When life plunges into deep loss and the road feels treacherous, remember the Good Shepherd walks beside you, guiding, protecting, and offering rest — the goal after grief is not to return to the old normal but to find a new normal shaped by God's presence and the care of community; lean into trusted friends and the Shepherd's lead as you move through the valley. [35:05]
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
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.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
Reflection: Tonight, choose one specific, concrete way you will invite Jesus to walk with you this week (call a 2 a.m. friend, schedule a counseling intake, or set a daily five‑minute prayer time) and do that action before tomorrow night.
When anguish and crushing sorrow come, Jesus did not hide his pain; he invited Peter, James, and John to be near him and to watch — modeling the powerful practice of calling on 2 a.m. friends to sit with you in the dark, to hold space, and to help discern when professional help is needed. [05:27]
Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, "Sit here, while I go over there and pray." And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me."
Reflection: Before the day ends, identify one person who can be your 2 a.m. friend and send them a message asking, "Can you be with me this week? I need someone to listen," then schedule a time to talk.
Even in the push-and-pull of sorrow, David shows the faithful tension of lament and trust: honest cries of despair can sit beside a deliberate choice to hope in God, praising him again as "my salvation and my God" — a posture the weary can practice when the heart feels down. [04:16]
Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people; from the deceitful and unjust man deliver me!
For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you rejected me? Why do I go about mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling!
Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy, and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.
Reflection: Write Psalm 43:5 (or your chosen promise) on a sticky note and place it where you'll see it each morning; when discouragement rises this week, read it aloud and pause for one minute of prayer to rehearse hope.
The Psalms of lament (like Psalm 69, 88, and 102) model how to bring raw, sustained pain before God without pretending everything is fine; lamentation is a faithful language for grief that names confusion, despair, and unanswered questions while keeping the path open to healing in community. [03:41]
Lord, God of my salvation; I cry out day and night before you.
Let my prayer come before you; incline your ear to my cry!
For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to death.
I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I am a man who has no strength,
like one set loose among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand.
You have put me in the depths of the pit, in the regions dark and deep.
Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves. Selah
You have caused my companions to shun me; you have made me a horror to them. I am shut in so that I cannot escape;
my eye grows dim through sorrow. Every day I call upon you, O Lord; I spread out my hands to you.
Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the departed rise up and praise you? Selah
Is your steadfast love declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in Abaddon?
Are your wonders known in the darkness, or your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?
But I, O Lord, cry to you; in the morning my prayer comes before you.
O Lord, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me?
Afflicted and close to death from my youth up, I suffer your terrors; I am helpless.
Your fierce wrath goes over me; your dreadful assaults destroy me.
They surround me like a flood all day long; they close in on me together.
You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness.
Reflection: Set aside ten minutes today to write an honest lament to God—name what hurts, what is unanswered, and how you feel—then consider sharing that writing with one trusted person or your counselor this week.
On the cross Jesus cried out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" to name the depth of separation and sorrow that came in bearing sin; his experience shows that feeling abandoned does not mean God is absent, and that redemptive purpose can move through real anguish. [33:54]
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" that is, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Reflection: If you feel distant from God, speak an honest prayer aloud—"My God, where are you?"—and immediately schedule one concrete step this week to pursue connection (call a pastor, book a counseling appointment, or attend a support group) and complete that step.
We continued our “Let’s Talk About It” journey by opening up grief and depression—naming them, normalizing them, and holding them in the light of Scripture and community. Grief is the natural, crashing wave after loss; it’s that sudden absence you bump into in the dark hallway of your life. Depression can grow out of grief but is more than sadness; it can be a chronic, biologically-involved mood disorder that makes basic things—showering, eating, getting out of bed—feel impossible. We heard how adults often feel hopelessness, fatigue, and loss of interest, while kids may show it through anger, grumpiness, school behavior changes, or even stomachaches and headaches. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is help someone name what they feel—even with something as simple as an “emoji chart”—so they can start to move toward help.
Scripture doesn’t ignore sorrow. The psalms of lament sit grief inside the context of hope, and even Jesus said His soul was “crushed with grief” in Gethsemane. That’s why we need “2 a.m. friends”—people already in our lives before the midnight moment hits—who can sit with us, pray for us, and say with love, “You need more than me; let’s call a counselor.” Practical steps matter: move your body, eat, sleep, avoid numbing, and put life-giving appointments on the calendar—even when you don’t feel like it. Exercise can spark the same dopamine pathways people often chase with destructive coping.
Grief isn’t linear; it’s a roller coaster. Sometimes you hear the clink before the drop; sometimes a smell, a song, or an old treat sends you plunging. When the dips go down and don’t come back up, that’s a sign to reach out fast. We also spoke plainly about suicide. It grows in the soil of hopelessness, and it’s not the unpardonable sin. If you’re struggling, say it out loud; there are people here who will respond. If you’ve lost someone, your questions and ache are seen—and you are not to blame.
The goal isn’t to “get back to normal” but to walk with the Good Shepherd toward a new normal. He has already walked the valley, knows the treacherous spots, and leads us to green pastures. We lament, we link arms, and we keep moving with Him.
- Psalm 42:11 — Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. - Matthew 26:36–41 Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here, while I go over there and pray.” And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.” And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, saying, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
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