The Morning Is Coming

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." This line from Psalm 30:5 is often quoted at funerals, written in sympathy cards, and whispered in dark seasons of the soul. But its power reaches far beyond comfort in personal loss.

It holds a blueprint for how we navigate seasons of sorrow, how we show up as leaders, and how we build lives and businesses that endure. Today, I want to unpack that blueprint, not just with theology, but with practical wisdom, emotional truth, and a challenge for you to live and lead differently.

The Night No One Wants, But Everyone Meets

Let's start here: We all face loss.

Whether it's the death of a loved one, a failed dream, a fractured relationship, or a business that didn't become what we hoped, it hurts. Sometimes grief crashes in like a tidal wave. Other times, it sneaks up, slow and suffocating. And in the midst of it, one question haunts every corner of our mind: Is God still good?

You might not ask that out loud. But the late-night wrestle, the silent prayers, the numb mornings… they echo it.

We are all put on notice, waiting for the impossible moment we never want to face. If you're human, you've been there or you will be. You can't bypass the night. But you do get to decide what you believe about the morning.

What Psalm 30:5 Actually Says (and Doesn't Say)

Let's get something straight. Psalm 30 isn't soft faith. It's not Hallmark hope. David wrote this as a survivor of deep failure and deep redemption. The psalm doesn't deny pain. It gives it a name: weeping. And it doesn't minimize suffering. It tells us it lasts the whole night.

But it also reframes the timeline.

God's anger, His discipline, His correction, is momentary. His favor lasts a lifetime. The Hebrew word used for "moment" literally means a blink. The word for "favor" speaks of pleasure, delight, and divine acceptance that outlasts our worst mistakes.

So yes, grief visits like a brutal overnight guest. But joy is the sunrise that cannot be stopped.

Let that hit: The presence of pain is not the absence of favor.

Real Leaders Don't Rush the Night

Now let's pivot, because if you're leading a team, a business, a project, or even your family, this truth matters.

Most leaders want results, outcomes, and traction. I get it. But if you're building something that lasts, you need to understand this: People bring their grief to work. They show up with invisible weights, loss, anxiety, and buried regret, and they won't always tell you.

If you try to rush them past it, you'll break more than you build.

Psalm 30:5 invites us to become the kind of leader who can sit in the night without being undone by it. Someone who doesn't pretend pain isn't real, but who believes the morning is coming. Your presence in someone's pain could be the exact bridge they need to reach the other side.

This isn't just emotional intelligence. It's spiritual leadership.

From Hospice Beds to Boardrooms: Where Is God in Grief?

There are moments in life that force us to confront the dissonance between faith and feeling.

Like holding the hand of a loved one as they breathe their last. Or hearing the words no parent, partner, or professional ever wants to hear. These moments bring us to the edge of everything we thought we believed and ask us to look again.

Where is God in all this?

Here's the deep truth: Blessing is not always what we think.
It's not the absence of heartbreak. It's the presence of Jesus in the heartbreak.

The blessing is having Jesus to weep with you.

Let that shape your relationships, your faith, and your leadership. What if the best thing you could offer a grieving coworker isn't a solution, but your presence? What if your credibility as a leader was forged not by your competence, but by your compassion?

Emotional Intelligence Is a Spiritual Practice

In business circles, we talk a lot about EQ and emotional intelligence. But Psalm 30:5 reminds us this isn't just about self-awareness and communication style. This is soul-deep awareness. It's the ability to discern grief without judging it, to speak hope without rushing healing, and to lead with both empathy and expectation.

You're not just a project manager, consultant, founder, or executive. You're a human being working with other human beings. Some of them are walking through nights you know nothing about.

Some of them are you.

So here's your leadership charge: Be a bringer of morning. Be a reminder that sorrow is not the final word. That joy is not a myth. That God is still good, even when we can't make sense of Him.

Three Anchors for the Road Ahead

Let me leave you with three truths to carry, personally and professionally:

1. Grief is not an interruption. It's sacred ground.

Whether it's yours or someone else's, don't try to "fix" it. Listen. Sit. Pray. Let God do the lifting.

2. Joy is not the absence of sorrow. It's the presence of God.

You don't need to feel it yet. Just believe it's coming. Morning always comes.

3. Great leaders don't pretend to be invincible. They reflect the presence of Jesus.

And Jesus weeps. He holds. He restores. So should we.

Final Word: The Morning Will Come

You're not weak because you're grieving. You're not disqualified because you're at night. You're human. And God knows that. He built the rhythms of sunrise into creation so we'd never forget: Night is never the end of the story.

So let me ask you:

• Where in your life or leadership are you tempted to rush the night?
• Who around you needs a presence, not a performance?
• What would it look like to lead with both strategy and soul?

Because the morning is coming, and when it does, you'll rise, not just with joy, but with a deeper wisdom forged in the fire. And you'll be ready to lead with more clarity, compassion, and courage than ever before.

A Prayer for the Night and the Morning

God,

You see the parts of us we hide behind busy schedules, leadership roles, and polished answers. You see the grief we carry quietly, the losses we've buried beneath productivity, the questions we've whispered when no one else was listening. Thank you for not rushing us. Thank you for sitting with us at night.

Today, we bring you our weariness, our unmet expectations, our business setbacks, our relational wounds, and our silent heartaches. We confess we don't always feel Your goodness in the middle of it. But still, we choose to believe your promise: that joy will come in the morning.

Help us lead with compassion, not just competence. Teach us to hold space for others like you hold space for us. Let our work be grounded not just in strategy, but in soul. And in every season, whether we're grieving, building, or just trying to hold it together, remind us that Your favor is forever, even when the night feels long.

May we become people who carry hope into dark places and who live as evidence that the morning is worth waiting for.

Amen.

Pause. Breathe. God is near, and the morning is already on its way.