Raising Faith-Filled Kids Through Grief
5 Practical Things I'm Doing as a Bereaved Mother to Bring Jesus to Our Home
When our middle child died last year, one of my biggest concerns as a parent was how I would navigate the hard moments of grief with my children—especially my son, who was six at the time, and our youngest daughter, who was due just seven months later.
Our son would be in the trenches with us. He would witness the rawness of our early grief—the confusion, the sorrow, the silence. And with our youngest, we faced a different challenge: she wouldn’t have any memories of her sister. From the very beginning, we’d have to decide how to talk about her, how to make her part of our family story, and how to introduce hard truths in a way that didn’t feel heavy but honest and filled with hope.
I kept wondering:
How am I supposed to raise these kids and answer these hard questions? How am I supposed to talk about these deep losses when I’m still grieving myself? What am I supposed to say when I don’t even have all the answers?
What I know for sure is this: I want to raise my children in a home where Jesus isn’t just a name we mention at bedtime or a book collecting dust on the shelf. I want them to know the comfort we’ve experienced firsthand—the presence of God in our darkest moments.
So here are a few practical ways we’re working to bring Jesus into our grief and into our everyday life as a family.
1. I don’t hide my grief.
I never make my kids carry the weight of my grief—but I don’t hide it either. There are moments when the sorrow creeps in quietly and I can step away for a private breath. But other times, it crashes in without warning.
I don’t want to shield my children from those moments. They’ll face hard days too, and I want them to know that lament is holy—that God welcomes our big emotions. We don’t use our feelings to hurt others, but we also don’t pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.
This commitment to grieving openly and faithfully has led to beautiful moments of connection within our family. Words like these have found their way into our days:
“Mommy, I know you had a hard day. It’s okay. I’m here if you need me.”
“Mommy, are you okay? Do you need some water?”
“I miss her, too, Mommy. But she’s always in our hearts.”
And sometimes, no words are needed. My now seven-year-old will simply climb into my lap, wrap his arms around me, and whisper softly: “te quiero mucho.”
We don’t hide our grief in this family. We welcome it—with grace, honesty, and love.
2. We keep small spiritual rhythms.
I’ll start by saying—establishing any kind of rhythm with a baby at home is hard. So when I say small rhythms, I really mean it. Sometimes it looks like sipping coffee together as we start the day. Sometimes it’s a short bedtime prayer, or simply turning on a worship playlist during car rides.
We try to attend church as regularly as we can. The community we experience there has been a much-needed gift in this season. But even on the weeks we can’t make it, we’ve found comfort and spiritual nourishment in evening Bible studies at home.
Since we homeschool our son, reading Bible passages has naturally woven into our routine. It’s become a way to inspire both curiosity and a deepening love for God’s Word.
These simple rhythms—however imperfect or interrupted—remind our children (and us) that even in grief, God is still worthy of praise.
3. We answer hard questions.
Grief brings up big, complicated questions—and we don’t shy away from them. Sometimes these questions take our breath away. They catch us off guard. And in that pause, there’s often a quiet realization: I’ve wondered that, too.
We answer honestly. And sometimes, honesty hurts. It might mean one of us needs to “tap out” and switch with the other parent, just to take a moment and gather ourselves before continuing the conversation. But we never want to make genuine, heartfelt questions feel off limits.
Our children’s grief journeys matter. Their hearts deserve to be seen. And giving them the safety to ask the hard things shows them something vital: that it’s okay to bring their big questions to God, too.
And sometimes, the most honest answer we can give is simply, “I don’t know.”
4. We tell stories of God’s comfort.
During our homeschool Bible lessons or while revisiting truths from Sunday’s sermon, we try to pause and highlight the beautiful attributes of God that shine through the stories we read. Again and again, we’re reminded: God has always been near to the brokenhearted.
When our son says he misses his sister, we tell him that’s more than okay—we miss her, too. And then we remind him that God is near us when we’re sad. That He comforts our hearts while also keeping his sister safe, healthy, and full of life in Heaven until we see her again.
Reading and retelling stories of God’s faithfulness helps build our trust in His presence—even now, as we grieve.
5. We ask for help.
Grief can feel deeply isolating. As we transitioned from the world of medically complex parenthood into life as bereaved parents, we realized just how vital it was to be intentional about asking for help and seeking connection when we needed it.
Medically complex parenthood had already been lonely at times—often we felt that those around us couldn’t fully understand our day-to-day challenges. And after losing a child, that sense of being misunderstood only deepened. But we knew that if we didn’t pursue community in those fragile moments, the enemy would have more space to weave lies into our minds and hearts.
So we reach out. We stay connected to trusted counselors and mentors. We lean on family, friends, and a community who love Jesus and love us well. We don’t try to do this alone—because we weren’t made to.
Grief hasn’t stolen our faith—it’s deepened it.
These small, intentional choices aren’t perfect. We don’t do them every day, and we certainly don’t always do them well. But they are tangible reminders in our home that grief and faith are not mutually exclusive. Grief and joy are not mutually exclusive. Sorrow can exist alongside worship. Questions can live beside trust.
If you're a grieving parent trying to raise faith-filled kids, you’re not alone. You don’t have to do this perfectly. You just have to keep showing up—with open hands, a tender heart, and the courage to trust that God is still at work, even here.