At the direction of the worship leader, I stood during our Sunday morning worship, following the typical routine of our liturgy. But it was not a typical Sunday. As worship director, I’m usually in the front leading, playing, and creating an environment for robust worship—one of my greatest joys in life.
But this was not a typical Sunday. I had taken a few weeks off surrounding the death of my mother, so I sat with the other congregants. When beckoned to stand and sing, I stood, but my heart did not follow directions, nor did my voice.
The weeks leading up to this moment included saying goodbye to my mother, whom I cared for during the year her mind and body degraded. It included comforting my young children in the loss of their grandma—trying to help them process grief while barely understanding my own. And it included planning a funeral, grappling with orphanhood in my early thirties, and discovering that someone we trusted stole the inheritance my parents had set aside for my sisters and me.
I did not feel worshipful. I felt dry, distant, and spiritually weary. And as a parent, there was little space to withdraw completely because little ones still needed comfort, stability, and hope. My instinct was to stay away from church, but I also had a deep desire to model for my kids that worship is not reserved for times when we feel like it.
As I stood, I tried to sing, but I could not open my mouth without tears falling. The knot in my throat and the pit in my stomach seemed to ask, “Why in the world are you here?”
Over the years in ministry, I’ve learned that many believers quietly step into seasons like that one—seasons of grief, betrayal, exhaustion, and spiritual dryness. For some, these times hit because of a strained relationship with a family member; for others, it comes because of a prolonged illness or even just a feeling of being overwhelmed. In these seasons, worship can feel impossible. The songs are familiar, the words are true, but the heart feels far away. And in these moments, an unsettling question often surfaces—what is the point of worship when you don’t feel like worshipping?
My experience that morning, and the slow healing that followed, reminded me that God does not require emotional strength for worship. He meets people in weakness, dryness, and grief, and often uses these seasons to draw us closer to himself.
For parents who want to worship but feel stuck, here are three honest encouragements.
God Welcomes Honest Worship, Not Just Joyful Worship
One barrier to worshipping when we don’t feel like it is the belief that worship requires feeling spiritually strong or happy. When life is painful and your heart and voice don’t do what they’re “supposed” to do, it’s easy to feel like you’re worshipping the wrong way. But worship in Scripture includes lament, confusion, and grief…not just praise. Psalm 13 is one of many places where the psalmist cries out to God, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”
Worship is the gathered people of God responding honestly to his character and goodness, expressed in joy, praise, trust, and lament. The Psalms are filled with people bringing their pain directly to God, and he welcomes it. “Cast your cares on him,” Peter reminds us (1 Peter 5:7). God would rather hear our honest cries than our silent distance. For parents, this may look like a whispered prayer in the kitchen, but it might also look like admitting to your child that in a season of struggle, you are learning what it means to lean into Jesus. It’s good for them to see that honest wrestling modeled.
We can approach God honestly because of the gospel. In Jesus, God did not remain distant from human suffering. Christ stepped into our broken world, carried our sin on the cross, and rose again so that we might be reconciled to God. Because of him, we do not come trying to prove our strength. We come as broken people welcomed by grace. This truth, believer, is reason enough to enter his sanctuary even when you feel spiritually dry. And in parenting, these rhythms matter even more because our children watch how we cling to Jesus.
The desire to worship, even when it feels hard, is a movement toward him. Psalm 34:18 reminds us that “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted.” He does not wait until we have ourselves figured out or cleaned up. He meets us in the honesty of our struggle.
Don’t let a season of spiritual distance keep you from God’s gathered people. Sometimes the most beautiful worship simply begins with honesty before God among a community of believers.
Presence Matters Even When Your Heart Feels Distant
When worship feels emotionally empty or numb, we can become discouraged. But just because we don’t feel something in worship does not mean our worship is in vain. We live in a culture where feelings are primary and often take precedence over the steady rhythms of life’s liturgies. “Follow your heart” has become a kind of cultural authority, urging us to do whatever feels right. The challenge, of course, is that we don’t always feel like worshipping. But God calls us to obedience, and often, out of obedience, new life begins to grow. Faithfulness sometimes looks like simply showing up. Seasons of numbness will ebb and flow in this life, but God often works quietly through consistency, even when we don’t feel immediate change.
Psalm 42:5 says, “Why are you cast down, O my soul? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him.” It’s as if the Psalmist is reminding himself to look up! See God. At times the sincerest worship is simply refusing to look away from him. When we worship with our brothers and sisters in Christ, it is not merely an emotional expression but an act of trust and surrender, even when feelings lag behind.
Healing in Worship Often Happens Gradually
It’s easy to believe that worship will “fix” spiritual dryness, and when it doesn’t remove the pain, discouragement can grow.
But worship does not always provide instant relief. Corporate worship slowly reorients our hearts over time. Being in community, partaking in the sacraments, and hearing the Word preached remind us of truths when we struggle to believe them ourselves. When we feel dry spiritually, the temptation is to stay away, but what we need more than anything is to be drenched in these means of grace.
God has also given us the church to walk this life together—through the hard, the confusing, the joyful, and the ordinary. Hebrews 10:24–25 calls us to “spur one another on,” and it is often the community we worship with that helps carry burdens we cannot carry alone.
That Sunday when I stood trying to croak out the words of the song, the woman next to me put her hand on my arm and whispered, “Let me be your voice today.” When we can’t sing with confidence, the church often sings truth for us until our hearts catch up. I did not bring strong worship to God that morning. I simply brought myself—a tired, grieving, and unsure mom—and that was enough.
If you are in a season in which worship feels difficult, know that God has not moved away from you. He fills you with his strength as you parent on empty. He meets his people not only in songs of joy, but also in whispered prayers, silent tears, and the steady presence of his church.
For more gospel encouragement for parenting, listen to Rooted’s two parenting podcasts: the Rooted Parent Podcast and the Asian American Parenting Podcast.
