Walking Each Other Home

A few weeks ago, I visited a church where there happened to be a guest preacher that morning. He spoke about his mother, whom he described as the most Spirit-led woman he had ever known. She had been a widow for fifteen years, was seventy-five years old, and lived in a rural area that required an hour-long drive just to buy groceries.

One morning, she got dressed and ready to do her monthly shopping. She picked up her purse to leave when she clearly heard the Lord say, “No. You can’t go right now.”

So she set her purse back down and waited.

An hour later, she picked it up again. Once more, she felt restrained. This happened several times until, finally, she sensed she had permission to go.

She drove down a long stretch of road and came to a stop sign. At that exact moment, across the road in a ditch, a small head popped up through the briars and brambles. The young woman was scratched, shaken, and clearly had been through something terrible.

The widow pulled over and asked, “Honey, how can I help you?”

The girl burst into tears and begged her to take her to her grandfather’s house. When they arrived, the grandfather came running out the door and wrapped his arms around his granddaughter. Through tears, he said, “The police have been looking for her for three days. She crossed three state lines. No one has seen her. How in the world did you find her?”

The widow simply replied, “I was at the right place at the right time. It was a divine appointment.”

It turned out the girl had been running for her life. There were people who wanted her dead.

That story lodged itself deep in my heart.

That woman’s simple obedience—waiting until she had permission to move—placed her in the exact spot where a life could be rescued. I found it amazing. After the service, I approached the pastor and told him that story was meant just for me. I shared that I had recently lost my husband and was learning to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit on my own. I explained that I felt called to help others heal from grief, but that I needed to learn to hear the Lord more clearly for that work.

We spoke briefly about my own healing, and then he said something that completely rocked me.

“The church doesn’t like to talk about grief,” he said. “But if you open your home to grieving people, you’ll fill it very quickly.”

I remember thinking, The church doesn’t like to talk about grief? Why in the world not?

I’ve thought about that statement a lot since then. I don’t have a neat answer. Why doesn’t the church want to deal with grief? Is it because we act as though it isn’t something our people are facing? Is it because we expect people to cling to the promise that they’ll see their loved ones again someday, and that knowledge is supposed to magically erase their pain now?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that people tend to put timelines on grief. “It’s been three months,” they say. “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” Those who have never walked through it often want to rush people toward a smile—any smile will do—as long as it looks like progress. It seems less about healing and more about relieving their own discomfort.

We don’t say it out loud, but too often we just want people to suck it up and deal with it—without ever showing them how.

I read a statement recently that settled deep into my soul: “After all, we are all just walking one another home.”

That may be one of the most profound things I’ve heard in a long time.

We are all walking home—but we aren’t doing it together the way we were meant to. Along the way, some of our brothers and sisters are injured, limping, or exhausted, and they need someone to come alongside them and help them go a little farther.

Knowing that we will one day be home doesn’t erase today’s pain. Knowing my body will one day be whole doesn’t help the fact that I have a sprained ankle right now. I don’t understand why we expect the promise of future reunion to immediately relieve present sorrow.

Yes, it is a blessed hope. It keeps us from grieving as those who have no hope. But it is still future hope—and pain lives in the present.

What does help today is companionship.

We have the ability to help one another bear the weight of today’s injuries. Sometimes we carry others. Sometimes they carry us. This is how the church is meant to function. We need to stop pretending we don’t need each other and stop hiding our struggles. Everyone has seasons of need, and it is ignorant to pretend otherwise.

Grief is painful. It doesn’t disappear just because you believe the right theology. People who are grieving are simply missing those who once walked beside them—and this is not something the church is powerless to address.

We can become companions to those who have lost theirs.

Grief isn’t a mystery. It doesn’t need to be swept under the rug. It doesn’t require expertise—just presence.

It really is that simple.

People need people.

Are you a person? Then you can help.

There is no reason to avoid the grieving. No reason to treat them as though they carry an incurable disease. What they need is a shoulder, an arm, a steady presence to help them hobble for a while.

They will heal.

And when they do, they will be there for the next person who is struggling.

If you help me now, I’ll help you later. And by doing that—by showing up, by staying close, by walking together—we really can do what we were meant to do all along.

We can walk each other home.