Job in Grief Counseling: Where Is God in Your Losing Season?

We love to talk about victory, don’t we? We post about winning, fighting from a place of strength, and declaring breakthroughs before they happen. And while those words are true, they can feel like salt in the wound when your life tells a different story.

What about when you’re losing—so often, so fast—that you can’t keep up? What about when the losses pile up so heavily you feel buried under them? When it feels like every time you stand back up, another wave knocks you flat?

That’s where I’ve been. That’s why this blog is late. Because sometimes, life brings losses you can’t just pray away or dress up in clichés. Because some weeks, grief just shows up and sits heavy, and no amount of inspiration can make it move.

A Loss That Changed Everything

On Sunday, September 15, 1996, at 5:55 p.m., my father passed away.

I say “lost,” though I know exactly where he is—safe in the arms of the Lord. But “lost” is the only word that captures the gaping hole his absence carved into my life. That crater is best described by that word—lost. I lost our laughter. I lost our companionship. I lost my friend. And though nearly three decades have passed, part of me still feels that emptiness.

“I was and still am, to some degree, marked by something lost.”

And yet, when I think about Job, my grief feels small in comparison. Job’s story reminds me of something that anchors me to this day: hope remains. Hope remained for Job, and it remains for me. Not because my pain has vanished, but because the presence of God is real—even in the silence. Even in the tears. Even when there are no answers. His presence reminds me: this loss is not all there is.

Job in the Support Group

“No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.”
— Job 2:13

I imagine Job sitting in a grief support group. The coffee is lukewarm. The chairs squeak. The stories sound hauntingly familiar—losses too great to carry, questions with no answers, sorrow that comes in waves.

When Job’s three friends first arrived, they did something extraordinary. They sat with him in silence for seven days. No quick fixes. No easy answers. Just presence.

Faith That Sits Still

We often rush to fix pain. To offer solutions. To patch up wounds with verses and clichés. But sometimes, the ministry of presence is all that’s needed.

Job didn’t need advice. He needed companions willing to sit with him in the ashes.

Today, presence might look like:

• Making a phone call to say, "I'm just checking on you."

• Sending a quiet text: “Thinking of you.”

• Listening without trying to explain the unexplainable.

That’s faith that sits still. Faith that whispers: You don’t have to walk this road alone.

Hope in the Midst of Loss

My comfort—even as I remember that September evening years ago—is that God was, and is, present. He doesn’t always speak in my grief. He doesn’t always explain. But His presence itself is enough.

And that is where hope remains. Not on the other side of loss, but even here, in the middle of it.

A Gentle Challenge for You

This week, resist the urge to fix someone else’s pain. Instead, practice the ministry of presence. Sit with them in silence if that’s what they need. Don’t minimize their pain with a verse or a phrase. Instead, just be with them. Offer your presence, not your platitudes.

Because sometimes, silence is the most sacred form of support. And sometimes, God speaks loudest when we simply sit still.

And if you are the one in a losing season, may you feel His presence with you—the same presence that holds me still today. Hope remains.