God, Use My Grief

It was 2007 when I took a phone call from my mother. She had always struggled with various health issues throughout her life. Once again, she was facing serious complications and had gone to the doctor. The diagnosis was grim. She explained what was happening, and with a heavy heart, she told me that the malfunction in her body would likely lead to death within the next few years.

She lamented the time she would lose with her children—especially her grandchildren. “Will they even know who I am?” she asked. I tried to console her, though deep down, I felt the same way. I responded with the only words I could manage: a meaningless, “Everything will be alright.”

A few short months later, I found myself in a hospital waiting room. My father had taken my mother in because she wasn’t feeling well. I can still remember meeting my oldest brother there—our eyes locking as we thought the same thing: We don’t have much longer. My mom was only 54 years old. Too young.

At the time, I had a long commute to work. Depending on the traffic on Interstate 15, my drive could take anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours. It all depended on whether a careless driver made a bad decision that day. Commuting was miserable, but I found purpose in it—I prayed for my mother.

“Lord, heal my mom. She’s done so much for me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.”
“God, let my children grow to know their Noni.”
“God, keep my mom around just a little while longer.”

But it wasn’t the Lord’s will.

My mom went to be with Jesus in April 2008. I was heartbroken.

My wife and I had just changed churches a few months earlier. It was tough being in a new church while going through grief and pain. We had great support from old church friends and my family, but I still struggled. Many Sundays, I would drift off during the singing or preaching, wrestling with negative feelings toward God and His love. I couldn’t—or rather, I refused—to take hold of His goodness.

Heartbroken.

The years moved forward, but my grief remained. At times, it hit me unexpectedly—triggered by the strangest things. Mostly by music. A song would come on the radio, and suddenly, I’d be fighting back tears. A simple melody could transport me back to a moment when my mom played that song.

In 2011, the Lord called me out of my job in retail management and into pastoral ministry. I had grown through my grief, and my relationship with the Lord was stronger. But one question still lingered: Why? Why had God taken my mom so young? Why did she have to miss so much of my life and my kids’ lives?

Then, one day, the sun began to shine on my grief.

I had spent years trying to understand why God had taken my mom—but not enough time asking Him how He could use my grief.

And then it happened.

I was sitting in my office, across from someone who was struggling with the same feelings I had wrestled with—feelings I still battle from time to time. They were sobbing, barely able to get the words out as they faced the reality that their loved one was gone. 

And that was it.

It was the moment God opened my eyes. Not to understand why I lost my mother, but to realize that my grief had a purpose.

I blurted out, “I understand your pain, and God does too!”

I don’t need to share every detail of the rest of my interaction from that day,  what matters is that I had learned a lesson: God, use my grief.

We don’t have to understand the why behind every painful circumstance we go through. But we can ask God not to let our grief be wasted.

“God, use my grief.”

Use it so I can understand the pain of others.
Use it so I can love people in a way that others cannot.
Use it so I can point people to Your great love and glory.

God, use my grief.

How can you take the difficulty, suffering, pain, and even sin in your life and surrender it for God’s glory, and for the sake of others?

God, use my grief.