“Maybe God took my child because I strayed.”
That sentence was whispered to me through tears during a recent session.I’ve changed the details to protect her privacy, but the ache behind those words?It’s heartbreakingly real.And far too common.
My client had lost a child, an infant, only a few months old.
Unimaginable pain.The kind of grief that tears open the structure of your souland asks every question you’ve ever had about why anything happens the way it does.
She’d grown up in a strict Catholic church.A place where God was described as lovingbut also angry.Holy, but punitive.Always watching. Always waiting.Waiting for that one unconfessed sin to pounce on you.
Sometimes that message was subtle.But often, it was overt:Good people get rewarded. Sinners get punished.
But over the years, she’d found her own spiritual path —one that felt more loving, more intuitive, more rooted in connection than fear.
She felt held.She still lit candles.She still prayed.She still felt the presence of God.But she no longer walked the path she was raised on.
And thenthe unthinkable happened.Her child passed.
Some time later, as so often happens, a friend reached out.A well-meaning friend. Probably uncomfortable with grief, mystery, and ambiguity.And the friend said:
“You need to get back to Jesus.”
Now, on the surface, that might sound like concern.
But beneath it, that comment planted a seed of judgment.It took her right back to those days in Sunday school.Back to the trauma so many of us absorbed when we were too young to protect ourselves.
And like trauma does, it echoed forward.Unprocessed emotions never really leave.They wait.
She said:
“Maybe I’m being punished.Maybe I caused this loss by stepping away from God.Maybe my child died because I failed, and God took her from me.”
And I have to tell youmy heart broke with her.
Because this…This is what happens when theology is built on fear.
What kind of God would punish you by taking your child?
Let’s stop and really sit with that question.
Let’s assume, just for a moment, that you had made mistakes.Let’s assume that you had “sinned.”What kind of God would respond…by taking the life of someone you love?
What kind of justice is that?
It’s not justice.It’s cruelty.And cruelty is not divine.
To believe in that kind of Godis to live in a universe where love is conditionaland suffering is always deserved.
That’s not faith.That’s spiritual fear dressed up as doctrine.
The deeper lie: That death is a punishment
This grief, this spiral, it all hangs on a deeper lie:That death is a punishment.
But what if it’s not?
What if death isn’t a punishmentbut a passage?What if it isn’t a sentencebut a continuation?
What if the soul knows what it’s doing?
Many spiritual traditions, even within Christianity, hold this truth:We are eternal.
This life is a chapter, not the whole book.And the ones we lose, especially childrenare not lost to us forever.
They are closer than we know.They’ve just gone home before we have.
And if we truly understood what waits for us on the other side,we would never fear deathand we would certainly never confuse it with punishment.
We wouldn’t say “God took someone.”We’d say, “They went. They went home.”And we’d trust that where they went, they are held.
If we really understood what death is capital punishment would be abolished immediately.We wouldn’t weaponize the afterlife to control or scare anyone.We wouldn’t confuse loss with judgment.And we would never again look into the eyes of a grieving parent and say:“This happened because you strayed.”
We don’t own our children. We accompany them.
It’s so natural to feel like our children belong to us.We say things like “my son,” “my daughter.”We say, “I brought you into this world.”
And yes, we carried them.We fed them.We loved them in the most physical, visceral ways.Their lives touched our bodies.Their cries woke us in the night.
Of course, we feel like they came from us.
But the deeper truth is this:Our children don’t come from us.They come through us.
We are the portal.The steward.The witness.
But not the owner.
Each soul has its own path.Its own timing, purpose, lessons, and legacy.
And while our journeys overlap, they are not the same.
Their birth was not our decision.Their death is not our fault.
Even in loss, even in heartbreak,their path remains theirs.
It is sacred.It is completeeven if unbearably brief.
Even if it was only for a few months, as in the case of my client.Or fifty years.Or eighty.
This is hard to acceptespecially when we’re desperate to find a reason.That’s what humans do. We reach for certainty.
And that’s when old ideas start to come rushing in.
Those old theologies that say,“This happened because you did something wrong.God is punishing you.”
But those are fear’s answersnot love’s.
That’s a trauma response, not spiritual truth.
Because here’s the real truth:No spiritual offense, no infidelity, no wandering,no “wrong” belief could ever override the soul’s plan.Not yours.Not theirs.
You didn’t make them leave.They left because their journey here was done.And now, they continue elsewhere.
“I brought you into this world…”
When I was a kid, I loved Bill Cosby.
And there’s an old joke of his that always got a laugh:
“I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”
We laughed.
But underneath that laugh is a cultural wound.
That joke is rooted in a false belief that parents create their children,and therefore have dominion over them.
It’s the same belief that makes us feel guilty when we lose them.
It implies: If I brought them in, maybe I did something that made them leave.
But that’s not how soul paths work.
You are not the author of your child’s destiny.You are not the gatekeeper of their fate.And you are not the reason they died.
You’re not omnipotent.You’re not omniscient.You’re not omnipresent.
You can’t know everything.You can’t be everywhere.And you don’t have all power.
You are not powerful enough to have ended your child’s life through your sins.
What you are what you’ve always beena temporary companion on their journey.
A sacred escort through part of their soul’s evolution.
You are not the creator.You are not the controller.You are not the cause.
When we try to carry the weight of their deathas if it’s ours to bear,we confuse biology with divinity.
But our power is limited.
And honestly? That’s a mercy.
Because it means this:We can grieve without guilt.We can remember without shame.We can light candles without wondering if we’re to blame.
Let’s tell a different story.
Imagine this:
Your soul and your child’s soul knew each other before this life.They chose you.You chose them.And you both knew — your time might be brief.But it would be powerful.Sacred.Transformative.
I remember when my girls were four and seven,long before any religious teachings had reached them.They sat at the kitchen table talking to each otherremembering being in heaven.
They remembered choosing us as their parents.
I didn’t teach them that.I hadn’t even learned that yet.
But something in their souls knew.
So imagine a God who doesn’t count sinsbut holds space for every heartbreak.
A God who doesn’t take but receives.
A God who doesn’t punish your pathbut walks beside you wherever you go.
Because this is true:Love does not punish.Love does not take.Love holds.Love honors.Love stays.
In closing, I want you to ask this:
What kind of God would punish you by taking your child?What kind of sense does that make?
And if you sit with that honestly…I think you’ll feel the answer:
It doesn’t make any sense at all.
So maybe there are better questions to ask:
✨ What kind of love still remains?✨ What kind of connection outlives the physical?✨ And what kind of God meets you here in the ache,in the ritual,in the mystery of the unknown?
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🕊️ P.S. Releasing Guilt Is Possible
If this episode stirred something in you — especially around guilt, shame, or self-blame — I created a guided meditation to help you begin releasing those heavy emotions.
It’s called “Release Guilt & Embrace Peace”, and it’s designed to meet you where you are, gently and compassionately.
You can access it here:👉
You don’t have to carry this alone.You are not being punished.You are being held.
