A Weeping Christian: When Faith and Grief Collide

A blog by Kimberly Crumby


“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed in us. For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the songs of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will also be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Romans 8:20-22

There are so many things in this world that scream brokenness… from innocent people dying of vicious diseases, wars, children suffering at the hands of adults, parents mourning the loss of a child much too soon… the list could go on and on. So many times, we say things like, “What is this world coming to?…It seems like things are getting worse… Why do innocent people have to suffer?… How could God let these things happen?”… again, that list could be a long one.

In my devotional book I’m working on, I read the following this week:
“While we firmly believe that nothing comes into our lives that does not pass through the sovereign hands of God, we don’t believe that God picked us out for this…. We live in a world where sin has taken root and corrupted everything…. This world is broken, and we regularly experience that brokenness in the form of suffering. So we should expect natural disasters, deadly viruses, defective genes-because this world is broken and will continue to be broken until the return of Christ…In your search for a cause for your suffering, could it simply be that the brokenness of this world has touched your personally and painfully?” (From The One Year Book of Hope by Nancy Guthrie)

When either the world’s brokenness or my own becomes almost too much to bear, I again turn to the truth I know. This truth tells me that this is not the end, and that this world (at least in its current form) is not my home. While that doesn’t always make things “easier” or less scary, it makes it all bearable. While it doesn’t mean I’m always up on the mountaintop shoutin’ for joy, it means I can crawl out of the valley even though I might return periodically. While it doesn’t take away the terrible, gaping hole left in my body after lying next to my child as she took her last breath, it means I can actually keep living a meaningful life until I can hold her in my arms again. As Steven Curtis Chapman says in one of his amazing songs, “Is that you I hear, laughing loud, calling out to me, saying… see… it’s everything he said that it would be, and even better than you would believe… and I’m counting down the days until you’re here with me and finally you’ll see.” 

Lord, I trust one day that I will see.

Comments are currently closed.