When Sorrow Stays: Living Faithfully in the Midst of Chronic Pain

Lisa Sherman
Oct 1
3 min read

Some sorrow doesn’t end.

That’s a truth most people don’t want to admit—and one I didn’t fully understand until it moved into my life and stayed. Not a sharp grief with a clear end. Not a trial with a triumphant resolution. But a lingering ache. A weight in the chest that wakes up with you and goes to bed with you. A sorrow that becomes part of your story.

This is what many call chronic sorrow—the kind that comes from ongoing situations that don’t resolve: long-term illness, a loved one’s disability, estrangement, infertility, mental health struggles, or a life-altering loss that time doesn't heal in the tidy way people expect.

So where does faith fit in when sorrow doesn't leave?

Faith Doesn’t Cancel Out Sorrow

There’s a subtle but damaging lie that says if your faith is strong enough, your sadness will vanish. But Scripture doesn't say that. In fact, the Bible is full of both—raw sorrow and deep faith living side by side. David cried out night after night. Jeremiah was nicknamed the "weeping prophet." Even Jesus wept and sweat blood in His anguish. Faith isn't the absence of sorrow. Faith is choosing to trust God in the sorrow. It’s waking up again, whispering, “I still believe,” even when your heart is heavy and hope feels distant.

When Prayers Go Unanswered

Chronic sorrow often comes with chronic prayer—pleading with God for healing, for change, for relief. And when nothing changes? It can feel like silence from heaven. I’ve had to learn that unanswered prayers aren’t necessarily unheard prayers. God’s silence is not His absence. He is present in the waiting. And sometimes His greatest work is done not by changing our circumstances, but by changing us in the midst of them.

The apostle Paul wrote about a “thorn in the flesh”—something painful and persistent. He begged God three times to take it away. God didn’t. Instead, He said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9). That’s a hard truth—but a hopeful one.

Sacred Space for Sorrow

One of the most healing things I’ve learned is that sorrow is not a threat to my faith. It’s a sacred part of it. When we allow space for lament—when we stop pretending everything is fine and start bringing our raw hearts to God—something holy happens. We stop performing and start relating. We stop striving and start abiding.

Lament isn’t weakness. It’s worship. It says, “God, I trust You enough to bring You my deepest pain.”

Joy Still Comes—But It Looks Different

Living with chronic sorrow doesn’t mean joy is gone forever. It just means joy changes. It becomes quieter, deeper. Less about big mountaintop highs and more about the small, surprising graces:

A moment of laughter that bubbles up unexpectedly.
A friend who says, “Me too,” and means it.
A verse that lands differently than it did before.
A sliver of peace in the middle of a stormy mind.

These aren’t the kind of things you find when life is perfect. They’re treasures discovered in the dark.

Holding Both

So, I’ve stopped trying to “get over it.” I’ve stopped waiting for the pain to pass before I fully live or love or trust again. Faith, I’m learning, isn’t about erasing sorrow. It’s about learning to hold both: