When God Felt Quiet: Finding His Nearness in the Middle of Grief

When my mom passed away, it felt like the world split in two. There was the life that kept moving, people still working, laughing, grocery shopping...and then there was me, standing still in the middle of it, trying to remember how to breathe.

Grief does that. It rearranges everything.

In those first few weeks, I prayed a lot. Or at least, I tried to. But if I’m honest, my prayers mostly felt empty. I wanted God to rush in and make it better. I wanted a sign, something undeniable, something that said, “I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” But what I got instead were whispers.

One day, I sat in my car outside the grocery store. I hadn’t even gone inside yet. I just sat there, staring out the window, too tired to move. Then a song came on the radio, the one my mom used to hum while cooking dinner. The first few notes hit me, and the tears came fast. I sobbed right there in the parking lot.

And yet, in that same moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks. Warmth. Peace. Almost like God was right there beside me, holding space for my pain. It wasn’t comfort that erased the ache. It was comfort that sat with me in it.

That’s when I began to understand something I’d only heard in scripture before: that God really is near to the brokenhearted. His nearness isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s as small as a memory, a song, a bit of light breaking through a windshield when your heart can’t hold one more thing.

I still miss her...every day. Some days the grief still surprises me, like it just happened yesterday. But alongside the ache, there’s something else now. A steady reminder that love doesn’t disappear. It changes form, maybe, but it stays.

And I think that’s what David meant when he said God was with him even when his heart grieved. The pain and the presence, somehow, live side by side.

So if you’re sitting in the middle of your own loss right now, and God feels quiet, maybe this can be your gentle reminder, He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right there, holding the pieces with you.

You don’t have to rush the healing.

Just breathe.

Let the ache and the hope exist together for a while.

Because that’s where I’ve learned God meets us most tenderly, right there in the in-between.