Godly Sorrow: A Word Inspired by 2 Corinthians

Hi friends! Today, I should be in Italy, sailing on a boat along the Amalfi Coast, swimming in the Mediterrean Sea. Instead, I am sitting in my sunroom after being forced to cancel the first part of my three-week European trip. No, today's post is not about the sorrow of missing the Amalfi Coast. But it is worth noting, I wouldn't be writing this post if my trip had gone according to plan. So, maybe this post and the one coming next was the plan? Maybe there's someone out there who really needs these words, and if so, I pray they find you.

I've been carrying a lot lately. Honestly, I feel like I haven't had a moment to breathe this entire year, which is now nearly halfway over. Since the end of 2025, it's been one thing after the other. Some tragic. Some heavy. Some happy and amazing. But still...there has not been time to rest.

In anticipation of this trip, I devoted myself to completing my first Christian non-fiction book before the end of May. In anticipation of an upcoming surgery, I've been pushing myself harder and harder in the gym--not only trying to reach my goal, but to make the most of the time I have to exercise, knowing it'll be months post-op before I'm back to my strong self. I've been pushing myself spiritually too with intentional Bible study, serving more at church, and even auditioning for the choir in the middle of grief.

When tragedy struck, I had too many things on the calendar to slow down and process. The thing is, when one dominion falls, there's always another that follows.

Grief is a dominion effect. It has a way of re-opening old wounds, reminding you of the things you lack, the things you wish had gone differently, and the people you miss. Grief can be overwhelming if not all-consuming. And yet, one of the more painful kinds of grief that often goes unnoticed is numbness.

I've been keeping myself busy, not in avoidance, but because I've had to. But deep down, I've known, there's a lot beneath the surface I need to process. Yet, when a quiet moment would come, I struggled to put my feelings into words. I struggled to cry. A few tears would slip, but it was not the breaking and releasing I needed. Everything was still buried. Everything was still heavy. And I wonder if it was because I was so intent on remaining grateful despite heartache?

It's as if I saw gratefulness and thankfulness as the only way to remain close and connected to God, and I feared that actually giving in to my emotions would mean losing my closeness to God. Instead, it was the suppression of emotions that actually made me feel disconnected.

Going into my trip, I was still carrying baggage, and I don't mean the two overpacked suitcases and backpack weighing on my shoulders. My baggage made me eager to escape, even though I knew I'd be returning home to the same problems. But God had other plans. A flight delay. A missed connection. Finally, a cancelled flight. Through it all, God gave me one more chance to break through the numbness and begin the process of unloading. Most of all, He gave me the chance I needed to reconnect with Him.

Numbness doesn't just translate to our earthly relationships. It can also affect our spiritual relationship with God.

For weeks, I knew God could comfort me when no one else could. I knew reading His word, crying out to Him, and conversating through prayer would make me feel better. But I didn't have the energy. I didn't have the capacity to seek Him. While I knew He was still with me and within me, I felt disconnected. And in the disconnection, my sorrow, my overwhelm, my stress was ampilifed and resentment and anger resurfaced. I was no longer numb. I was broken, and fearful of returning to the same place I'd spent years.

I was fearful of blaming God for the things in my life that didn't go according to my plan. I was fearful of pulling away from God and taking back the reigns of control regarding the things I'd already surrendered. I was fearful of committing intentional sin, despite knowing it would only be a coping mechanism. I was fearful of returning to Egypt.

Fear of uncertainty and resentment towards God held me in bondage for so long, it hurts me when these old fears and feelings resurface, because it makes me feel like I haven't changed. It makes me feel like I'm still vulnerable to returning to my old ways and mindset. And the truth is, I am. We all are. But sorrow, fear, guilt, none of those emotions are ungodly or proof of failure. Paul confirms this in 2 Corinthians.

"For godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death. For observe this very thing, that you sorrowed in a godly manner: What diligence it produced in you, what clearing of yourselves, what indignation, what fear, what vehement desire, what zeal, what vindication!" 2 Corinthians 7:10-11

Godly sorrow produces repentance, a diligence to remain obedient, anger towards sin or depleted desire to sin, a fear of wrongdoing, and a zealous desire to remain faithful and obedient despite sorrow. These feelings or fruits that sorrow can produce in us is vindication for our grief.

Sorrow is a chance to prove our faithfulness in the face of what threatens our faith.

Whether we sorrow over a mistake we've made, a sin we feel tempted to commit, or an unexpected tragedy, our sorrow can draw us closer to God if we let it. How we sorrow can be proof of our sanctification and further our sanctification process. Sorrow is not proof of God's absence or removal of divine favor. It's a part of the Christian life even the most faithful Christians endured, including Paul.

Even Paul experienced travel trouble, and arrived at destinations with no rest only to face external conflict and internal fear. Had I actually been able to board a plane on Saturday, that probably would've been me in Italy. Maybe now, I can arrive at my next destination more rested and more at peace. But if not, I should not take delays or conflict as proof of failure or stepping outside of God's will, and neither should you. Sometimes it's just a part of the journey.

My final message to you is simple. Sorrow is a part of life, but it does not have to define your life. No matter how long it takes, keep taking tiny steps toward God until you feel at peace again.

As for me, I have to take the same advice. Right now, I feel okay. I got two good night's rest. I'm intentionally slowing down. And that has helped. But am I fully healed? Am I fully immune to sorrow or regret or fear or anger and resentment? No. Maybe the truth is, I never will be. Sanctification is a life-long process. Healing towards holiness is a life-long process. While we can have peace here on earth, the kind of ever-lasting peace I long for only exists in Heaven. And that is why we are called to keep the faith.

Faith is not a trophy or medal we collect once, put on a shelf, and never have to fear losing.

Our faith is constantly tested, and something we must actively grow and protect.

As I embark on this next leg of my journey, or at least try to, I pray for safe travels and continued reconnection with God. God is the source of all comfort, peace, joy, hope, and love. I pray that when I return home I'm not returning to the same baggage. Rather, I pray I return free from the heaviness that has weighed me down for months. In Jesus' name, Amen.