Spotlight
Learning to Lament
By Jessica Sanford
By nature, I tend to shy away from negative emotions, preferring a world where everyone is happy and there’s no conflict. (Yes, I do realize this kind of world does not exist this side of heaven, but one can always dream!) As a result of my desire to avoid all things negative, I have sometimes struggled to admit to myself, to God, or to others those moments when hurt or sadness or fear or anxiety or discouragement or even anger have invaded my heart. I have erroneously believed to do so made me appear weak or whiny or somehow un-Christian. (Nobody likes a weak or whiny Christian. Am I right?)
I have erroneously believed my “faith” obligated me to deal with my emotions quickly and move on, never really giving myself permission to “feel” for too long, absorbing the negative circumstance and continuing on as if everything were fine (when everything wasn’t fine). I felt the sting, but my reaction was more of a whimper rather than a shout. After all, Christians don’t despair; they might cry, but only a little. Or so I thought.
Apparently, Christians are also super-human.
These patterns worked – until they didn’t – and I have spent the past several months coming face to face with some places of sorrow and disappointment I had never given myself permission to fully feel. I call these places “pain spots.”
If we are honest, we all have pain spots, areas in our lives that for lack of a better word, stink! A difficult boss, a troubled marriage, a prodigal child, broken relationships, unfulfilled dreams, unfair treatment, loneliness, betrayal, a bleak medical prognosis, lingering anxiety, physical and mental exhaustion, financial hardship, deep sorrow, the loss of a loved one. The list is seemingly endless. What do we do with these pain spots and the emotions they invoke? Though not an exhaustive list, some unhealthy responses might include denial, avoidance, withdrawal, isolation, victimhood, lashing out, self-harm, and self-medicating.
The reality is that we are emotional beings who face an array of both positive and negative emotions every day. To deny our emotions is to deny our humanness. As I am learning, emotionally healthy people learn to lean in to their emotions rather than brush them aside. They learn how to manage their emotions in appropriate, God-honoring ways. They are willing to be honest about what they are feeling, and they are willing to take the steps necessary to walk in wholeness.
In her book How to Survive as a Pastor’s Wife, author Christine Hoover identified some of the challenges ministry leaders face. Though there are many joys, to be sure, there are also challenges. To ignore this fact would be dishonest. How can leaders navigate these inevitable challenges well? Hoover introduces a practice I had not considered. One way to process the hard places of ministry (and life) is through the practice of lament.
What exactly is lament? Lament can be defined as a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.
However, as Mark Vroegop points out in his book Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament, “In the Bible lament is more than sorrow or talking about sadness. It is more than walking through the stages of grief. Lament is a prayer in pain that leads to trust.”i Vroegop goes on to describe biblical lament as “the honest cry of a hurting heart wrestling with the paradox of pain and the promise of God’s goodness.”ii Or put another way, “Lament is how you live between the poles of a hard life and trusting in God’s sovereignty.”iii
Learning how to cultivate the skill of lament is healthy and biblical, and it can be a powerful tool in helping us process our emotions and pain spots. The Psalms are full of laments, making up about one third of the entire book.iv And an entire book of the Bible, Lamentations, is dedicated to lament.
David expressed lament in Psalms 13 (NLT):
O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever?
How long will you look the other way?
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul,
with sorrow in my heart every day?
How long will my enemy have the upper hand?Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!
Restore the sparkle to my eyes, or I will die.
Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying, “We have defeated him!”
Don’t let them rejoice at my downfall.But I trust in your unfailing love.
I will rejoice because you have rescued me.
I will sing to the Lord
because he is good to me.
Clearly, we don’t live in a continual state of lament. There is a greater purpose to lament than merely grieving for grieving’s sake, so how do we practice biblical lament?
- Turn toward God in prayer. The turning is important because it signifies our desire to look to God for help. When hope feels distant, we turn to the God who hears our cries and sees our tears. “O, Lord, you hear the desire of the afflicted; you will strengthen their heart; you will incline your ear” (Psalm 10:17, ESV). “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book” (Psalm 56:8, NLT).
- Talk to God about what’s wrong. Tell Him all of it! He already knows what’s taking place inside our hearts, but He is waiting for us to voice it to Him. This is where keeping a journal can be especially helpful. (Sometimes it helps me to get my thoughts down on paper before trying to verbalize them.) It’s important not to rush this step. Lament can feel unnatural because it requires us to sit with our feelings for longer than we are often comfortable.
- Trust in God. Keep moving toward trust by asking God to help you get there. “Strengthened confidence in God’s trustworthiness is the destination of all lament.”v Lament is not a quick fix; rather, it’s a journey toward deeper faith and trust in God. And while our circumstances may not change, through lament “God redirects our gaze” and reminds us of His goodness right in the middle of our pain.vi
I have been practicing lament, voicing my pain spots to the Lord, and allowing Him to redirect my gaze. It’s messy and raw and profound and completely out of my comfort zone. (Did I mention I don’t like negative emotions?) I only wish I had discovered the skill of lament much, much earlier.
Perhaps you have some pain spots you need to bring before the Lord? Biblical lament can be one tool in helping you navigate those hard places. I’d encourage you to get some tissues and give it a try. Blessings, friends!
For a fuller understanding of biblical lament, Mark Vroegop’s book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy is very helpful.
[i] Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2019), 28.
[ii] Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, 26.
[iii] Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, 21.
[iv] www.gotquestions.org/lament
[v] Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy Devotional Journal (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2022), 14
[vi] Christine Hoover, How to Thrive as a Pastor’s Wife (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2022), 90.
About the Author
Jessica Sanford has served alongside her husband, Matt, in ministry for over two decades. She is a licensed coach with Leader Breakthru, Inc. and is passionate about making disciples and helping facilitate the spiritual transformation of those not content with the status quo. She also loves seeing women in ministry, especially other pastors’ wives, realize and step into their unique calling.
Ruth Brauer spent decades wondering about the brother she never got to know. Born with Down Syndrome in the 1960s, he’d been sent away with little explanation, and she was discouraged from asking questions. After years of dead ends, a series of connections only God could have orchestrated led to the reunion she’d been praying for. Sixty years after his birth, Ruth finally saw her brother for the first time.
It was March 1960. Ruth was about to turn seven when her baby brother was born on March 8th at Iowa Methodist Hospital. The excitement of finally having a brother to join her and her three sisters quickly turned to confusion as she was unable to meet him. Later, she learned he had Down Syndrome and that doctors had advised her parents to place him in a care facility at the nearby Woodward State Hospital.
“Back in the sixties, that’s just what you did,” Ruth shared. “But I know it tore my parents apart.”
Questions about Alan were shut down. Ruth didn’t know where he was or even his exact birth date.
“I always wondered about him, but I’d get in trouble when I asked.”
Even without knowing him, Ruth had always felt drawn to him. That compassion shaped much of her life. After being invited to Journey Church in 2016 by a friend, Ruth was especially moved by the church’s outreach events for children with special needs. As a barber, her favorite clients were those with special needs, and she also volunteered for years with the Des Moines Special Olympics.
That’s where the first breakthrough came.
One day, she struck up a deeper conversation with a fellow volunteer named Ray. He mentioned he had worked at Woodward State Hospital starting in 1959. Ruth’s attention snapped into focus.
“My brother was there in 1960! His name was Alan Politsch.”
Ray’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened and he began to walk away.
“Wait—what did I say?” Ruth called after him.
I had my hand on the table, and suddenly he was holding it.
“I’m not allowed to talk to you,” he replied. “Your parents banned me from talking to you.”
Still, she pressed him for one thing: a birthdate.
“Please, my parents are gone. I just want to find my brother.”
Before the day ended, Ray quietly gave her the month and day. It was enough to start, but not enough to get through the wall of privacy protections. Every group home she contacted turned her away.
Years passed.
Then another door opened—this time at a food pantry. Ruth shared her story with a volunteer named Bob, who offered to connect her with someone in the state department.
“They may not even call you,” he warned.
But they did.
The woman on the phone didn’t give her name, but simply said, “Bob said I needed to hear your story.” Ruth told her everything she knew: names, dates, places, family history. Weeks later, the phone rang again.
“Hi, this is Michelle,” the voice said. “I’m Alan’s guardian.”
Tears falling, Ruth began to speak.
“I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to know he’s okay… maybe see a picture. And someday, maybe meet him.”
As she spoke, Ruth’s phone began to ping. Michelle was sending photos.
The call came in 2021, but it would take almost two years to build enough trust for a visit.
In August of 2023, Ruth was invited to a staff meeting at Alan’s care facility. As she sat in the room with nine other employees staring at her, Michelle walked into the room, Alan beside her, and guided him to the seat right next to Ruth.
I always felt like he was close by,” Ruth said. “I just didn’t know he was five miles away my whole life.
“He kept looking at me, nodding, with this little crooked smile,” Ruth said. “I had my hand on the table, and suddenly he was holding it.”
A nurse watching over video spoke up: “He knows you’re his sister.”
The bond was immediate and mutual.
“I always felt like he was close by,” Ruth said. “I just didn’t know he was five miles away my whole life.”
Since that day, they’ve spent birthdays and holidays together.
“He’s the best,” she said. “He fits right under my arm—he’s tiny. He loves Santa, the color red, Coke, and sunglasses.”
But the reunion has come with weight, too. Now 66, Alan’s health is declining, and Ruth has been asked to help plan his funeral.
“I just found him,” she said. “And now I’m helping plan his funeral… But he’s mine. He’s my baby brother. The one I waited for when I was seven.”
Looking back, Ruth continues to uncover the fingerprints of God. Ray, the man who first gave her Alan’s birthdate, later shared that he had cared for Alan during his first sixteen years at the hospital.
What are the odds?
When asked what this journey has taught her, Ruth doesn’t hesitate:
“Patience, persistence, prayer, and people.” That’s what it took to find her brother, and it’s what the Lord provided along the way.
Some stories don’t unfold quickly. Many of them take time, and it’s only later that we realize how God was working in our waiting. Ruth’s story serves as a reminder that no prayer is forgotten, no relationship is beyond reach, and that even in life’s chapters that feel long or uneventful, God is still writing.
About the Author
Hannah Bemis currently serves as the editor and director of Message of the Open Bible. She always wanted to do too many things when she grew up, and God has been kind enough to let her do most of them in different seasons. After seasons of mothering, teaching, writing, and staff pastoring, Hannah’s most recent adventure is planting and pastoring College Street Church in Newberg, Oregon, with her husband, Jordan. After Jesus and all her favorite people, she spends the remainder of her passion on pizza and dark chocolate in equal measure.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NIV).
There is a quiet invitation woven through these words – an invitation into constant, total dependence on God. We often imagine maturity as having our act together, managing our lives with unshakable strength. But in God’s kingdom, maturity looks nothing like self-reliance. It looks like surrender.
… in God’s kingdom, maturity looks nothing like self-reliance. It looks like surrender.
Just as valleys are watered with rain and become fruitful while lofty mountains remain dry, so it is with our hearts. The low places – the humbling, honest valleys – are where God’s grace pools and grows us. The heights of self-confidence, the illusions that we’ve got everything under control, stay barren.
Grace is not just God’s favor; it is His love set in motion toward us. When Paul begged God to remove the thorn in his life, God didn’t take it away. He gave Paul something far more powerful: grace. Sometimes relief comes by His removing the burden, but sometimes God strengthens the shoulders that carry it.
This past year, I’ve walked through my own valleys in ways I could never have anticipated. An abnormal mammogram led to surgery, which revealed breast cancer. By God’s miraculous hand, the tumor was removed completely, with clear margins and no spread although the tumor was dangerously close to my lymph nodes – a reminder of God’s perfect timing, protection, and faithfulness.
But the challenges didn’t end there. Amid cancer treatment, autoimmune flare-ups, and the toll on my body, I experienced alarming numbness on the left side of my face, suddenly losing strength in my left arm and leg. A trip to the ER revealed a nearly blocked right carotid artery, a tear likely caused by a fall I’d taken months prior, and a blood clot that could have caused a massive stroke.
Yet in the middle of chaos as we prepared for worst case scenarios, God’s grace showed up. Within a day of their being detected, scans revealed that both the clot and tear were gone. Every doctor involved was astonished. I was walking, speaking, and moving with minimal effects – a miracle too clear to dismiss.
In these moments, I’ve learned that we don’t truly trust God’s grace until we first admit we are insufficient. It’s easier to believe in grace for the past or the future. But grace for this moment, right here, in the pressing reality of fear, pain, and uncertainty, requires a present-tense, radical faith.
God didn’t just supplement my strength; He became my strength. He reminded me that the thorn doesn’t defeat us; it becomes the doorway through which His glory steps in. My husband, family, friends, and the countless prayers lifted on my behalf became vessels of God’s love, reminding me that what looks like an ending is often where He does His best work.
… the thorn doesn’t defeat us; it becomes the doorway through which His glory steps in.
Through lingering numbness and nerve pain in my face (Trigeminal neuralgia), vision issues in my left eye, and the exhaustion of hospital stays and oncology appointments, God has been teaching me to release my grip on self-sufficiency. Every test, every scan, every unknown has been a lesson in dependence, a sacred invitation to rest fully in Him. He meets us in both the dramatic and the mundane.
As we face uncertainty and continue to navigate treatments, recoveries, and the unknown, the same promise remains: His grace is sufficient. His power is made perfect in weakness. My valleys have become fertile soil, and in surrendering, I’ve discovered strength I never possessed alone.
To anyone reading this, let this be a challenge and an encouragement: don’t wait for the mountains to feel secure. Step into your valley. Admit your insufficiency. Rest in grace. Let God’s power carry you through the moments you cannot handle on your own. Because in the valleys, in the weakness, God is not just present – He is gloriously, powerfully enough.
About the Author
Sarah Holsapple serves on staff at her church in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, as the Creative & Spiritual Development Director. She serves alongside her husband of almost twenty years, Harris, who is the lead pastor at First Open Bible. Sarah has been teaching and preaching for several years. She’s passionate about discipleship and women’s ministry and served as the Regional Women’s Director for Open Bible Central Region. One of her favorite things in life is being a mom to her two incredible children, Hudson and Lynnley Jo.
The last several years for Sarah have been the hardest of her life. She truly knows the depths of heartbreak and what it feels like to wrestle through healing. She has seen God move in miraculous ways and has experienced great comfort in knowing that we serve a faithful God. Sarah feels great joy in sharing encouragement from the word of God, seeing lives changed and people set free!
My wife, Leona, was at an eye exam, and I was waiting in the lobby when a good-looking couple walked in. Thinking they were Hispanic, I greeted them in Spanish. With a look of surprise, they responded that they didn’t understand. Noticing their accent, I asked what language they spoke. “Arabic,” they replied. They were from Cairo, Egypt.
“I was just there!” I exclaimed. We introduced ourselves, and when they asked about my trip, I explained that I had gone to teach at INSTE Global Bible College. As we talked, we discovered common ground—Youssef and Fatima are both college professors, and Leona and I also work in higher education.
When the conversation turned to food, my Italian roots—revealed by my surname—caught their interest. I asked them what their favorite Italian dish was. “We love eggplant parmesan,” they answered.
“Would you come to our house for dinner if I made that?” I asked. They gladly accepted. When Leona’s appointment ended, we compared calendars and set a date to host Youssef, Fatima, and their four sons.
At home we talked about what to do with our dog Barney. Living in a townhome, we couldn’t put him outside. Knowing that Muslims traditionally view dogs as unclean, we decided to banish Barney to our finished basement during the visit.
Before dinner, we explained our custom of thanking God for our food. They understood, appreciating that we blessed them also in our prayer. Conversation flowed easily as we shared the meal. Afterward, the younger boys, full of energy, spotted the basement stairs. Leona explained about Barney, assuring Fatima that he was friendly. With her permission, the boys bounded downstairs to play with one very happy dog. The older boys preferred the TV room to watch football, while we lingered at the table with Youssef and Fatima, enjoying the chance to connect as fellow educators. Our first dinner together was a success.
As Fatima and Leona washed the dishes, the conversation was salted with quotes from the Koran and the Bible…
That Thanksgiving, we invited the family back to share in a traditional holiday meal. Barney had a sleepover at Leona’s sister’s house this time. We set the table for a 1:00 p.m. feast, but our guests were delayed returning from Wisconsin and arrived closer to 5:00. Once gathered, we enjoyed another rich time together.
Leona and Fatima washed dishes side by side, as Youssef and I chatted in the living room. All four boys bundled into the TV room to watch sports. Later, gathered by the fireplace, Youssef asked, “Does the Bible talk about the end of the world?” He was genuinely interested in comparing Christian and Muslim viewpoints on the end times. We had a very interesting conversation that evening! It was 11:00 p.m. when six-year-old Ahmed sleepily stumbled from the TV room, asking, “Can we go home now?” Shortly thereafter, we said good night to our guests with gratitude for another memorable evening.
Months later, Youssef and Fatima invited us to their home for the Muslim celebration of Eid, marking the close of Ramadan. Fatima had prepared the traditional feast of Egyptian dishes. We arrived in time to count down to sunset, and then the banquet began. As Fatima and Leona washed the dishes, the conversation was salted with quotes from the Koran and the Bible as Fatima explained Eid. The rest of the evening was filled with relaxing conversation, along with plans to get together for the Fourth of July.
Friendship and food opened doors for evangelism.
Our last gathering was at Christmas. Once again, we shared a meal, meaningful conversation, and plenty of laughter. Wanting to give them New Testaments in a respectful way, we sought guidance from friends experienced in ministry to Muslims. Following their advice, we wrapped the books beautifully, adding a heartfelt note expressing our joy in their friendship. We presented the gifts as they left that evening. Though we haven’t heard from them since, we often remember Youssef, Fatima, and their boys in prayer. Friendship and food opened doors for evangelism. We learned that sensitivity to cultural and religious differences keeps those doors open, and above all, we were reminded to live out 1 Peter 3:15: “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect…” (NIV).
About the Authors
Leona K. Venditti, EdD, and Nicholas A Venditti, PhD, met in Madrid, Spain. In 1982, Leona was sent by Open Bible’s Department of Global Missions to start a training program which has since grown into INSTE Global Bible College. It has expanded to more than forty countries and eighteen languages. Together, the Vendittis continue to “make disciples and develop leaders” both nationally and globally as they mentor many cross-cultural followers of Jesus.