Holding On When It Hurts

Mother: The Shunammite Woman
Scripture: 2 Kings 4:32–35 NIV

There are some kinds of pain that leave no room for pretending.

The kind that silences a room.
The kind that steals breath from your lungs.
The kind that makes your prayers feel heavier than words can carry.

In 2 Kings 4, the Shunammite woman experiences the unimaginable. The son she had long prayed for — the promise God had placed into her life — suddenly dies in her arms. Scripture does not soften the grief of that moment. It does not rush past her devastation or skip over the ache of losing what she loved most.

Yet even in heartbreak, she does something remarkable.

She gets up and goes back to God.

Not because she fully understands.
Not because she is untouched by grief.
Not because she feels strong.

But because somewhere beneath the devastation, faith is still breathing.

The Shunammite woman refuses to let despair have the final word. She carries her pain directly to the prophet Elisha. She does not deny what has happened, but she also does not surrender her trust in God’s power within the middle of it. Her grief and her faith exist together in the same story.

And maybe that is what many of us need to remember.

Faith is not pretending everything is fine.
Faith is returning to God with what feels broken.
Faith is bringing Him the unbearable thing instead of hiding from Him because of it.

Some seasons hurt in ways words cannot fully explain. There are prayers that seem unanswered, losses that reshape us, and disappointments that leave us wondering how to move forward. Sometimes we carry silent grief — the loss of relationships, health, stability, dreams, opportunities, or the version of life we thought we would have by now.

But this story reminds us that devastation does not disqualify us from bringing our pain before God.

The Shunammite woman could have isolated herself in bitterness. She could have concluded that hope was pointless. Instead, she pursued the presence of God while her heart was breaking.

That kind of faith is not weak.
It is deeply courageous.

There is also something powerful about the persistence in this passage. She stays near. She presses forward. She refuses to leave without help. In seasons of sorrow, endurance can look less like strength and more like refusing to completely let go of God when everything in you wants to collapse.

Sometimes resilience is simply whispering, “Lord, I still need You,” through tears.

And while this passage ultimately reveals God’s miraculous restoration, the deeper invitation is not merely about the outcome. It is about where we go with our grief. The miracle matters, but so does the woman’s decision to run toward God instead of away from Him.

That is the kind of trust suffering tries to test.

Not polished faith.
Not painless faith.
But faith that still reaches for God while carrying unbearable weight.

Maybe today you are holding something that hurts deeply. Maybe you are exhausted from carrying disappointment, grief, fear, or uncertainty. Maybe you feel torn between heartbreak and hope.

God is not asking you to pretend the pain is small.

He is inviting you to bring it to Him.

Even now.
Even hurting.
Even grieving.
Even uncertain.

Because sometimes the holiest act of faith is simply refusing to stop returning to God with what hurts.

Prayer
Father, thank You for meeting us in seasons of grief and pain. When life feels unbearable, help us continue turning toward You instead of away from You. Give us courage to bring You our heartbreak honestly and completely. Strengthen our faith when we feel weak, and remind us that You are still present in every painful season. Hold close those who are grieving, weary, or struggling to hope again. Teach us to trust You even when we do not understand what we are carrying. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Leona