Dr. Crowder shared the following in a letter to future Living Waters Region Clergy on Thursday, May 12, 2026
Joy and Pain: Evidence That We Are Still Alive
Beloved Colleagues,
I am a now living witness that joy and pain often arrive holding hands. One reminds us of what we have been given; the other reminds us of what we have lost, endured, or deeply loved. To live fully is to encounter both. The human journey is marked not by uninterrupted celebration nor endless sorrow, but by the sacred tension of carrying both at the same time.
There are moments when joy feels almost inappropriate in the presence of grief. We laugh and then suddenly remember who is missing. We smile while carrying wounds no one else can see. Yet this paradox is part of the mystery of being human. The heart has the capacity to hold tears and thanksgiving in the same breath.
Pain and grief is evidence that we are still alive.
I am a witness that grief is not weakness. It is evidence of connection. We grieve because we love. We ache because something or someone mattered deeply to us. A numb heart feels nothing, but a living heart trembles, breaks, hopes, and remembers. Pain and grief are often the cost of loving deeply.
We are grieving the loss of our Sollomon, and to be frank, we do not believe we will ever completely get over it. Some losses permanently mark the soul. Yet with your prayers, with faith in God, and with the strength of community, we believe we will get through it. We are determined to continue fulfilling our assignment here on earth, even while carrying the weight of sorrow.
Scripture never hides this reality. The Psalms are filled with laments — cries of anguish alongside declarations of trust. Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus even while knowing resurrection was coming. The Christian faith does not deny sorrow; it teaches us that God meets us within it.
There is a holy honesty in admitting our grief and pain. Too often people of faith feel pressured to appear unshaken, as though tears are signs of spiritual failure. But throughout scripture, grief is not condemned; it is consecrated. Mourning is not the absence of faith. Sometimes mourning is faith refusing to let go of love.
At the same time, joy still finds ways to break through. When thousands stood and cheered our son Soll at the College of Engineering and Architecture Departments Graduation Ceremony last Friday night, Stephanie and I both smiled as we walked across the stage to accept his diploma. Because joy does find a way to break through, even in grief, pain, and loss.
We are indeed discovering that joy appears in the embrace of friends who refuse to leave us alone, in memories that still make us smile through tears, in prayers whispered when words are hard to find, and in the quiet assurance that God remains near to the brokenhearted. Joy does not erase pain, and pain does not cancel joy. They coexist. They shape us. They deepen our compassion and enlarge our understanding of others who suffer.
Perhaps that is one of grief’s hidden ministries: it teaches us how to love more tenderly, listen more carefully, and walk more gently with others. Those who have suffered deeply often become the very people who carry healing into the lives of others.
So if your heart feels heavy today, do not mistake that heaviness for failure. It may simply mean your heart is alive. It may mean you have loved greatly. It may mean you are still learning that even in sorrow, God continues to hold you.
And somewhere between joy and pain, between memory and hope, between tears and testimony, we discover the quiet truth:
We are still here. Still breathing. Still becoming. Still alive.
