A Reminder: Grief Will Always Be Part of Me

I’ve been thinking a lot lately — and honestly, writing these blogs often becomes my way of processing what’s swirling around in my head and heart. Today, I want to share something that keeps coming up for me: grief isn’t something that goes away. It becomes part of who I am.

There was a time when I thought grief was a season. Something I’d "get through" or "move past." But now I realize it’s more like a companion — sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, but always walking with me. "

I’m not writing this from some place of "all better now." I'm writing as someone who still sometimes tears up in unexpected moments, who still misses what was lost, who still has days of heavy sighs. And maybe you do too.

C.S. Lewis in his book "A Grief Observed" is quoted to say, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning” For me grief isn’t just sadness or pain or even a fear. It’s a shift. It’s learning how to live in a world that’s been rearranged, without asking me if I was okay with the change. It’s messy, unpredictable, and not something that fits neatly into timelines or checklists. As a matter of truth (for me), we are kind of forced to stumble forward. We must realize that this is not a sprint; we stumble along, and shuffle along and sometimes just press pause (rest to find strength), but we keep going. WE MUST KEEP GOING FORWARD.

I’ve come to see that grief shapes the way I see the world now. It’s made me softer in some places and maybe a bit guarded in others. It’s deepened my empathy for others who are hurting. It’s changed the way I love — with a little more urgency, a little more tenderness. But in the spirit of being honest, I must admit that it has also made me ultra-sensitive and irritable. Mostly, I think it has given me reminders, etched into my soul, of the people and moments that mattered so deeply. Those reminders are bittersweet, but they’re sacred. It’s those reminders that make the difficult and hard moments bearable.

I used to think I needed to push grief away or fix it. Now I let it sit with me. Sometimes it whispers; sometimes it doesn’t say anything at all. But it's there, and I don’t try to shoo it away anymore. Instead, I try to learn from it. I speak up (thank God for a patient wife) and voice my discomfort at my table, but I have to acknowledge its presence.

• I’ve learned that my tears aren’t weakness (as frustrating as it might be). They’re proof of love.
• I’ve learned that talking about my losses doesn’t reopen wounds; it helps heal them in layers.
• And I’ve learned that I can laugh, plan, hope, and still carry grief with me. There’s room for both.

Probably the hardest of all is the tension between holding on and moving forward. But I don’t believe in "moving on" anymore. Instead, I believe in walking forward, carrying my grief like a story I tell with love and reverence. Sometimes that means lighting a candle on a hard anniversary. Sometimes it’s writing here, hoping that someone reads this and knows that they are not alone.

Grief reminds me that I’ve loved deeply. It reminds me that life is fragile, fleeting, and beautiful. And while grief will always be part of me, it doesn’t define me. It shapes me — sometimes painfully, but also beautifully.

So, if you’re carrying grief today, I hope this little piece of my heart reminds you: you’re not alone. We’re stumbling forward together. And in the midst of all of it, there is still hope, still beauty, and still moments of light.

We keep going. We stumble forward.

A Pastor's Reflection - through Grief’s lens and Life’s Mirror

Grief has a way of reshaping us, carving out lessons in the most unexpected ways. Some of these lessons come swiftly, like a lightning bolt of clarity, while others linger, unfolding slowly over time. This morning brought one such moment of reflection—a learning curve that left me questioning not just the nature of loss but the essence of who I am.

A dear friend made a profound observation during a conversation about ministry and loss. He said, "Loss comes with the territory of ministry, but perhaps the worst loss is the loss of self." He went further to clarify that this loss should not be confused with self-denial. His words struck a chord deep within me, sending my thoughts spiraling into introspection.

This morning, I found myself standing in front of the mirror, staring at my own reflection. The man looking back at me was familiar yet strangely foreign. His face bore the marks of time spent in ministry—lines etched by sermons preached, prayers lifted, and lives touched. But as I searched his eyes, an unsettling question gnawed at my soul: Who is this? … is this me? … who am I? Who have I become? Am I more than what I can see?

The Gospel echoed in my mind, a verse I’ve preached countless times: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). This passage has always been foundational to my understanding of discipleship. Yet today, it felt deeply personal—uncomfortably so. Have I truly denied myself for Christ? Or have I simply traded one version of myself for another… one more acceptable to others of even to myself?  Worse still, was I losing myself entirely in an effort to meet expectations and please others?

My friend’s comment brought clarity to a distinction I had not fully considered before: denying self versus losing yourself. These concepts may seem similar on the surface but are profoundly different in their implications.

- Denying Self: At its core, self-denial is an intentional act of surrender—a relinquishing of personal desires and ambitions for the sake of Christ and His kingdom. It is a choice made daily to follow Him wholeheartedly, even when it costs us comfort or convenience. True self-denial is rooted in love and devotion; it is not about erasing who we are but about aligning our identity with God's purpose.

- Losing Yourself: Losing oneself, on the other hand, is far less intentional (maybe, more incidental) and often far more damaging. It happens gradually, as we pour ourselves out for others without replenishing our own spirit. Strangely enough, it could also be an unconscious act of trying to protect yourself… It can stem from trying too hard to meet expectations or sacrificing our authenticity in an attempt to please people. Unlike self-denial, losing oneself can leave us feeling empty, disconnected from our true identity—a shadow of who we once were.

Ministry is a calling that demands much—time, energy, compassion, and sacrifice. It is a privilege to serve others and share God’s love with them. Yet it also carries risks if we are not careful. The danger lies in pouring out so much that we forget to nurture our own soul. We can become so consumed with serving others or even with protecting “the Ministry” that we lose sight of who we are in Christ.

This morning’s reflection reminded me that ministry should never come at the cost of losing oneself entirely. Yes, we are called to deny ourselves for Christ’s sake—to lay down our lives in service to Him—but this does not mean abandoning our identity or neglecting our own spiritual health.

As I stood before the mirror today, searching for answers, I realized that rediscovering myself is not about reclaiming who I used to be but about embracing who God has called me to become. It’s about finding balance—learning to deny myself without losing myself entirely.

To do this requires intentionality:

- Spending time alone with God to reconnect with His purpose for my life.

- Setting boundaries in ministry to protect my emotional and spiritual well-being.

- Remembering that pleasing others should never take precedence over pleasing God.

- Trusting that my worth is not defined by what I do but by who I am in Him.

Grief has taught me many lessons—about loss, resilience, faith—and today it reminded me of something crucial: that even as I serve others through ministry, I must guard against losing myself along the way. Denying oneself for Christ is noble and necessary; losing oneself entirely is neither.

As I continue this journey of faith and service, I pray for wisdom to discern the difference—and grace to embrace both self-denial and self-discovery in equal measure. For in Christ alone lies my true identity—the reflection staring back at me through grief’s lens and life’s mirror.

Unspoken Reality of Ministry: Friendship and Loss

I don’t particularly enjoy what I’m about to share, but I believe it’s an essential truth to confront.

One of my Heroes of Faith and in Ministry is the Rev. John Wesley. He once said, “Holy solitaries' is a phrase no more consistent with the Gospel than holy adulterers. The Gospel of Christ knows no religion but social; no holiness but social holiness.” Wesley emphasized that Christianity—and by implication, Ministry—is inherently relational. Ministers are not meant to operate in isolation but within a supportive Community.

Loss doesn’t only occur when loved ones pass away; it happens as we navigate life itself. Having served as a Pastor for the past 24 years, I've come to realize that alongside the steadfast pillars of Faith and Family, another constant companion in ministry life is the all too familiar feeling of loss.

The Ministry of Word and Sacraments demands sacrifices that few outside this calling truly understand. Perhaps the most painful sacrifice is the continual loss of deep friendships. Ministry is inherently relational—at least for me—which paradoxically makes building genuine friendships more complicated rather than easier. The very ability that enables you to form profound bonds with others and build community is also the source of deep heartache when someone leaves your church—and, inevitably, your life.

I’ve seen very good friendships that began with great promise fall apart or break due to changing circumstances, shifting church dynamics, or the unavoidable collision between my pastoral role and personal connections... I think every honest Pastor might agree—at least to some extent—that this is one of the hidden costs of ministry. Over time, a strange hesitancy develops—a reluctance to fully let your guard down. This protective instinct doesn’t stem from distrust but from experience.

Believe it or not, Pastors feel loss deeply, even if we hide it well—or sometimes not at all. I once heard someone say that pastors are forced to be actors: they must act strong when they feel weak and endure humiliation so that others may feel better about themselves…I think that there’s truth in that statement. While the pastoral role requires emotional resilience, it doesn’t make us immune to pain. Every goodbye, every fractured relationship, every unmet expectation leaves its mark on us.

Ministry is a calling filled with joy and purpose but also with sacrifice and heartache. It’s a delicate balance—pouring out love while guarding your heart, building relationships while bracing for inevitable losses. Yet through all this, I’ve learned something profound: the pain of loss doesn’t diminish the value of connection; it highlights its importance. Even when friendships fade or circumstances change, the moments shared remain meaningful and significant.

I close with a quote from another one of my heroes of faith, Father Henri Nouwen: “To live a spiritual life we must first find the courage to enter into the desert of our loneliness and to change it by gentle and persistent efforts into a garden of solitude.” Perhaps the solution to the challenge of loss in relationships lies in our ability to transition from our deserts of loneliness to gardens of solitude—a place where peace can flourish amid pain.

To my fellow Pastors and those in Ministry: you’re not alone in feeling this way. And to those outside of ministry who may not fully understand—thank you for your grace and patience as we navigate this complex journey of Faith, Service, and Relationships.

Seek the Light

Sometimes I think I underestimate the trauma caused by grief and or loss. The loss of a loved one leads us to question our beliefs about the nature of humanity, the meaning of life, and the role of God… Our sense of security is often shattered. We tend to  feel helpless, vulnerable, and often defeated.

Trauma is often defined by experts as a distressing or disturbing experience. It is disruptive and often disillusioning, causing us to question and even doubt things we once perceived as obvious and normal. Grief, especially when it follows a traumatic loss (By the way, I think, any loss is traumatic in its own way), can be particularly challenging. Traumatic bereavement occurs when the natural grieving process is disrupted due to the traumatic nature of the death, leading to intense emotions like fear, anxiety, guilt, anger, or shame.

A loss of any kind can shatter our assumptions about the world, making it seem unpredictable and unsafe. It often leads to ruminations about the death, with questions like "Why did this happen?" or "Could it have been prevented?" These thoughts can be overwhelming and may lead to feelings of guilt and self-blame, even when there is no fault involved.

Lately, I am discovering that trauma, loss and grief (whatever term you prefer) can also give us or lead us towards Hope. The activist and church leader, Bishop Desmond Tutu, once said something along the lines of "Hope is the ability to see the light no matter how dark it may seem." I may be misquoting, but it expresses what I hope to convey… Finding Hope is a choice to look for Light in all circumstances.

Attending my Dad's funeral was one of the toughest moments I experienced in a long while, yet it filled me with so much hope. Daddy’s life seemed to be filled with so much light amidst the dark tunnels or moments. Listening to and seeing how a simple person, who some might have condemned or seen as insignificant, offered so much light to the world, was truly inspiring. My dad's ability to always get up and fight one more time despite the obstacles, his ability to admit his flaws and own his mistakes and thus overcome them, gives me hope. It provides a guiding light through the dark valley of death.

I must pause here and say that my dad never claimed to be deserving of this light. He always reminded me that Christ is the Light. Could this be what actually illuminated his light as a beacon for his family to imitate and follow? Christ's light best shines through humble vessels that surrender to Him, I suppose.

In the end, dealing with grief and trauma is not easy, but it can lead us to profound insights and a deeper understanding of hope. By embracing our vulnerabilities and seeking support, whether through faith, therapy, or community, we can navigate the darkest moments and find a way forward. As we move through the grieving process, we can honor the memory of our loved ones by living our lives with purpose and hope.

Reflections on Caregiving and Grief

I have the honor and privilege, granted by the grace of God, to play a small part in caring for my Dad. A little more than a year ago, Daddy was diagnosed with cancer and declared terminal by doctors.

I cherish the opportunity to sit by Daddy’s bedside from time to time. I do not consider this a small thing; it is truly a privilege that not many get to experience.

As I sat next to Daddy’s bed last night, watching him wrestle in his sleep, I found myself reflecting on my Daddy’s battle with cancer. A whirlwind of emotions overwhelm me. Memories of my mother’s illness, when I was just 15 years old, flooded back, my Mother in-laws passing less then 2 months ago reminds me of life’s fragility and the weight of grief.

 Both Mom and Mommy fought bravely against the challenges of their sicknesses but eventually succumbed due to complications related to their sicknesses. As a son, I witnessed their strength and faith firsthand.

Now, facing the possibility of losing my father, I feel both scared and weary. The doctor advised me to research end-of-life symptoms. While this knowledge is essential, it is also daunting. As my father enters this final stage, I need to be aware of certain signs:

-  Exhaustion and Weakness: I’ve noticed Daddy becoming increasingly fatigued, often preferring sleep over engaging in conversations or activities we once enjoyed together.

-  Loss of Appetite: His interest in food has diminished significantly, which is heartbreaking to witness.

-  Changes in Breathing: I’ve read about irregular breathing patterns and the “death rattle,” and the thought of experiencing that fills me with dread.

-  Confusion or Delirium: Daddy has always been a numbers guy—a dreamer and a “make it happen” kind of person. The idea that he might lose that part of himself and become confused is terrifying; yet, it is slowly becoming our new reality. 

- Physical Changes: Watching him lose weight and vitality serves as a stark reminder that time is slipping away.

 Understanding these symptoms helps me prepare for what lies ahead, but it doesn’t lessen the emotional burden I carry.

As a Pastor, I strive to be a pillar of strength for others, but right now, I feel vulnerable. Admitting this is tough; I feel I can’t be both vulnerable and strong. Others need me, yet this journey is exhausting. It weighs heavily on me—especially after having to leave my father while he is unwell to conduct memorial services or counselling sessions for dear congregants and their families. It is difficult, but I must admit that the bereaved families inspired me; their tears mirrored some of my own fears—I can’t help but think, “what if we are next?” At the same time the "break away" from Daddy's sickbed helps me regroup and find courage... yet even saying that makes me feel... guilty... I guess... don't know...

In these moments of despair, confusion, and a strange  hopefulness I’ve  learned to find some solace in certain practices:

-   Seeking Support: Connecting with fellow pastors, family and friends who understand this journey has been invaluable. Sharing my fears and experiences provides a sense of community that reminds me I’m not alone. My wife has been my pillar of strength… having just stood at the graveside of her mother, she still finds the time and energy to support me.

 -  Prioritizing Self-Care: It’s easy to neglect my own needs while caring for my father and others. However, I’m learning that taking time for myself—whether through prayer, meditation, or simply enjoying a good cup of coffee—is essential for recharging my spirit.

-  Leaning on My Faith: My faith has always been a source of strength. In prayer, I find comfort and guidance. Trusting in God’s goodness and grace helps me navigate this tumultuous season.

-    - Honoring My Parent’s Memory: Reflecting on the bravery of my mother, mother in-law and inspires me to embody that same resilience. They taught me the importance of never giving up, even when faced with life’s harshest realities.

Daddy’s cool demeanor and playful nature—steadfast in his faith—encourage me to hold on, press on, and remember to find humor even in tough times.

As I grapple with the impending loss of my father, it’s crucial for me to acknowledge both my pain and the love surrounding us. Each moment spent with him is precious; every shared memory is a treasure.

In this journey through grief, I remind myself that it’s okay to feel weak—this vulnerability is part of being human. As I navigate these difficult waters, I hold onto hope and faith. My father has shown immense strength throughout his illness, and as his youngest son (Baba Seun), I strive to honor his legacy by remaining steadfast in love and support.

While the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, it also presents an opportunity for profound connection... Connecting to God and others.

By preparing myself with knowledge about end-of-life signs and leaning into my faith community for support, I can find a way forward amidst the pain. This journey may be painful, but it is also filled with moments of grace that remind me of the love we share as a family.

 

Our Understanding of God Shapes Our Values

The Power of Perception: How Our Understanding of God Shapes Our Values and Theology

I have heard it said that hurting people hurt people… in my 20+ years ministering with and alongside people, especially the hurting, I found this statement more true then I would want it to be. I find it unfortunate that many of these hurts stem from our perceptions that God or God's people have caused us pain.

As human beings, we seem to be constantly grappling with the question of God's existence and the nature of the Divine. Even the Atheist seem to be saying that I can’t believe in a cruel God that claims to be loving… I further found that this crucial wrestling often defines how we perceive ourselves and our significance in this world. Our ideas about God profoundly impact everything we do—how we live, how we treat others, and the choices we continue to make.

I’ve always found the illustration of Dropping a pebble in a pond, it illustrates how small (or even traumatic) changes in our perception of the Divine can create ripples that affect our lives and the expressions thereof.

 

If we believe that God is loving and kind, we are more likely to embody those qualities in our own lives. However, if we see God as strict and judgmental, that perception can lead us to act negatively toward others and ourselves. If we believe God to be absent or non-existent then that certainly affects how we interact or live in this world. I think that it is essential to think carefully about what we believe and to engage in open dialogue with others who hold different ideas and perspectives. By learning from each other, we can ensure that our beliefs are rooted in love, compassion, and fairness (values that I think most will agree necessary in our lives).

If we believe that God is loving and kind, we are more likely to embody those qualities in our own lives. However, if we see God as strict and judgmental, that perception can influence us to act in negative ways towards others and ourselves. It is essential to think carefully about what we believe and to engage in open dialogue with others who hold different ideas. By learning from each other, we can ensure that our beliefs are rooted in love, compassion, and fairness. 

I am of the humble opinion that Life is an expression of values learned, and as Christians, we find our value in who God is. Living out these expressions means standing up for what is right, being kind to others, and making a genuine effort to understand and help those around us. Our beliefs should not remain mere abstractions; they should translate into tangible ways of being and doing that make a meaningful difference in the world. By aligning our values with our understanding of God, we can create a more loving and just society—and ultimately, a more compassionate world.

 Reflecting on my personal journey, I remember the time of my beloved son Judah's passing. My first response was to wrestle (to fight) with God. I felt anger, confusion, and profound sorrow. This perspective and emotion translated in me have a terrible attitude towards others. Recognizing this made me ask, "How do I change my perspective?"

I believe the answer (for me at least) laid in how I communicated my dismay and perspective about God and my  Faith. You see I am convinced that our language significantly influences our actions; therefore, the solution resides in our theology. Theology is simply the words or conversations we have regarding God and the things of God. What we say when we are in pain or confused about our circumstances or things simply doesn’t make sense, really makes a difference. Please do not misunderstand what I am saying… no amount of positive thinking will fix mistakes. We need to get hands on to ratify our mistakes… But finding a loving God and wrestling with God about the injustices and honestly engaging God about our perspectives on the matters certainly will help us navigate turbulent times.

 

Here is what helped me make sense of things when God and or Gods people didn’t make sense to me:

- Engage in Reflective Prayer: Take time to pray not only for comfort but also for understanding. Ask God to reveal His nature to you.

 - Explore Scripture: Dive into biblical texts that emphasize God's love, mercy, and compassion. Let these truths reshape your understanding.

 - Surround Yourself with Community: Engage with a community that reflects God's love through their actions and support. Sharing experiences can provide new insights into your own struggles.

 - Practice Gratitude: Focus on what you are thankful for each day. Gratitude shifts your perspective from what you lack to what you have been given.

 - Seek Professional Help: Sometimes it’s beneficial to talk to someone trained to help navigate grief or spiritual struggles.

By intentionally engaging with God and shifting our language around Him—from one of judgment to one of love and seeking understanding—we can transform not only our perspectives but also how we interact with others (especially those who are hurting). Ultimately, this journey toward understanding can lead us away from pain and toward healing—both for ourselves and those around us.

In conclusion, let us remember that our perceptions shape our reality. By fostering a theology rooted in love and compassion, we can break the cycle of hurt and create ripples of positive change in ourselves and the world around us. Seek the God of love, and you will find Him.

An open letter to my Daughter

Jathni-el, (my gift from God) 

I am counting the hours now until you embark on this incredible journey…  
 
Ek wou nog altyd ‘n dogter gehad het. My eie stukkie perfeksie. The plan was that I would hold you close, protect you from every evil and have you with me all the time… maar dit werk mos nie so nie.  
 
As a parent all I could do was to devote my life to preparing you for independence, teaching you to make your own decisions… To put your faith in God and pursue your passion. This I tried to do to the best of my abilities.  
 
NOW, when the moment arrives to release you and let you venture beyond my comfort zone, it feels as though I must set up a blockade to hold you forever in my arms. Smaak en kan n time-out call… Sê, 'tyd staan stil ek wil nie my Princess laat gaan nie…' But the truth is, all I can do is hold you in my heart and place you in God's loving arms.
 
Daddy's Princess, as you pursue your missionary calling, I pray you discover a deeper level of joy in serving God. That joy sustains you when life and ministry gets tough. I pray that Father will bless and sustain you every step of the way.
 
Always remember that I have your back; I am on my knees praying for you. I loved you from the moment we prayed and asked God to gift us with a baby girl and I will love you forever.  
 
We have done what we could to prepare you. You got this! YOU ARE MORE THAN READY TO ACHIEVE WHAT YOUR HEART DESIRES AND GOD PUROSED YOU FOR… it’s all up to you and God. Embrace this journey with faith and courage knowing that your Daddy is here when you need him.  
 
As you step into this new chapter, I want you to carry with you the lessons of love and faith that we have shared. Life will present challenges, but remember that your strength comes from your relationship with God. He is always with you, guiding you through every twist and turn. Jy kan altyd op die Here staat maak.  
 
Your mission is not just about spreading the word; it’s about embodying the love of Christ. In every act of kindness, in every moment of service, you reflect the heart of God. This is the essence of your calling.
 
Know that my love for you is unwavering. It is not contingent upon your successes or failures. You are my daughter, and that bond is forever. As you navigate this journey, I will be here, cheering you on and lifting you up in prayer.
 
You are stepping into a world that needs your light. Shine brightly, my dear, and trust that you are equipped with everything you need to make a difference.
 
With all my love, love you always
 
Daddy