A Journey Through Grief and Hope

When I was seventeen, God called me into ministry. I didn’t have a clear picture of what that would look like, but I knew it would be a life of service to Him. I dove in, committing myself to the journey, and began my studies, seeking to grow in my understanding of the Bible. From my time in Bible school to stepping into pastoral leadership, I felt His hand guiding me, and alongside my wife, we built a life centred on ministry, love, and shared passions.

But the path wasn’t always smooth. We faced deep ethical challenges within the church—dilemmas that took a toll on my mental and emotional well-being. I found myself struggling with depression and burnout, ultimately walking away from a ministry that was damaging me. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was necessary. The years ahead would bring more challenges, but we had each other, we had God, and we continued to press on, believing that He would carry us through.

Then, one day, everything changed. It was Boxing Day, and after a student event I’d attended, I returned home with the expectation of a quiet evening. What greeted me instead was a shattered reality. My wife had packed her things and was preparing to leave. I was blindsided. All I could do was plead with her, pray, cry, and ask God why. In an instant, the life I had built, the dreams I had nurtured, were slipping through my fingers.

Those first few days after she left were suffocating. The grief weighed on me like a heavy cloak, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t eat; I barely moved. The loneliness was deafening. And yet, even in the darkest moments, I turned to God. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18, ESV). I cried out to Him, unsure of how to move forward. But even in that pain, I knew I wasn’t alone. God met me there, in my grief, with compassion and love. I wrestled with Him—my cries echoing the anguish of Job’s wife and the quiet trust of Horatio Spafford’s hymn, "It is well, it is well with my soul." (Job 2:9, ESV; Isaiah 26:3, ESV).

The months that followed were a mix of healing and deep sorrow. The reality of my divorce set in, and it was one of the hardest seasons of my life. I sought therapy, focused on my physical and emotional health, and turned to Scripture to find comfort and strength. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11, ESV). Even in my pain, I clung to the truth that God was not finished with me. The path ahead wouldn’t be easy, but I trusted that He was working even in the sorrow.

I returned to England, seeking refuge in the comfort of family and familiar faces. And yet, the ache remained. The divorce itself was quiet and peaceful, but the loss was deep. We parted amicably, and while she thanked me for showing her grace, I mourned. The grief was still raw, still real.

But even in the pain, God was refining me. In my weakness, He made me strong. “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’” (2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV). Through this process, I began to understand the depth of God’s love for me—not in spite of my pain, but through it. He doesn’t abandon us in our grief; He draws close. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18, ESV). He doesn’t waste our pain.

Now, I look ahead with a new kind of hope—hope rooted in the faithfulness of God. I long for the ministry I once had, for a future with a family, for a renewed sense of purpose. I know I’m not anything special in the world’s eyes, but I am special to God. I am His child, and He delights in me—my joys, my struggles, my moments of laughter and tears. “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God.” (1 John 3:1, ESV). God is with me, pulling me close, mourning with me, and assuring me that He has good things ahead. Maybe not always easy things, but always good things.

As I write this, I sit in a dingy but beautiful café, the warm sound of folk musicians playing sleepy love songs of hope and heartbreak above me. My body is fuelled by rustic soup and fine coffee, but my soul is fed by the Spirit, the One who drives me onward. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” (Psalm 23:1, ESV). I have survived, and I will continue to survive, for His glory.

As I move forward, I trust in God’s plan. Even in the grief, I have hope because I know He has good things in store. “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5, ESV). My future is in His hands, and I will walk with Him, one step at a time.