Grief’s Messy Circles: When Moving Forward Feels Like Running in Place
Grief isn’t a journey you neatly pack into stages. It’s a winding, chaotic mess that refuses to let you move in one direction. One day, you think you’re finding your way, and the next, you’re back at square one. There’s no clear finish line, and the idea of “moving on” feels like a cruel illusion. But maybe, just maybe, the goal isn’t to move on at all. Maybe it’s about learning to live with this tension—trusting that God hasn’t abandoned us in the middle of the mess.
I was in my grief group yesterday, listening to a man talk about his best friend’s death. His pain was so raw, every word cracking under the weight of loss. Watching him felt like watching myself in a mirror. He shared how grief threw him back into bad habits, leaving him unmoored, directionless. And I felt that. In those early days after Mom passed, I was shattered too—broken in ways I didn’t even know were possible. Dallas Willard once said, “Feelings are good servants, but they are disastrous masters,” and that truth hit me hard listening to this man. Grief feels like it wants to be the master—dictating every action, every tear. I don’t want to be a slave to this pain, but I’m not sure how to let God be Lord when my heart keeps pulling me back into the sorrow .
Bargaining, Regret, and the “What Ifs”
Another guy in the group talked about losing his partner to suicide. He wished he could have done something—anything—to change the outcome. His voice was heavy with guilt, tangled up in the “what ifs.” I understood that too. I’ve been there, replaying every decision, every conversation with my mom, wondering if there was something I missed. But does that mean I’m stuck? Am I failing to move forward?
I think of Charles Spurgeon’s words, “I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.” I want to believe that these waves of regret will ultimately push me closer to God, but it’s hard to see that when the guilt still cuts deep . How can I embrace pain that feels like it’s breaking me? There’s no ladder to climb out of this pit—more like a spiral that keeps bringing me back to the same painful place.
I’m trying to understand what John Piper said, “Grief is real and it is right. But Christian grieving is different; we do not grieve as those who have no hope.” Hope is supposed to be the anchor, but there are moments—like today—when I’m not even sure what hope looks like . Am I supposed to just keep clinging to God, even when the weight of regret and shame makes it hard to breathe?
Circles and Cycles: Moving Forward, Moving Backward
There’s this idea that grief is supposed to follow a clear progression—denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance. But for me, these stages don’t happen in order. They come in waves, crashing over me without warning. “The ultimate freedom we have as human beings is the power to select what we will allow or require our minds to dwell upon,” said Dallas Willard . But I can’t control where my mind goes half the time. Does that mean I’m choosing the pain? When the memories hit, when the “what ifs” creep back in, I try to focus on the good, but then I feel guilty for trying to move on.
It’s like I’m caught between wanting to remember and needing to forget. And then there’s the fear—if I ever really move forward, will I lose the last bit of my mom I have left? I don’t want to run from the pain, but I don’t want it to be all I have of her either.
Michael Youssef’s words offer some comfort: “God’s timing is rarely our timing, but His timing is always perfect.” It reminds me that God’s in control, even when I’m not . But I wish His timing felt a little clearer, a little less…messy. When will I finally be able to accept all this? And what does acceptance even look like? I thought I’d be further along by now. Is it just me, or is grief really this chaotic for everyone?
Finding Purpose in the Pain
What I want most is to honor my mom. She shaped who I am, and I want my journey to reflect that—to honor her memory by walking through this mess with some semblance of grace. But how do you honor someone when every step feels like stumbling? “Grace is not opposed to effort; it is opposed to earning,” Dallas Willard said . And I get that—I’m not trying to earn my way through this; I’m just trying to show up. Every day, I ask myself: is this how I honor her? Is this enough?
Johnny Erickson-Tada’s words echo in my mind: “God sometimes allows what He hates to accomplish what He loves.” I don’t understand how this pain fits into that, but I’m trying to believe that God is still shaping something good out of this wreckage . Maybe the purpose isn’t to get over the grief but to carry it differently. Maybe it’s about learning to walk forward while still holding onto the memories. I want to use this pain to serve others, to reflect God’s love and grace. But I also want to scream, to ask God why it has to be this way.
Running the Race Set Before Us
Right now, all I know is that I want to run my race to win, like Paul talks about. To move forward, even if that means limping. This isn’t the race I chose, but it’s the one I’m in. For now, I’ll keep trying to put one foot in front of the other. John Piper once said, “God does not leave his children indefinitely in the depths of sorrow. Joy comes eventually, and it comes in God’s timing.” But I’m still waiting for that morning . Until then, I’m holding on to whatever slivers of hope I can find—believing that God is here with me, even when I can’t see Him.
Grief isn’t something we conquer—it’s something we live with. It’s messy, it’s cyclical, and it doesn’t follow any rules. There’s no “getting over it,” no finish line to cross. We just keep moving forward, stumbling along as best we can. But maybe that’s enough. Maybe showing up every day, trusting God to walk through the mess with us, is what honoring our loved ones really looks like. It’s not about reaching the finish line; it’s about running the race set before us, believing that one day, somehow, joy will meet us on the other side.
Reflection Question:
What does it mean to honor someone’s memory when grief keeps pulling you back into the pain? Can moving forward and holding on to the past coexist? And what does it look like to keep trusting God when everything feels shattered?
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