Healing Takes Time
February 7, 2026 — Carol Brown
“All I can do is place myself in the path of healing. I can feed my soul with truth and drink the living water from God’s Word. I can lean in and rest in the promise that Jesus will redeem and restore. I can do the work grief requires. And working on healing takes energy, effort and time-lots and lots of TIME. I cannot hurry the healing.” — Melanie DeSimone
There is a restaurant in Dallas that is rather unique. It takes the form of a glass ball that sits high atop a tower and rotates 360 degrees in an hour. As you ascend the tower via elevator and walk into the dining area, you notice that all the tables are located along the perimeter of the restaurant, making every seat a window seat. Your table might have a view of the iconic Dallas skyline, or perhaps the American Airlines Center in the West End. As you are seated, you may look out one of the glass windows to get your bearings. Then your attention turns to your dinner partner as you explore the meal and drink options. You focus on the food and the conversation you may be having, unaware that there is any movement within your surroundings. When you finally take a glance outside, you realize with a start that you are in an entirely different position as far as the scenery is concerned. The landscape has changed, but the rotation was so slow you didn’t notice you were moving.
Healing from grief can be like that. The process takes place so slowly we hardly even notice until the landscape of our heart changes. Maybe we smile a little more often. Maybe there is a spark of excitement about an upcoming event. Perhaps the holidays don’t seem as heavy this year, and the anticipation of dreaded anniversaries don’t have the ability to set us back as far. But why does it take so long to experience any relief? Why is this journey so agonizingly slow at times?
One reason might be that we experience guilt if we start to feel better. How can we find ourselves enjoying anything when our child died? How can we laugh with someone, or even have a conversation that doesn’t have to do with our loss? Are we leaving our child behind? Do we love them less? Are we being disloyal to them in some way?
When my daughter suddenly passed away due to a car accident, I was convinced that deep grief and sorrow would be my new way of life, my constant companion until the day I joined her in Heaven. I read many books about child loss written by parents who knew the subject well and had been on the road far longer than I, and related to their sorrow, but when they began to tell the story of their healing, I closed my mind and heart to even the possibility. When they wrote about restoration of joy, I thought, “That’s all well and good but it won’t ever happen for me.” Thankfully, I was wrong, and as the months turned into years, I realized that God had indeed been true to His Word. He had never left me alone in my grief, and none but my Father in Heaven knew me so well and could have made such intimate provision. You’ll notice that I said “years”. I did not come to these conclusions overnight.
Another reason healing seems to be a process that crawls instead of gallops is that the emotions of grief are strong and unpredictable. They can hit like a tsunami and drag us under the waves. They can erase, at least temporarily, any progress we thought we were making. I found a verse in Proverbs that captures this wild roller coaster ride. “Even in laughter the heart may ache, and rejoicing may end in grief.” — Proverbs 14:1
Grief triggers can happen any time, and the time is not usually convenient. We are aware that we make other people uncomfortable, so we try to stay in control until we can leave the situation. But these waves must be ridden out, not pushed down. They are like safety valves on a pressure cooker that need to be released in order to bring some relief.
One of the most healing measures we can take is to bring our anger, fear, hurt, disappointment, jealousy or any other strong emotion to God in a lament. Here is an example of a man after God’s own heart who is pouring out his feelings to Him in Psalm 38:6-11.
“I am bowed down and brought very low; all day long I go about mourning.
My back is filled with searing pain; there is no health in my body.
I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart.
All my longing lies open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you.
My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes.
My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away.”
We can tell God exactly what’s going on in our minds and hearts. He knows already, but He invites us to trust Him with all we are feeling.
Author Jessica Brodie writes, “Have you ever been so overcome with anguish you not only feel overwhelmed with sorrow but also utterly, completely, soul-despairingly alone, as if no one on earth could possibly understand the depths of your pain? In times like these, it helps to remember God is there, and He’s ready to shoulder your burdens, suffering, and distress. Not only does God understand and see you in the center of your pain, but He’s available for you, listening and ready as you cry out your heartache, anger, or sadness.”
Healing is possible when we have access to One who understands our hearts perfectly and has the resources to help us in our time of need. We can be patient in our pain, even when it seems interminable.
I can be blindsided by emotions even after almost thirty years. But the ache doesn’t last as long or cut as deep as it used to. One indication of healing is that we grow comfortable with both sorrow and joy residing in our hearts at the same time. For me, they don’t take up the same amount of space. It’s rarely 50-50. Most days my grief is the undertone and not melody. But some days, the undertone becomes the melody, and I don’t resist when it does. I just ride it out, knowing the wave will pass.
With time, talking honestly with God, staying connected to scripture, and making a space for and coming to terms with this grief that has forever changed our lives, some healing can happen. After all, our God is a healer and He carries us close to His heart, even when we may not be aware of it (Isaiah 40:11). Yes , it comes slowly, often imperceptibly at first, and we can welcome it without guilt, knowing it comes from the perfect Father who knows how to give good gifts to His children.
Will we ever experience total healing in this life? I don’t think so. How could we? A piece of our hearts is missing, and the resulting ache doesn’t disappear. But we can learn to live well despite its constant presence as it grows softer, easier to bear, its sharp corners somewhat dulled. Grief teaches us about the uncertainty of life and can fuel us to live the years we have left with renewed purpose, passing on to all who come behind us the peace, comfort, and healing we have received.
“Our lives, though marred by sorrow and colored by grief, are made for flourishing not death. We were made for use, for work and prayer and praise, not isolation from grief but in the midst of it. In the hands of the Good Shepherd pain can be transformed into purpose, life redeemed from the pit of despair. Even our grief need not be wasted.” — Clarissa Moll, Beyond the Darkness
