Crystal's Heart Healing House, Inc

06/20/2026

06/20/2026

One Day at A Time

06/19/2026

A CHURCH THAT WEEPS TOGETHER.

I never knew how heavy grief could feel until I carried it in my own arms.
Losing my son Evan shattered something deep inside me. The tears don’t ask permission. They come at gravesides, in the truck, in the middle of the night, and sometimes right in the middle of a sermon. And I’ve stopped apologizing for them.
What has stunned me more than the grief itself is the flood of messages I’ve received since we laid him to rest. Husbands. Wives. Mothers. Fathers. Grown men and women who lost children, spouses, or parents years ago—some decades ago. Their words break my heart all over again:
“I was told I should be over it by now.”
“They said if I had enough faith, I wouldn’t still be crying.”
“My church friends stopped checking on me once the funeral was over.”
“They compared me to someone else who ‘handled it better.’”
Church… this should not be.
The Church of Jesus Christ is supposed to be the one place on earth where broken people can fall apart without being shamed for it. The one safe harbor where you don’t have to perform strength. Where weeping isn’t weakness and lament isn’t unbelief. Where you are allowed to be fully human because our Savior was fully human— “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15)
That verse doesn’t say “fix those who weep.” It doesn’t say “correct their timeline.” It doesn’t say “compare their tears to someone else’s dry eyes.” It says weep with them.
That means sitting in the dust with the hurting. It means patience when the grief doesn’t fit your schedule. It means compassion that doesn’t rush resurrection morning before the tomb has been sat in for a while. It means love that stays when the casseroles stop coming and the phone grows quiet.
If your brother or sister is drowning in sorrow, your job isn’t to throw them a sermon on joy—it’s to get in the water with them and hold them up until they can breathe again.
I’m learning this the hard way. Some days I preach through tears. Some days I can barely preach at all. But I’m more convinced than ever that raw, honest grief in the house of God is not a sign that something is wrong with us. It’s a sign that something is finally right—because we’re finally safe enough to stop pretending.
To every grieving soul who’s been rushed, shamed, or spiritually gaslit:
You are not crazy.
You are not faithless.
You are not “stuck.”
You are human. And the God who wept at Lazarus’ tomb is not offended by your tears—He collects them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8).
And to the Church I love:
Let us become the kind of people who make room for lament. Who don’t flinch at long seasons of sorrow. Who refuse to measure anyone’s healing by our own comfort level. Let’s be the place where the grieving find arms instead of advice, presence instead of platitudes, and the patient love of Christ instead of timelines.
If you’re carrying grief right now and the Church has failed you in this— I’m sorry. On behalf of every one of us who should have done better, I’m sorry.
But please don’t give up on the Body. There are still those who will sit with you in the ashes. I’m trying to be one of them.
Weep, beloved. The Church should be strong enough to hold your tears.
And one day—by the grace of the One who rose with scars—we will dance again. But until then, we weep together.
That’s not lack of faith.
That’s family.
— Pastor Greg Locke
Global Vision Bible Church

06/19/2026

GREIF, GUILT & GRACE….
One month into this journey without our son Evan, and the Lord is teaching me in ways I never wanted to learn.
Grief — It hasn’t gotten easier. It never hurts less… it just hurts less often. The waves still crash in without warning. Some days the ache feels as raw as May 8th. I stand at his grave and I miss him with everything in me. But even in the sorrow, I’m learning to lament honestly before the Lord while refusing to grieve as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Evan is with Jesus — fully alive, fully free, completely healed. That doesn’t erase the pain of his absence, but it anchors my soul.
Guilt — This one has been sneaking up on me. Life is slowly trying to find a “new normal,” and I feel the pull to step back into the rhythms of ministry. I posted about preaching in Australia this weekend, and while I’m genuinely looking forward to being with God’s people there, it sent my spirit sideways. How can I go preach while my heart is still shattered? There’s this uninvited guilt that says I shouldn’t be moving forward, that I should still be completely undone.
I know in my head that this guilt is not from the Lord. Evan loved the Gospel. He would want me preaching it. The Great Commission didn’t come with an expiration date on grief. But the heart takes longer than the head sometimes. So I’m laying that false guilt at the feet of Jesus and choosing obedience over emotion.
Grace — And here is where the Lord is blowing my mind. His grace is rising in the most unexpected and powerful way. In the middle of the grief and the guilt, the sustaining grace of God is not just holding me up — it is lifting me higher. His strength is being made perfect in my weakness. His comfort is deeper than the sorrow. His joy is breaking through in the most tender moments. The same resurrection power that raised Jesus from the dead is at work in us who believe (Ephesians 1:19-20), and I’m feeling it in fresh measure.
Grace says it’s okay to laugh again.
Grace says it’s okay to preach again.
Grace says the same God who carried me through the darkest valley will carry me onto the next assignment.
I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still crying, still processing, still leaning hard on the prayers of the saints. But I’m also more convinced than ever that Jesus is enough. His grace is sufficient. His mercy is new every morning. And even this — yes, even this — will be woven into His beautiful story for His glory.
If you’re walking through grief, guilt, or any heavy season right now… you’re not alone. The God of all grace is with you. Keep holding on. Keep trusting. The same power that sustains me is available for you.