brokenness of our bodies and of creation itself, and we live in a world where things happen that were never part of God’s heart for us.

But God is not indifferent to any of it. He is hurting with us, and He has made a way for this present setting not to be the end of our story.

We are living in God’s love story, and for now, it is set in a world at war. Both parts of that sentence matter. If we look only at the war, despair can swallow us. If we talk only about the love story, we can make people feel as though their pain is being dismissed.

But when we hold them together, we can be honest about the horror of what has happened and still believe that evil does not win. We can miss our children with every part of us and still find comfort in knowing they are safe. We can be deeply disappointed by this part of the story and still trust the One who sees the story all the way to its end.

This is the tension of holding on to God’s love after child loss. We do not deny the war, but we also do not allow the war to become the whole story.

Our children have been removed from the setting of war. They are living fully in the place where God’s love is no longer interrupted by pain, sorrow or death. And one day, we will be there too.

Until then, holding on to God’s love after child loss may look like turning toward His presence and taking the next small step when we can. And when we cannot see how any of this can become part of a love story, we can ask God to hold that hope for us until we are able to hold it again.

NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 364. Click here to listen to the full discussion, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

Find out more about The GPS Hope Grief Cruise in October, 2027.

Free printable guide: Rebuilding Your Life: A Gentle Guide Toward Hope and Healing After Child Loss.

GPS Hope & Healing retreat, October 16-18, in Sarasota, FL

Check out all the GPS Hope resources here.

To support this podcast and, keep it ad-free, and get exclusive content, visit us on Patreon

Download our FREE GUIDE. Rebuilding Your Life: A Gentle Guide Toward Hope and Healing After Child Loss. Discover gentle encouragement for your broken heart, practical support for the days ahead, and hope that meets you right where you are.

AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, LAURA DIEHL, has written several impactful books that provide comfort and guidance to those navigating the painful journey of child loss, after the death of her own daughter in 2011. Her most acclaimed work, When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child, has received multiple accolades, including the 2017 Gold Medal Centauri Christian Book Award for Non-Fiction and a Silver Medal in the 2018 Illumination Awards. Several of her other books have won awards as well.

In addition to her writing, Laura is an ordained minister and has an extensive background in international children’s ministry. She is a sought-after speaker and singer at grief conferences and churches, known for her compassionate approach and deep understanding of the grieving process, especially the unique loss of a child. Through her weekly award-winning podcast, her writings, and other resources provided by GPS Hope, Laura and her husband, Dave, continue to provide hope and healing to thousands of parents worldwide, helping them find light in the midst of profound loss and darkness.

For more information about Laura’s award-winning books go to gpshope.org/books.
To find out more about Laura Diehl and the ministry of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope) visit gpshope.org.

The link to Hope for the Future is an affiliate link, allowing part of the purchase price to go to GPS Hope. 

In the first part of my conversation with Becky Russell, we heard about her daughter, Jae, and the accident that took her life. Becky also shared how deeply Jae’s death shook her faith. She found herself questioning things she had never thought she would question and trying to figure out who God is in the middle of such devastating pain.

We began talking about four parts of our worldview: origin, morality, meaning, and destiny. Those words may sound a little formal, but what they represent is very personal. They are the beliefs we carry about where we came from, how we know what is right, why our lives matter, and what happens when this life is over.

When child loss shakes what you believe, these are no longer just ideas to discuss. They become the questions of a broken heart. In this part of our conversation, Becky and I talked about meaning and destiny, along with the question that helped her begin finding her way through the spiritual mayhem.

When Life No Longer Feels Meaningful

After our child dies, it can feel as though the meaning of our own life died too. Many pareavors find themselves wondering why they are still here and what purpose life could possibly have without their child in it.

For Becky, meaning had always been connected to serving the Lord by serving people. After Jae died, that did not mean she was ready to do something big. It often meant something very small, such as noticing someone who was lost in the hallway where she worked and helping that person find where they needed to go.

Her prayer became, “Lord, give me someone to encourage today.”

I love the simplicity of that. Becky was not talking about starting a foundation or taking on a major project while she could barely breathe. She was talking about one small moment that helped her step outside her own pain long enough to see another person. Those moments became little life preservers that helped her make it through the day.

That does not mean that serving someone else takes away our grief. It does not carry us through the entire journey or suddenly make life feel worthwhile again. But it can be like finding a chair when we have been standing for too long. We sit for a moment, catch our breath, and then keep going.

When child loss shakes what you believe, even a tiny step can feel impossible. We do not need to pressure ourselves into doing more than we can. But we can ask God to open our eyes to one small thing in front of us and allow that moment to remind us that we are still here.

Our life is not worth living in spite of our child’s death. It is worth living because our child lived. I do not want to honor the fact that Becca died. I want to honor the fact that she lived by the way I live my life. It is not the pain that keeps us attached to our children; it is the love that keeps us connected.

Asking God, “What Now?”

Fairly early in her grief, Becky wrote the words “What now?” on her bathroom mirror with a dry erase marker. Each time she brushed her teeth or got ready for the day, she saw those words.

Part of that question was directed toward herself: What are you going to do with this? But it was also directed toward God: “What now, God? How are You going to bring me out of this darkness? How are You going to take the death of my child and somehow bring something good into my life?”

She was not saying Jae’s death could become good. There is an important difference between God calling the death of our child good and God bringing something good into our life after it. Sometimes the miracle is simply that we survive something we were sure would destroy us.

Becky watched other parents who had found their way back into life. They laughed again. They felt joy again. They still missed their children, but their child’s death no longer completely pushed everything else out of their lives. Becky began telling herself, “If they can do it, I can do it.”

She could not understand how time would change anything because Jae would always be gone. I think most of us understand that. If the reality does not change, how could the pain ever feel different? And yet, Becky held on to what she saw in other pareavors and to the foundation of her faith that God would eventually make everything right.

Time is part of what changes grief, but what we do with that time matters too. Asking “What now?” does not mean we need a plan for the rest of our lives. It may simply mean asking God to show us the next small thing.

When Heaven Suddenly Becomes Personal

The fourth part of our worldview is destiny: What happens after we die?

Becky had always heard about heaven. She grew up singing songs about it and seeing “pictures” of heaven and angels. But after Jae died, the things she had always pictured were no longer comforting. Heaven had seemed somewhat sterile to her, without much activity. Now her daughter was there, and she needed to look more closely at what she truly believed.

For Becky, life continues after death, and love continues too. Heaven is not an empty place where our children are waiting in loneliness. It is a place of unfathomable love and continued relationship, even though we cannot understand exactly what that will look like.

She believes God never takes us backward. He takes us into something better than we could have imagined. She has no doubt that when she arrives in heaven, her response will be, “Oh, if I had only known.”

Becky also believes our children are not experiencing heaven as years and years of waiting for us. Our minds have a hard time understanding that because everything here is measured by clocks and calendars. We cannot fully comprehend eternity or what it means to be outside time as we know it.

But we can hold on to the hope that our children are fully alive, fully loved, and not impatiently counting the years until we join them. When child loss shakes what you believe, that hope can become a place to rest, even when there is still so much that we do not understand.

“I Don’t Know If I Believe That Anymore”

As Becky wrestled with all of this, she talked with a close friend who understood theology and was willing to sit with her questions. Becky would bring her the things she was struggling with, listen to her answer, and then say, “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”

That sentence holds so much. Many of us who believed in God before our child died have found ourselves in that same place. We still want to trust Him, but we have encountered a side of life, and perhaps a side of God, that we do not recognize. We find ourselves asking, “God, who are You, really? I don’t know this side of You.”

Becky’s prayers felt futile. She had prayed for Jae’s protection, and Jae died anyway. At one point, when Becky and her husband needed to replace their car, he suggested they go home and pray about it. Becky told him, “I am not praying about it. I prayed about the other car she was driving.”

I am grateful Becky shared that honestly, because this is what it can sound like when child loss shakes what you believe. It is not a neat discussion about faith. It can be anger, confusion, silence, and wondering whether our prayers ever mattered.

Begin With What You Do Believe

After hearing Becky say several times that she did not know what she believed anymore, her friend gently asked her to pause. Instead of continuing to focus on everything she no longer believed, she asked Becky to back up and identify what she did believe. What did she still know? What truths was she still confident in?

That question became a turning point. Becky began writing, and what came from it was a personal manifesto. Her manifesto included things such as her belief that God never changes and that His nature is not dependent on her understanding. She wrote that her view of God would not be determined by her circumstances, and that she would always be amazed by His capacity for grace.

She wrote that she would live in the power of the moment instead of regretting the past or fearing the future. She acknowledged that her life could be exciting and satisfying without always being comfortable or safe, and she wanted her life to show love and grace.

She ended by affirming that her life would continue after she died on this earth. Death held no power over her or the people she loved, and she would never stop longing for the place she had never been.

When child loss shakes what you believe, you may not be ready to write something like Becky’s manifesto. That is okay. You may only be able to name one thing you still believe. But that one truth can become an anchor when doubt and fear begin pulling at you again.

You may still be wrestling with God over things that do not make sense. You may not have all the answers you once thought you had. The question is not whether every doubt has been settled. The question is, what do you still believe? What can you choose to hold on to while your heart is hurting?

We Are Walking Each Other Home

As we closed our conversation, Becky said something I thought was beautiful: “We are all walking each other home.”

None of us wanted to be on this road. We did not choose to have our faith shaken or to wrestle with questions we never imagined we would be asking. But there is something comforting about knowing we do not have to figure it all out before we can keep walking, and we do not have to walk alone.

Maybe you do not know what you believe right now. Maybe the things you once felt certain about no longer feel certain at all. That does not mean you have failed God or that you are grieving wrong. God is not frightened by your questions, your confusion, or even your anger.

You may not be able to believe that life can ever feel meaningful again. You may not be able to imagine wanting to live the life that is now in front of you. If that is where you are, please do not force yourself to reach for something that feels impossible.

For now, perhaps it is enough to let someone else hold that hope for you. Those of us who are farther down this road can gently carry the belief that your pain will not always feel exactly as it does today. We can walk beside you without rushing you, fixing you, or expecting you to see what you cannot yet see.

You do not need to have your beliefs sorted out. You do not need to know what comes next. For today, you can simply breathe, grieve, ask your questions, and allow yourself to be loved. And when you cannot take another step, we will keep walking beside you, because we really are walking each other home.

NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 363. Click here to listen to the full discussion, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

Connect with Becky Russel:

Weepyseeds blog

Personal Facebook page 

Find out more about The GPS Hope Grief Cruise in October, 2027.

Check out all the GPS Hope resources here.

To support this podcast and, keep it ad-free, and get exclusive content, visit us on Patreon

Download our FREE GUIDE. Rebuilding Your Life: A Gentle Guide Toward Hope and Healing After Child Loss. Discover gentle encouragement for your broken heart, practical support for the days ahead, and hope that meets you right where you are.

AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, LAURA DIEHL, has written several impactful books that provide comfort and guidance to those navigating the painful journey of child loss, after the death of her own daughter in 2011. Her most acclaimed work, When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child, has received multiple accolades, including the 2017 Gold Medal Centauri Christian Book Award for Non-Fiction and a Silver Medal in the 2018 Illumination Awards. Several of her other books have won awards as well.

In addition to her writing, Laura is an ordained minister and has an extensive background in international children’s ministry. She is a sought-after speaker and singer at grief conferences and churches, known for her compassionate approach and deep understanding of the grieving process, especially the unique loss of a child. Through her weekly award-winning podcast, her writings, and other resources provided by GPS Hope, Laura and her husband, Dave, continue to provide hope and healing to thousands of parents worldwide, helping them find light in the midst of profound loss and darkness.

For more information about Laura’s award-winning books go to gpshope.org/books.
To find out more about Laura Diehl and the ministry of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope) visit gpshope.org.

The link to Hope for the Future is an affiliate link, allowing part of the purchase price to go to GPS Hope.