"Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us."
Hebrews 12:1 (ESV)
A woman told me once that the hardest part of the morning wasn't waking up. It was the half second after, before her mind caught up to what had happened. For one breath, everything was normal. Then it landed again. He was still gone.
She said some days that half second felt like the cruelest part of the whole day, because she had to lose him all over again before she'd even had her coffee.
You never signed up for this race. But every morning, you find yourself at the starting line anyway.
If you know that half second, you are not broken. You are grieving. There is a difference, even though most days it doesn't feel like one.
Maybe you're wondering how to keep going after losing your husband when you can barely get through the morning. Maybe people keep telling you how strong you are, and you feel anything but.
I want to walk with you through a short passage of Scripture today. It comes from Hebrews 12, and it was written to people who were exhausted. Not from grief exactly, but from a long season of hardship that had worn them down until some of them were ready to quit.
The writer knew that. So instead of scolding them, he gave them a picture. A race.
Stay with me, even if running metaphors usually make you roll your eyes. This one is different.
01Not alone
You are not being watched. You are being accompanied.
The passage opens with these words: "since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses." Most people picture bleachers full of spectators, maybe even loved ones who have passed, watching from somewhere above and cheering us on. It's a comforting image, and I understand why it's the popular one.
But there's more here. The Greek word for witnesses is martys, the word that later gave us "martyr." At its heart it means someone who testifies to what they have seen and lived. These witnesses are the men and women of Hebrews 11, and their lives are the testimony.
They are proof. Proof that trusting God through a hard, unfinished story actually leads somewhere good, even when the ending wasn't visible yet to the person living it.
"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar."
Hebrews 11:13 (ESV)
That matters, because loneliness is one of the heaviest things a widow carries. Not just the empty side of the bed. The sense that no one really understands what this particular ache feels like.
But you are not the first woman to walk through unbearable loss and come out the other side still standing, still loved, still able to feel joy again someday. Naomi did. Anna did. So have countless women whose names only God knows. There is a whole cloud of women before you whose lives prove this can be survived.
You are not alone in this, even on the days it feels that way.
02Name the weight
Grief is not the sin, but it can pick up weight
The writer says, "let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely." Notice he separates those two things. A weight is not automatically a sin. It's just extra. Something that slows a runner down without being wrong in itself.
Your grief is not a weight to lay aside. It is not something to apologize for or rush past.
Grief counselors have spent decades confirming what Scripture already knew. Mourning is not a straight line you walk through and finish. It loops back. It resurfaces on a random Tuesday for no reason at all. That is not failure. That is how loss actually works in a human heart.
What grief counselors know
The National Institute on Aging puts it simply: "There are no rules about how you should feel." The same guide also warns that bad habits, such as drinking too much, can put your health at risk. The grief itself is not the problem. What we pile on top of it can be. (National Institute on Aging)
Grief can pick up weight along the way if we're not careful. Isolating from the people who love us. Numbing out instead of feeling. Letting bitterness settle in and harden.
None of those are reasons for shame either. They are simply weight, and weight can be noticed and gently set down when you're ready.
Try this week
If you're carrying something extra, try naming it. Not to shame yourself. Just to see it clearly enough to ask, "Is this still helping me, or is it slowing me down?"
A free gift, if it would help
3 Secrets Every Widow Wishes She Knew About Grief
If the road ahead feels long and unmarked, this short guide shares three things I wish every widow knew in the early miles.
No cost. No pressure. Unsubscribe any time.
03Endurance
This is a marathon, not a sprint
"Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us." The word for endurance here means patient steadfastness. It's not a burst of energy for a short stretch. It's the capacity to stay in something long after it stopped being easy.
I wish someone had told the widows I've walked with over the years, plainly and early, that grief is a marathon and not a sprint. So much of our culture, even our church culture, quietly says the opposite. Get through the funeral. Get back to normal. Be strong for the kids. As if grief has a finish line you're supposed to cross by a certain date.
It doesn't.
You are allowed to stop performing recovery on someone else's timeline. Whether it's been six weeks or six years, you are still allowed to have a hard day. That is not weakness. That is honest endurance, and it is exactly the kind of race this passage is describing.
Notice one more phrase. It is the race "set before us." You did not choose this course. But God is not surprised by a single mile of it.
Keep reading: Somewhere in the middle: widow grief timeline
04Looking to Jesus
Fixing your eyes doesn't mean looking away from the pain
The passage tells us to keep running,
"looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame."
Hebrews 12:2 (ESV)
Here is what strikes me most about that verse. Jesus didn't skip His suffering to get to the joy on the other side. He went through it. He felt the full weight of it, the shame of it, the agony of it, and He did not look away from any of it.
He endured with His eyes open, because He could see something true on the other side of the pain.
That is permission for you too. Fixing your eyes on Jesus was never about pretending you're fine or rushing to the hopeful part of the story. It's about refusing to let the pain be the only thing you're able to see, even while you're still standing in the middle of it.
05Two kinds of tired
Weary and fainthearted are two different kinds of tired
The passage ends with this line: "Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted."
Two words, and they are not the same thing. Weary is the body's exhaustion, the slow drain of energy that comes from carrying something heavy for a long time. Fainthearted is closer to the soul giving out, that quiet place where a person is tempted to stop trying.
Grief hits both. Some days your body just wants to sleep. Other days it's your will that's tired, the part of you that wonders if it's even worth getting up and facing another day without him. Both are real. Both deserve to be named honestly instead of pushed down and pushed past.
What the research shows
Grief researchers Margaret Stroebe and Henk Schut found that healthy grieving moves back and forth. At times we face the loss, and at times we step away to rest or tend to daily life. They describe taking a break from grief as part of coping well, not a failure to cope. (Stroebe and Schut, Death Studies)
If you are weary today, rest is not defeat. If you are fainthearted today, that does not mean your faith or your strength has failed you. It means you are human, walking a genuinely hard road, and this passage was written for exactly that moment.
And if fainthearted has started to feel like not wanting to go on at all, please don't carry that alone. Tell someone you trust today, or call or text 988 any time, day or night.
Here is the part I don't want you to miss. Look at how verse 2 ends. Jesus "is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."
Seated. His race is finished.
That means your hope does not rest on how well you run. It rests on the One who already crossed the finish line and now holds out His hand to you. You don't run to earn His love. You run, or walk, or some days just sit at the side of the track, already loved.
If you are a woman of faith, this is where Jesus becomes more than a comforting idea. He becomes someone who actually understands grief and shame from the inside, because He carried both. I have watched women find something steady in that. Not a quick fix for the pain, but a companion inside of it.
If that's new territory for you, there's no pressure here. Just know the door is open, and it always will be. If you'd like to know what that could look like, I wrote about what a personal relationship with Jesus really means.
Today's devotional: He Went First, for the stretch of road where you can't see any tracks ahead
Something to sit with this week
Which kind of tired are you carrying today?
Take a quiet moment and ask yourself honestly. Is it your body that's worn out, or your heart? There's no wrong answer. Naming it is the first step toward letting someone help you carry it.
Whatever you believe, you're welcome to borrow this prayer.
Lord, I didn't sign up for this race. Some mornings I don't know how to take the next step. When I'm weary, give me rest. When I'm fainthearted, hold on to me. Help me look up long enough to see that You are still here. Amen.
Tomorrow morning that half second may come again. When it does, remember that you are further into this race than you were yesterday, that a whole cloud of women has run this hard road ahead of you, and that whatever you're carrying, you don't have to carry it alone.
Blessings, Pastor Howard
Know a widow who needs this today?
Sometimes the kindest thing is a quiet "I thought of you."
Which kind of tired are you feeling most these days, weary or fainthearted?
Maybe it's both. Tell me in the comments below. I read every comment, and your words might help another widow feel less alone.