Today, I want to share some personal reflections on grief—a topic that’s especially present in my life right now. Most of the time, the thoughts I bring to you arise from what’s happening in my own life or from my morning sit. This moment is no different.
Over the past 39 years of ministry, I have walked with many families through their grief. I have also navigated my own. I’ve lost dear friends unexpectedly—one in his fifties, another a regular conversation partner whose absence is still strange to me. And just six days ago, my father died.
Although he was 96 years old and had already shown remarkable strength and resilience in the hospital and rehabilitation center, his passing still came suddenly. On the evening he died, I was holding his hand, my sister was stroking his hair, and my brother had been holding his other arm. My father’s exit from this world was peaceful—an incredible gift.
As his medical power of attorney, I had the responsibility to honor his wishes: to choose comfort care when the time came. Making those decisions is harder than it sounds, and maybe that’s a reflection for another time. But today, I want to talk about what it feels like to walk through grief in real time.
Grief Is Unpredictable
One of the first truths about grief is that it is utterly unpredictable. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. Every relationship is unique, and so every experience of grief will be unique as well.
My relationship with my dad was different from my siblings’ relationships with him, different even from the relationships my children and wife had with him. Each of us feels this loss in a way that is our own. That’s the nature of grief.
If someone ever tries to hand you a tidy “five-step” or “six-step” process for grieving, set it aside. Grief does not come neatly packaged. It comes in waves, often when you least expect it: in a sudden memory, a moment of wanting to pick up the phone to call, or an unexpected tightening in your chest.
Let Grief Move Through You
When those waves come, don’t suppress them if you can help it. Breathe through them. Let the feelings arise. Grief has a physical dimension, as well as emotional, mental, and spiritual impacts. It lives in your body, not just in your mind.
Grieving is the body’s way of holding love that no longer has a place to go. It’s messy, it’s painful—and it’s real.
Our culture often teaches us that there’s a “time and place” for emotions. But the truth is, feelings come when they come. They are not a problem to be solved. They’re part of being alive. Trying to push grief away only delays the healing it invites.
If the wave comes, and it’s safe to do so, breathe through it. If you’re flying a plane or performing surgery, sure, you might have to pause it. Otherwise, let it flow.
Walking With Grief
What can you do as you walk through grief?
- Breathe. Let yourself feel what you feel.
- Talk to someone you trust. Reach out to a friend, a pastor, or a grief group if you need companionship on the journey.
- Express your grief. Write. Paint. Walk. Garden. Sing. You don’t have to be a “professional” artist to give your feelings a place to move through you.
- Take care of your body. Keep walking if you can. Rest when you need to. Eat as healthily as you can.
- Create rituals of remembrance. I light a candle for my dad and talk to him. I know he’s with me even if I can’t hear him respond the way I used to.
Grief is part of life, and life continues to invite us forward. Allowing yourself to grieve is also allowing yourself to live.
Be Gentle With Yourself
There is no “timeline” for grief. It lessens over time, usually—but not always predictably. If, months or years later, you find yourself still overwhelmed by grief to the point that it keeps you from living, please know it’s okay to seek help. Grief counselors and spiritual companions can walk with you without judgment.
And remember: You are not broken for grieving. You are not failing at life because you are feeling sorrow. You are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are—even if you don’t feel it at this moment.
I carry my father’s memory with me. I talk to him still. I celebrate the love that continues beyond death. And I am learning—day by day—to walk gently with my grief instead of fighting it.
If you are grieving, know that you are not alone. I invite your prayers for me as I continue this journey, and I hold you in my heart as you walk your own path.
Until next time, beloved, may you walk gently with yourself.
Infinitely Precious 