Is Love Enough?

As we process grief and struggle to understand, we often think that if someone knows they’re loved, that should be enough to keep them here. It’s as if love has a built-in safety net that keeps people from falling into despair as if it can reach into the darkest places and pull someone back just because it exists.

That sounds nice. But it doesn’t hold up.

If love alone were enough, there wouldn’t be parents standing at funerals, trying to understand why their child is gone. Friends wouldn’t be left reading old text messages, wondering why love didn’t stop the final decision.

So what happened?

People don’t just wake up one day and decide they can’t take another step. It builds. Sometimes, it’s fast, like a wave crashing down. Other times, it’s slow, like a crack spreading through a foundation. Either way, its weight is more than a person can carry alone.

Love might be there, but suffering can be so overwhelming that it drowns everything else out. It isn’t that love is missing. It’s that pain can feel louder, closer, heavier.

Scripture does not treat suffering like something that disappears because someone should know better. The Psalms are full of raw prayers from people who felt abandoned. “Why, O Lord, do you stand far away? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1). Jesus Himself, at His lowest moment, cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

Elijah, after one of the most significant victories of his life, collapsed under fear and exhaustion. He told God he was done. That was it. “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life” (1 Kings 19:4). God didn’t tell him to pray harder. He sent an angel to let him sleep and eat. That was the first step back.

That’s why assuming someone knows they are loved isn’t enough. Depression can twist a person’s thoughts. They might believe they are loved but still feel like a burden. They might accept that people care but still believe nothing will ever change. They might be surrounded by support yet feel entirely alone.

And that’s why love has to be more than words.

“Let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18). Love that makes a difference listens instead of rushing to fix things. It pays attention when someone withdraws. It notices changes in sleep, eating, and disinterest in things that used to bring joy. It doesn’t assume that they are okay because someone is still here.

It is one thing to say, “I love you.” It is another to show up, stay present, and keep reaching out even when someone isn’t responding.

Four out of five people who attempt suicide give some warning. They don’t always say it outright. Sometimes, it’s in a joke about disappearing or an offhand comment about exhaustion. Sometimes, it’s giving things away or suddenly seeming at peace after a long season of struggle. Some signs are subtle, but others are not.

That’s why love, the kind that helps, stays near. It doesn’t just tell people what they should already know. It sits with them in the dark, so they don’t have to face it alone. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). That’s the kind of nearness people need.

If you know someone struggling, don’t assume they know how much they matter. Tell them. Show them. Stay close. Keep showing up.

~PW 🌮🛶