There are seasons in life when everything feels harder.

Not because we’ve done anything wrong.
Not because we lack faith.
But because we’re walking through a valley.

And valleys come for all of us.

They arrive after a death…
a miscarriage…
a divorce…
a diagnosis…
the slow exhaustion of caring for someone we love…
the loss of a job, a role, or a version of ourselves we thought would last forever.

Valleys don’t always announce themselves loudly. Sometimes they show up quietly—while the world keeps moving, while expectations remain, while we’re still showing up for others.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, a question often rises:

“Where is God when I’m hurting?”

The Valley Is Not a Detour—It’s Part of the Path

One of the most important truths I’ve learned—both personally and through years of walking with others through grief—is this:

God is not absent in the valley.

In fact, God is present before the valley begins, with us as we walk through it, and already waiting on the other side.

But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough:
God’s presence feels different in different seasons.

On the mountaintop, God feels close, energizing, obvious.
In ordinary days, God feels steady and familiar.
But in the valley, God often feels quiet.

And quiet can feel frightening when you’re hurting.

God in the Valley Often Feels Like a River, Not a Roar

Scripture tells us that valleys are not empty places. In nature, valleys are where rivers run—bringing nourishment, shaping the land slowly, sustaining life beneath the surface.

I’ve come to believe that God often moves the same way in our lives.

Not always loudly.
Not always dramatically.
But steadily. Faithfully. Gently.

Psalm 23 doesn’t say, “I avoided the valley.”
It says, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, You are with me.”

Not after.
Not eventually.
Right there.

When we’re grieving—whether it’s a death, a miscarriage, a marriage ending, chronic illness, or a future we imagined but lost—our nervous system is overwhelmed. Fog sets in. We feel numb, disconnected, unsure of ourselves.

That fog doesn’t mean God left.
It means you’re human.

And underneath that fog, grace is still flowing.

What Early Grief Really Feels Like (And Why You’re Not Doing It Wrong)

Early grief isn’t just sadness. It’s a whole-body experience.

Many people are surprised by how grief shows up:

• Numbness or disbelief

• Sudden waves of emotion

• Mental fog or forgetfulness

• Irritability or anxiety

• Feeling unlike yourself

• Longing for “who I used to be”

This is not weakness.
This is not a lack of faith.
This is your heart protecting you from too much pain at once.

Grief—especially after miscarriage, divorce, caregiving fatigue, illness, or identity loss—often comes in layers. And God does not wait for those layers to clear before walking with us.

He walks inside the fog.

How to Begin Finding Your Footing Again (Gently)

Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in small, compassionate steps.

Here are a few that matter more than we realize:

1. Tell the truth.
God meets honesty, not pretending. You don’t have to perform strength.

2. Take one small step a day.
A shower. A walk. A meal. A phone call. Small steps signal life.

3. Accept help.
Even Jesus allowed help carrying His cross. You’re not meant to do this alone.

4. Rest without guilt.
Sometimes floating is still forward movement.

Progress in the valley looks different than progress on the mountaintop—and that’s okay.

When You Feel Abandoned by God

If you’ve ever thought, “God, where are You?”—you’re in good company.

Many people feel abandoned after:

• a miscarriage no one saw

• a divorce they didn’t want

• a diagnosis that changed everything

• long-term caregiving

• financial collapse

• deep loneliness

Here’s the truth I return to again and again:

Feeling abandoned is not the same as being abandoned.

God’s presence in the valley often looks ordinary:

• the strength to get through today

• a moment of calm in the middle of panic

• a friend who reaches out

• tears that finally come

• a quiet peace you can’t explain

God doesn’t always roar in the valley.
But He always flows.

A Simple Practice for the Days You Have No Words

If prayer feels hard, try this:

Place one hand over your heart and say one honest line you can believe today:

• “Lord, be near.”

• “Lord, hold my heart.”

• “Lord, give me strength for today.”

That’s enough.

Prayer doesn’t need to be long.
It needs to be real.

Your Valley Is Not the End of Your Story

I’ve walked through more valleys than I ever expected—breast cancer, the death of my parents and my brother, major life transitions, and years of walking with others through their deepest losses.

Here’s what I know now:

Valleys are not punishment.
They are not failure.
They are fertile ground.

They are where roots deepen.
Where compassion grows.
Where strength is quietly rebuilt.
Where hope is planted—even when you can’t see it yet.

If you’re in a valley right now, I want you to hear this:

You are not forgotten.
You are not forsaken.
And you are not alone.

God walks with you before the valley,
in the valley,
and on the mountaintop still to come.

And if you need a companion for this part of the journey, I’m here.

— Linda