Pain can feel like protection.
If I hold it tight, no one can tell me to move on. No one can rush me. No one can take what’s left.
I’m guessing I’m not the only one who has held pain this way. Close to the chest. Quiet. Guarded. Some days it feels like the last piece of the person we lost. Letting go of it can feel like letting go of them.
But pain held in the dark doesn’t heal.
It spreads. It covers the heart. It takes root in our thoughts. Before long, it starts choosing our steps.
God offers something better for that pain.
His Word is a lamp for my feet and a light for my path (Psalm 119:105). His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22–23). His peace goes beyond my understanding (Philippians 4:7).
That peace needs room. Open hands make room.
So this is becoming my daily practice:
- Open my grip.
- Give God my pain.
- Make room for His peace.
Some days I do this once. Some days I do it every hour. The grief is still there. The love is still there. And peace begins to settle in beside them.
Today the gift I give in grief is my pain.
Pray this with me.
Dear God,
The gift I give in grief today is my pain.
Not for pity.
Not to manipulate.
Not to prove how deeply I hurt.
I give it to You for peace.
I lay down the power pain gives me.
I surrender my “right” to hide inside the protection of pain.
I cast my pain onto You, because You are the One who came to carry what I cannot.
Help me remember that my pain is also a reminder that this broken world is not my home.
So today, I open my grip.
Because when I hold pain too tightly, and keep it in the dark, it cannot receive Your light.
It begins to mold.
It begins to cover my heart.
It takes root in my thoughts and keeps me from receiving the renewing You offer me and the mercy that is new every morning.
When I hold pain too tightly, it can begin to dictate my steps instead of Your Word—the lamp for my feet and the light for my path.
So this has to become my daily practice:
Open my grip.
Give You my pain.
Make room for Your peace.
God, today the gift I give in grief is my pain.
Please cover it with the peace that goes beyond my understanding, and use even this part of my story to glorify You—not the power of my pain.
Amen.
Then save it for the mornings you need it again.
Walking With You,
Cheri
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