The Grief That Belongs to God

Morning watch -8.2.25 -5:32 am
Morning watch brings me to two verses - Matt 5:4 and Isa 61:3
This world doesn’t feel neutral anymore—it pulses with rejection, distortion, and silence where glory should resound. I can’t not see it. The ache settles deep, like marrow-level mourning.
It’s not the noise of loss I carry—it’s the stillness of what’s missing. Christ set aside. The Spirit restrained. The church, desolate. And somehow, in this grief, I know I’m not abandoned. The King lives inside me. His reign isn’t abstract; it’s felt. It subdues me—not with violence, but with clarity.
I mourn because I’m not numb. Because something in me still knows how things ought to be. It’s the kingdom pressing against the edges, causing me to sigh with God. This kind of mourning is no accident—it’s a grace. Jesus said we would be comforted. That promise doesn’t erase the grief—it baptizes it.
And I’ve tasted it: comfort not as escape, but as truth that holds me. The King is not idle. The enemy will fall. This earth will be reclaimed.
So I hold space for the mourning. Not rushed, not solved. Just held. And in that holding, I say yes. The kind of yes that waits with hope.