Wrestling with God’s Will After Losing a Child

When my child died, the world stopped making sense and my heart shattered in ways words can barely touch. Maybe you’ve lost a child—perhaps even to something as gut-wrenching as suicide—and now you’re wrestling with the big, messy questions. Why did this happen? Was this God’s will? Did He plan this, or could He have stopped it? If you’ve lost a child, these aren’t just abstract thoughts—they’re cries from the deepest parts of your soul. I’ve been there too, staring into that abyss of grief, and I know how those questions can haunt you, especially in the quiet moments when the weight of loss feels too much to bear. They’re raw, real, and they deserve more than a pat answer.

Maybe you’re reading this because you’re searching for answers about God’s will during your own grief. Perhaps you’re wondering how a loving God fits into the story of your child’s death. I want you to know that your questions matter. Your pain is seen.

Let’s start with something we can hold on to: God didn’t want death to be part of the picture. Way back in the beginning, when He shaped this world and breathed life into us, His plan was for us to live—really live—forever with Him. No tears, no goodbyes, no coffin for your child’s body. Death wasn’t the design; it’s the intruder that snuck in when sin broke everything. The Bible says it plain in Romans 5:12—“sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin.” God’s heart aches with ours because this wasn’t how He wanted it. But here we are, in a busted-up world, and your child’s death feels like the loudest proof of that brokenness.

So where does God’s will fit into this? It’s a question that can twist us up inside, especially when the pain’s fresh and the silence from heaven feels deafening.

God’s Will Isn’t a Straight Line

When my world cracked open, I kept asking, “Did God plan this? Did He want my child gone?” It’s a question that’s kept smarter folks than me up at night for centuries. Here’s what I’ve come to see: God’s will isn’t some rigid script where every tear and tragedy is penned by His hand. The Bible shows us a God who’s sovereign. He’s in charge, no doubt, but also a God who loves us wildly and grieves with us. John 11:35 says Jesus wept when Lazarus died. If death was just “God’s will” in some cold, mechanical way, why would He cry?

There’s this idea called Molinism that’s helped me wrestle with this. It’s a fancy word, but stick with me, because it’s pretty cool when you break it down. Imagine God as the ultimate chess master. He doesn’t just know what moves we’ll make; He knows every possible move we could make and how it all fits together. Molinism says God has this middle knowledge. He sees all the “what ifs” of our free choices, and He works His perfect plan around them. So, He didn’t want our children to die, but He knew it could happen in this broken world where people have real freedom. And because He’s God, He’s weaving something good even out of the ashes, not because the pain is good, but because He’s that powerful and that loving.

Does that mean He “signed off” on your child’s death? Not in the way we might fear. Think of it like this: God set up a world where love means freedom, and freedom means risk. Your child’s death isn’t what He dreamed for them—or you—but He’s not caught off guard either. He’s right there in it with you, promising in Romans 8:28 to work all things, even the worst things, for good. It’s not a quick fix, and it doesn’t erase the hurt, but it’s a lifeline.

God Knows Our Days

Here’s another piece that’s both heavy and strangely comforting: God knows exactly how many days we’ve got. Psalm 139:16 says, “Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Before our child took their first breath, God knew their last. That’s not just poetry—it’s a truth that hits different when you’re grieving.

For me, this stirred up a storm of feelings. If God knew my child would only get so many days, why didn’t He stretch them out longer? Why didn’t He step in? But then I realized something: knowing isn’t the same as wanting. I think of it like a parent watching a kid ride a bike. You know they might fall. You can see the wobble coming, but you don’t yank them off because you want them to learn, to live. God’s got that middle knowledge. He saw every possible path your child’s life could take, and He let them ride theirs along with the rest of us, even when it ended in a cataclysmic broken heart—ours.

What’s wild is that He doesn’t just know the number of our days. He’s with us through every single one. When Jesus says in Matthew 10:30 that even the hairs on our head are numbered, it’s a reminder: He’s not distant. He was there with our children, every moment, and He’s here with you now. That doesn’t make the loss okay—it’s still a thief—but it means you’re not alone in it.

Holding Pain and Hope Together

So, what’s God’s will when your child dies? It’s not that He wanted it or wrote it into some cosmic script to hurt you. His will, at its core, is love—love that made us, love that hates death, love that sent Jesus to bust through the grave so we wouldn’t be stuck in it forever. Your child’s death isn’t the end of that love; it’s a chapter in a story He’s still writing. Revelation 21:4 promises a day when “He will wipe every tear from their eyes,” and death will be gone for good. Until then, His will is to hold you close, to carry you when you can’t walk, to redeem what’s been stolen in ways we can’t yet see. This verse does not relieve my pain in the slightest bit does offer hope and comfort.

I know this doesn’t fix the hole in your life. I’ve sat in that emptiness myself, and some days I still do. But I’ve found that asking these questions, leaning into God even when I’m mad at Him, keeps me tethered. If you’re hurting, it’s okay to yell, to cry, to tell Him you don’t get it. He can take it. And somewhere in there, I believe He’s whispering, “I’ve got your child, and I’ve got you.”