The Armor Feels Heavy: Grieving with the Full Armor of God

"Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes."— Ephesians 6:11

Before September 13, 2020, I had read Ephesians 6:10–18 many times. I understood the concept of putting on the full armor of God. I even believed in its importance—for spiritual warfare, for daily struggles, for readiness.

But I never imagined what it would truly cost to wear it—until the day I lost my son, Ryan, to suicide.

That day, I was immediately thrust into an all-out battle.

It wasn’t the kind of battle I could prepare for with warning or training. It was sudden. Blinding. Crushing. I was battling the reality of his absence. The aching pain of losing my child. The unbearable weight of guilt and questions.

I fought thoughts like:

• I’m not a good mom.

• I must have failed my son.

• How could Ryan not know how deeply he was loved?

• What kind of Christian mom loses her child this way?

I wrestled with God’s sovereignty. How could He be good and allow this to happen? I know He has the power to stop the winds and the waves—surely He could have intervened. He could have foiled Ryan’s plans. He could have spared us this pain.

And yet, He didn’t.

That truth became another battlefield.

Then there was the fight to simply live in community. To show up in public, unsure of how people would treat me. Would they look away? Would they try to avoid the awkwardness? Or worse—would they say something painful without realizing it?

I longed to respond with grace, to reflect my faith in Christ, even in the agony. But inside, war was being waged.

I battled anger. Anger that this was now my life. That I would never get to see Ryan fall in love. Never celebrate his career, his marriage, his children. Never witness God using him in the way I had hoped and prayed.

And I fought bitterness—especially when I saw others experiencing those milestones with their children. I wanted to be happy for them. I truly did. But sometimes, that joy had to be fought for, through clenched fists and tear-soaked prayers.

The armor felt heavy.

I began to understand something I’d never considered before: the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll of putting on battle armor. In biblical times, soldiers didn’t just throw it on and head out. It took time, effort, discipline. And it was exhausting.

That’s exactly how grief felt. Every day, I had to put the armor on. And often, I’d take it off, only to be hit by another wave of sorrow, and have to suit up again. Sometimes multiple times a day.

• The belt of truth, when lies whispered that I was to blame.

• The breastplate of righteousness, when shame tried to convince me otherwise.

• The shield of faith, when doubts rained down like fiery arrows.

• The helmet of salvation, to protect a mind flooded with pain.

• The sword of the Spirit, to fight back with God's promises when my own words failed.

• The shoes of peace, when I felt anything but.

Putting on the armor wasn’t a one-time act. It was a daily discipline—sometimes a minute-by-minute one.

Now, almost five years later, I can say this: the armor is still heavy. There are still moments when the grief is sharp and the battle feels intense. But the waves of attack don’t come as quickly or as relentlessly as they did in the beginning. There is more space to breathe between the battles. More strength in the standing. More healing, even amid the ache.  So while the armor is indeed still heavy, we don’t carry the armor alone.  God does not ask us to fight these battles in our own strength. In fact, Ephesians 6 begins with this:

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” (v.10)

Not my strength. His.

Grief is a battlefield. And while it may not look like a traditional war, it is just as brutal. It attacks your heart, your mind, your faith. But God has given us what we need—not to fix it all, but to stand. To withstand. To press on when we feel like collapsing.

So if you find yourself weary—feeling like you can’t put the armor on one more time—know this:

You are not weak. You are in the fight.

God is with you. He sees your shaking hands, your aching heart, your trembling prayers.

And He is the One who equips you with every piece of armor.

“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground…”(Ephesians 6:13)

Even when your ground is the grave of your child. Even when your tears are your only prayer. Even when the armor feels too heavy.

He fights for you!

And that’s why—even in the grief—I choose to declare:

God is still above all else!