“Through waters uncharted my soul will embark…” – These lyrics from Hillsong United’s Captain echo deeply in my heart during this season of Lent. They mirror my own journey through uncharted waters—uncharted not because of a lack of direction, but because of a shift in rhythm, a redefining of relationships, and a heart learning to cling tighter to the Anchor of my soul.
For over a decade, I had the joy and privilege of serving in the ministry — ushering, multimedia, leading the worship and fellowships, and preaching the Word. I think my love language has always been acts of service since walking with others through seasons of celebration and brokenness, guiding people toward the Gospel, and serving faithfully in the ministry through these roles had been my great pleasure. But lately, it feels like the tide has changed.
When the Wind and Waves Hit
It spiraled down from the pandemic. I found my heart quietly processing pain, disappointment, and distance. Some relationships, including those in the church that once fueled me now feel unfamiliar, and truthfully, I may have created the distance myself. I won’t sugarcoat the pain. Church hurt is real. It’s a deeply personal kind of grief because it comes from a place we thought would always be safe. The hands that once held yours in prayer may sometimes be the ones that feel distant, and the voices that once encouraged may now be silent.
Life has also ushered in new responsibilities—being a husband, a parent, and a professional navigating growing commitments. These roles, while fulfilling, have brought their own challenges, requiring more time, energy, and heart. I am not complaining, it’s just the reality of the present circumstances. In fact, these new responsibilities, while sometimes hard, actually brought me some of the greatest joys in life — watching my spouse and kid sleep peacefully, appreciating the Lord’s provision, and having the opportunity to enjoy new adventures. But sometimes we see our limitations, we feel the weight, and we fall into temptations.
But Jesus never promised the absence of pain—He promised His presence through it. Initially, I thought it’s apathy kicking in, but I am grateful for the recent revelation I received. In the midst of this storm, I found myself clinging not to titles, not to platforms, not to roles—but to Jesus alone. He is my Captain, the only One who sees the full map when I feel like I’m only holding a single piece of the puzzle. I may seem absent to many, but it did not feel like abandonment —it’s alignment. It’s recognizing the blessing that comes with stillness, and knowing that He is still God (Psalm 46:10).
“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
– John 16:33
Grace That Sustains: A Testimony in the Quiet
Even in this time of stepping back from public ministry, the Lord has proven that His grace is not dependent on my performance. Our family has seen His hand move in quiet, miraculous ways—from provision we didn’t ask for, to peace that didn’t make sense, to joy found in the ordinary.
That’s the essence of grace: it flows, even when we’re not trying to earn it.
“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’”
– 2 Corinthians 12:9
The Lord is still working in my life. Perhaps not on a platform or behind a pulpit at this moment, but in the sacred spaces of our home, through whispered prayers with my child, and moments of stillness with my wife. And that, too, is ministry.
The Anchor Holds
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is this: when everything else fades—titles, applause, friendships, church roles—the only lasting foundation is Jesus.
In this season, I’ve learned to nurture my relationships not by chasing every opportunity or trying to explain my distance, but by putting my relationship with the Lord first. There was a season when I hadn’t opened my Bible for months—but that silence only made it more evident what was missing. During that time, a couple of my friends from work became more active in sharing the Word. I found myself just watching from a distance, quietly cheering them on while wrestling with a sense of guilt. But even that feeling didn’t push me away—it gently reminded me of my deep need to reconnect with the One who never left. Then I realized how true is it that more I draw near to Him, the more my heart softens for others. When He is at the center, every other relationship aligns.
“But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
– Matthew 6:33
So if you’re also feeling distant—emotionally, relationally, or spiritually—may I encourage you: draw near to Him first. The restoration, the clarity, and the reconnection will follow.
Let Him Lead You Home
This Good Friday, as we reflect on the cross, let us be reminded that our Savior didn’t call us to a life free from sorrow—but to a life anchored in Him. The cross was not a sign of abandonment, but the greatest proof of love. Jesus, knowing the betrayal, knowing the pain, still chose obedience. He still chose us.
If you’ve wandered, if you’ve been hurt, if you’ve grown tired or uncertain—come home to Him. Not to religion, not to people, not even to roles. But to Jesus.
Let Him be your Captain. You don’t need a map when the One who holds the stars is the One holding you.
“Like the stars, Your Word will align my voyage and remind me where I’ve been and where I am going.” – Captain, Hillsong United