“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

I never knew grief could feel this heavy. It’s like carrying a weight no one else can see. A silent burden, pressing down when the world expects you to move on. Sometimes, it feels like I’m wrapped in an invisible weighted blanket, making every step harder.

That’s the paradox of loss—how can something that’s gone weigh so much?

And the enemy? He knows this. He takes full advantage of our broken hearts, whispering lies in the spaces where sorrow lingers.

This day was no different.

My eight-year-old daughter hops onto the front of the cart as I push it into Kroger. My mind is elsewhere, and I am trying to remember what we need for dinner. Then my phone rings.

It’s Deb. Strange—she never calls. Who calls anymore when a text would do?

I answer on the second ring.

“Hello, Deb.”

“Hey, Lea, is this a bad time? I can call back later.”

“No, I can talk.”

Even though I was walking through Kroger, I could tell—she needed to be heard.

Deb has experienced her share of unexpected loss. For the last few years, grief has been a rollercoaster she never wanted to ride.

Grief Is More Than Death

However, people suffer all sorts of losses—from the small to the large. You can lose your job, your house, the love of your life. You can lose a child to addiction, a marriage to infidelity, and you can watch your loved one’s mind vanish into dementia.

Loss isn’t just death. And grief is a foggy, gray space we struggle to navigate.

It’s all meant to be felt.

Every loss matters. I’ve thought a lot about how one unexpected loss can ricochet you from being on top of the world to where you are crawling at rock bottom. You start to question everything you could have done differently and wonder if it would have led to a different outcome.

But today was different. Today, Deb picked up the phone instead of letting the enemy win.

When we’re in the throes of grief, the enemy’s voice becomes deafening. If we’re not careful, his lies will drown out the truth of the Holy Spirit. For example, I write in The Freedom to Feel,

“Grief doesn’t have to isolate us. God promises to walk with us, to be the companion who never leaves. Even when it feels like no one understands.”

Five Lies of the Enemy in Grief:

1. “You’re alone in this.”

Grief isolates. The enemy wants you to believe no one cares. But reaching out—whether through a phone call or a whispered prayer—silences that lie.

2. “Your pain doesn’t matter.”

The enemy thrives on comparison. “Other people have it worse,” he whispers. But grief isn’t a contest. Your pain is real, and God sees every tear.

3. “You should be over this by now.”

Culture rushes grief. The enemy tells you healing should be quicker. But Jesus never put a timeline on mourning—He simply promised His presence in it.

4. “God must be punishing you.”

When loss feels relentless, the enemy twists it into “Maybe God doesn’t love you after all.” But Scripture reminds us—“Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.” (Romans 8:38-39)

5. “You’ll never feel joy again.”

Grief clouds joy, making us believe we’ll never laugh again. But joy isn’t the absence of sorrow—it’s the presence of God, even in it.

The Truth That Shatters the Lies When Your Feeling Stuck

Amidst sharing her heart, Deb hesitated.

“I know you’re going through so much, too, so I hate to bother you.”

Suddenly, I stopped in the aisle. “Just because I’m going through something doesn’t mean you aren’t going through your own.”

However, grief can’t be measured. It can’t be compared. But we were never meant to carry it alone.

The enemy wants us isolated, buried under lies. But God? He draws near to the brokenhearted. He walks with us through the valley. He reminds us that our grief is real, but so is our hope.

So today, if the weight feels unbearable or lies are loud, reach out. Call a friend. Whisper a prayer. And remind the enemy—he doesn’t get the final word. We’re on this grief journey together.

Grief may be heavy, but grace is heavier. And Jesus carries what we cannot.

Lea Turner

I’m Lea Turner. I have a husband, and we’ve got us, five kids. Three grew in my tummy and two in our hearts. My house is loud and crazy. Moved to Mississippi making me a northern girl stuck in a southern world. Silence is rare. Laundry is never caught up. Relationships over to-do-list and grace over guilt. Rest over stress. Being naturally authentic over wearing a religious mask. Deep conversations over a cup of hot coffee is a refreshment to my soul. I'm on a journey of resting entirely in the love of the Father by letting go of striving and walking fully in my identity. Look, I could get you a cup of coffee and listen, welcome to my kitchen sink, I think you'll like it here.

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