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.