“No matter what…transition will happen. It is inevitable. You can’t plan when or where. You can’t make it happen, nor can you stop it from happening. It’s not going to wait. When it’s time…it’s time. It won’t be a day late nor a dollar short. So live in the meantime.”
—Journal entry, May 23, 2020
Over the past couple of weeks, something has become impossible to ignore.
In my line of work, I meet people from every walk of life. I hear stories of joy, resilience, uncertainty, and heartbreak every single day. Loss is not uncommon. It is part of serving people. Yet lately, the number of encounters centered around grief and transition has been different. One after another, people have entrusted me with some of the most sacred moments of their lives. Each person carried a story I will never forget.
A daughter navigating the loss of her mother.
A wife learning how to live after the death of her husband.
A mother grieving the loss of her daughter.
A woman preparing for hospice care while facing the reality of her own mortality.
A daughter carrying the weight of her mother’s colon cancer diagnosis while simultaneously fighting her own battle with breast cancer.
A sister trying to make sense of her brother’s suicide while still mourning the death of her mother.
A husband learning to navigate life without his wife.
A mother grieving her second tubal pregnancy, the loss of her baby, the loss of her remaining fallopian tube, and the unexpected journey of redefining what expanding her family may now look like.
None of these people knew they would wake up one day and find themselves standing where they are now.
Transition rarely sends an invitation.
Years ago, I wrote the words above about transition. At the time, I had no idea how often I would revisit them or how much deeper they would become with experience. Today they read less like a thought and more like a reminder.
Life is continually changing us.
Sometimes transition arrives wrapped in celebration a wedding, the birth of a child, a new career, or retirement. Other times it arrives carrying unimaginable sorrow. We do not get to choose every transition, but we do choose how we walk through the ones we are given.
As I continue my journey toward chaplaincy, I am beginning to recognize that many of these encounters have been teaching me the very foundation of spiritual care, the ministry of presence. I don’t find it coincidental that these encounters are becoming more frequent or perhaps more noticeable. Chaplaincy is not simply about having Scripture ready or knowing the right words to say. More often, it is about being present when there are no words.
Scripture reminds us to “mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15). Sometimes that mourning does not require a solution, it requires the presence of someone willing to sit with them.
It is sitting with someone whose world has been altered in an instant.
It is listening without rushing to fix.
It is honoring tears without trying to stop them.
It is recognizing that every person’s story is sacred.
Working where I do, I meet people with different beliefs, different cultures, and different understandings of faith. Yet grief has a language that transcends all of those differences. It reminds us of our shared humanity. Every person wants to know they are seen. Every person wants to know their pain matters. Every person deserves dignity as they navigate life’s transitions.
These recent encounters have reminded me that ministry does not only happen behind a pulpit. Sometimes it happens across a desk, in a waiting room, over a phone call, or during an ordinary conversation that unexpectedly becomes holy ground.
I cannot carry everyone’s grief.
I cannot change their circumstances.
I cannot answer every “why.”
But I can be present.
I can listen.
I can acknowledge their pain.
I can offer compassion.
And when invited, I can offer hope.
Perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts we can give one another, not explanations, but presence.
If there is one lesson these weeks have impressed upon my heart, it is this:
Life is fragile.
Love deeply.
Speak kindly.
Forgive quickly.
Extend grace generously.
Do not postpone the things that matter most.
Because transition is not waiting for any of us.
This season has reminded me that every conversation matters, every person carries a story, and every moment we are given is an opportunity to love well.
So while you have today… live in the meantime.
Hunny Child 