08/13/2026
This!
Everywhere I go, people keep telling me the same thing:
“Don’t stop posting. Everyone around me keeps saying I need to get over it… that it’s been long enough… that I should just move on. But when I read what you’re writing, it gives me permission to still hurt. It lets me grieve without shame. And somehow, in the middle of the tears, I feel the Lord restoring my soul.”
I hear it in texts, emails, and DMs. I hear it from people who stop me in parking lots and restaurants.
Brokenhearted mothers and fathers are being pressured to rush their pain so other people can feel more comfortable. And somehow these posts have become a place where they can breathe, lament, and still hold onto Jesus at the same time.
So I’m going to keep talking about it.
I’m going to keep saying that three months later (or three years later) it can still feel like yesterday.
I’m going to keep saying that missing your child doesn’t mean you’ve lost your faith—it means you loved deeply.
I’m going to keep saying that the same Jesus who wept at a tomb is still close to the brokenhearted and still restores souls.
If you’ve been told to hurry up and “get over it,” hear me:
You don’t have to rush your grief to make other people comfortable.
Lament is holy.
Tears are not the enemy of faith.
And the God who sees every one of them is still in the business of putting shattered hearts back together.
I’m not writing these posts to stay stuck.
I’m writing them because resurrection hope is strong enough to hold both the ache and the praise at the same time.
If you’re still hurting… you’re not behind.
You’re not weak.
You’re not faithless.
You’re just a parent who loved their child, and Jesus is still walking with you through the valley.
We’re going to keep going.
And by His grace, we’re going to keep finding life on the other side of the tears.
