How to Worship God After Loss: What David Did That Stopped Me in My Tracks

I was reading through 2 Samuel when this sentence hit me like a freight train:

“And he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped.”

That’s it. One sentence. But everything about it stopped me.

Because I knew exactly what came before it.

David had just lost his child. His baby—gone. The child he had been fasting for, praying for, lying face down on the ground for. And now… that chapter ended. The child had died. And David… worshiped?

It wrecked me.

"But You Don’t Worship After That"

When we lost our baby girl, Joy, I didn’t want to sing.

I didn’t want to lift my hands. I didn’t want to be around bright lights or upbeat worship songs or well-meaning people who didn’t know what to say and so said too much. Because I was hurting. And my arms felt so empty.

Still, I showed up.

Sunday came and I showed up. Not to perform. Not to prove I was okay. I showed up because… where else could I go?

But I couldn’t sing. I just stood there, quietly and let the music wash over me.

I wasn’t singing the songs, but the songs were singing over me.

And for a while, that was all I could do.

So… What Are We Supposed to Learn from David?

That’s what we ask, right?

When the Bible punches us in the gut like that, we want to know: What is this supposed to teach me?

David just lost his son.

He didn’t get his miracle.

He fasted, he prayed, he pleaded—and the answer was still "no."

And then:

"He went into the house of the Lord and worshiped."

Here’s what it teaches me:

1. Worship Isn’t Just What You Do When You're Happy. It’s Who You Run To When You’re Heartbroken.

David wasn’t worshiping because he got what he asked for. He was worshiping because he still knew Who God was. He didn’t worship because he felt good. He worshiped because even in his grief, he trusted.

And that... that’s a different kind of faith.

2. Worship Looks Different When You're in Pain—and That's Okay.

I didn’t lift my hands after Joy died. I didn’t belt out choruses with confidence. I just stood. I survived the worship set. But I was still in the room. Sometimes, worship looks like singing through tears.

Sometimes, it looks like silence.

Sometimes, it looks like sitting down while everyone else stands.

Sometimes, it’s just breathing.

Just showing up.

Worship isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s leaning in quietly while the song carries you.

3. You Can Worship After the Worst Day of Your Life—And Something Happens When You Do.

Here’s the wild thing: after David worshiped, the healing began.

It didn’t erase the loss. It didn’t change what happened. But something in him shifted.

He got up. He ate. He comforted Bathsheba. He moved forward—not because it was easy, but because worship reoriented his soul.

And I get that now.

I didn't realize it in the moment, but just being in that worship space after losing Joy—it started to untangle something in me.

I wasn’t "over it." I’m still not.

But showing up—letting the presence of God wash over me again and again—helped me move from numb to held. From broken to carried.

Your Turn

Maybe you’re reading this and you're in the thick of it. Maybe your arms are empty, or your heart is full of questions. Maybe you’ve been avoiding the house of the Lord, because the pain feels too raw.

Can I tell you something as a fellow traveler?

You don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to sing the song. You just need to show up.

Let the music sing over you.

Let the presence of God hold what you don’t know how to carry.

You don’t need to feel strong—you just need to bring your real self into the room.

Because there’s something about being in the presence of God, even when everything hurts, that starts to rewire your hope.

Final Thought

David went into the house of the Lord and worshiped.

I used to read that as a superhuman move.

Now I read it as a deeply human one.

It wasn’t flashy. It was desperate. It was sacred.

And if David could do it—if I could do it—you can too.

Even if all you do is let the music wash over you.

For the Guys Who Are Grieving in Silence

If you’re a man reading this and you’ve been walking through your own loss—whether it’s the loss of a child, a relationship, a dream, or just the heavy ache of a life you didn’t see coming—I see you.

And more importantly, God sees you.

We don’t always know how to talk about grief as men. We don’t always know where to go with our pain. We're told to be strong, to push through, to fix it.

But there are some things you can't fix. There are some seasons you can only walk through—with God beside you.

That’s why I wrote my book, Finding Joy in Every Season.

It was born in the same valley I just described. It’s not a how-to manual or a list of Christian clichés.

It's a collection of reflections, stories, and truths for men who are trying to show up through every season of life—even the ones that break your heart.

Whether you're in a season of loss, doubt, waiting, or quiet rebuilding—this book is an invitation.

To grieve honestly. To worship quietly. And to discover that God isn’t just with you in the mountaintops… He’s with you in the middle.

Peace in Christ,