When Death Visits…Holding on Through the Valley

 

Death does not knock politely.
It crashes in—sometimes expected at the end of a long life, and other times in the middle of our laughter, our hobbies, our dreams, our youth. It does not ask for permission. It comes like a rogue wave, dragging us under without warning. We find ourselves gasping, unable to breathe, caught in a grief that feels like drowning.

We turn, often instinctively, to Psalm 23, searching for comfort in ancient words we have heard at funerals:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
—Psalm 23:4, ESV

But there are times when even these words—so familiar, so beloved—feel distant. The valley feels too long, the shadow too heavy, the Shepherd too silent.

We are told to be strong.
We are told to have faith.
But grief is not weakness.
Grief is love with no place to go.

When death visits, it leaves behind more than sorrow.
It leaves questions.

• Why now?
• Why them?
• Why didn't God stop it?
• Why didn’t I say more, do more, love better?
• Will this pain ever go away?

And sometimes, there are no answers. That, perhaps, is the hardest part.
There is no explanation that makes the empty chair less empty.
There is no theological reasoning that makes your child, your spouse, your parent, your friend come back.

C.S. Lewis wrestled with this silence when he lost his wife:

“Where is God? ...Go to Him when your need is desperate...and what do you find? A door slammed in your face.”
—C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

If you’ve felt that—the silence—you are not alone.

Even Jesus wept.

“Jesus wept.”
—John 11:35, ESV

He knew He would raise Lazarus.
Yet He stood in front of that tomb and cried because grief matters.
Loss matters.
We were not created for death. We were created for eternity.

And then there is anger.
We feel angry at doctors, hospitals, accidents, at others who move on too quickly—and sometimes, angry at God.

And let us say what is true: God is not afraid of your anger.

The Psalms are filled with laments—raw, honest cries:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”
—Psalm 13:1, ESV

Grief is not a straight line.
It’s not a calendar or a checklist.
It’s waves. And some waves come with rage, regret, blame, and bewilderment.

And that’s okay.

Spurgeon wrote:

“God is too good to be unkind and He is too wise to be mistaken. And when we cannot trace His hand, we must trust His heart.”

That’s not a demand to silence your emotions.
It’s a comforting invitation—that even in your questions, your shaking fists, your messy sobs—you are still held.

Grief will return when you least expect it.
On a normal Tuesday. In the grocery store. Hearing a song. Seeing their handwriting. Smelling their cologne. Holding their Bible.

Just when you think you’re okay, the wave hits again.
And that’s not failure. That’s love.

You may feel like you’re drowning again. But there’s a rope—a lifeline thrown out by Christ Himself.

“We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.”
—Hebrews 6:19, ESV

Hold onto that rope. Let others help you hold it too.

Death is not just about endings.
It is a sacred reminder: no one gets out of this life alive.

“Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”
—James 4:14, ESV

Have you made preparations—not just for your body, but for your soul?

Have you chosen where you will spend eternity?

“And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment…”
—Hebrews 9:27, ESV

You will not get a second chance. Once we step into eternity, the decision is sealed.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, executed just before the end of WWII, faced death with courage because he was ready:

“This is the end—for me, the beginning of life.”

Can you say the same?

You do not need to “move on” from your grief.
You do not need to let go of the memories.
But you can, in time, let go of fear.
You can release shame.
You can carry joy, and make new memories with those still here.
You can honor the ones you’ve lost by living fully, honestly, and eternally focused.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more…for the former things have passed away.”
—Revelation 21:4, ESV

Ask yourself:

• Have I accepted the hope Christ offers?
• Have I prepared those I love to grieve without burden?
• Have I made peace with death—not in fear, but in faith?

Let the sorrow come. Let the questions be asked. Let the anger be spoken.

But don’t let go of the rope.

Christ holds you. And He is enough.

“For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
—Philippians 1:21, ESV