No one tells you how disorienting grief can be — how quickly it can unravel what once felt steady. Nothing could have prepared me for how loss would feel — how it would touch every part of my life in ways I didn’t expect.

When I had a miscarriage in 2016, worship became a place I could bring my sorrow — the place where God met me in the quiet ache of loss.

Now, as I navigate another early miscarriage, I’m remembering that grief isn’t something I have to carry alone. Just when I think I’ve learned how to carry it, it surprises me all over again. And yet, even now, in the midst of my heartbreak, worship is helping me stay anchored when everything feels uncertain — offering a place to breathe, to weep, to remind me what is still true.

Some lyrics felt like prayers I didn’t have the words to pray. On the days when crying out to God felt too heavy, I’d whisper a simple prayer:

“Lord, let these words be true of my heart, even if I don’t feel them yet.”

Over and over, I played songs that reminded me of what was true — about God’s goodness, His nearness, and His promises — and slowly, they helped anchor me again. These truths, sung on repeat, became lifelines. 

Praise became my weapon against despair.

Not because everything felt okay, but because worship reminded me that God was still with me, still good, still worthy — even in my pain. It wasn’t about ignoring my grief — it was about fighting for hope in the middle of it. Praise didn’t erase my grief, but it helped me resist the pull of despair. It became my way of saying, God, I trust You — even now.

But trusting God in grief doesn’t always look like loud praise or confident declarations. Sometimes it looks like tears and silence, questions and whispers. As Clint Watkins writes in Just Be Honest:

“Sometimes trials can rob your ability to sing triumphantly. When sorrow grips your soul, or your suffering lingers, you may feel pressured to push down your pain with praise, because that’s what ‘good Christians’ do. But lament enables you to engage the Lord — to weep, to wrestle, to worship — even when praise feels far away. Your heartache does not dishonor God. And if you can, like the psalmist, share your pain honestly while you urge your soul to ‘hope in God’ (Psalm 43:5), waiting for the day you will praise him again.”

Those words gave language to something I was living but couldn’t quite explain: that honest worship includes lament. That God doesn’t require performance — He welcomes presence. Even broken, tear-stained, wordless presence.

Songs That Helped Me Worship in Grief

In this post, I want to share the songs that have meant so much to me in my own grief. These gave me space to weep and the strength to stand.

Whether you're walking through loss or simply searching for music that speaks into sorrow, I pray these songs reach you the way they reached me — with gentleness, honesty, and hope.

• How It All Matters by Bethany Barnard
• You Know by Bethany Barnard
• Tears on Your Face by Bethany Barnard
• Always by JJ Heller
• Where Were You by Ghost Ship
• Praise Before My Breakthrough by Bryan & Katie Torwalt
• My Hallelujah by Bryan & Katie Torwalt
• Fly Away by Forrest Frank
• 139 by Kings Kaleidoscope
• A Prayer by Kings Kaleidoscope 
• How Deep by Kings Kaleidoscope 
• The Garden by Kari Jobe
• Be Okay by Lauren Daigle
• Be Thou My Vision by Ascend the Hill
• Sing It Out by Switchfoot
• Farther Along by Josh Garrels
• Weep With Me by The Rend Collective
• Though You Slay Me by Shane & Shane
  
  You can find the full playlist of these songs (and more that have met me in different seasons of grief) on Spotify here. 

A Final Word

If you’re in a season where worship feels far away, you’re not alone — and you’re not doing it wrong. God isn’t afraid of your honesty. He draws near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), and He invites us to come as we are.

Let these songs hold space for your sorrow and gently point your heart toward hope. May they be a quiet reminder that God is near, that He still brings comfort, and that sorrow doesn’t get the final word.