Retirement, Ministry, and Learning to Let Go: A Pastor’s Wife’s Perspective

By Denise Harlow

Ministry in Chicago was a roller coaster—plenty of ups, but many more downs in those early years. My husband and I weren’t naïve about what we were stepping into. Both of us grew up in ministry homes, so we knew the life. We knew that along with encouragement would come discouragement, along with praise would come criticism. We knew ministry meant long hours, distance from extended family, and financial sacrifice. Still, we jumped in with open hearts because we loved Jesus, his church, and his people. 

And oh, how I loved it. I loved seeing people grow in their faith—taking steps of obedience, serving with joy, celebrating their baptisms. I loved being welcomed into the homes and gatherings of church families who became our “family away from family.” I loved when our church filled food pantries, sent teams across the world to Kenya and Malawi, and sacrificed to expand buildings so we could reach more people for Christ. I loved mentoring younger women and seeing them flourish in their walks with the Lord. 

There were perks too—unexpected dinners, boat rides, theater tickets, cheering at a professional game. Those invitations reminded me that people cared. And I loved watching our church thrive in those seasons of growth and unity. Simply put, ministry was hard, but it was beautiful. 

So, when my husband retired after 33 years as a lead pastor, I cried. I didn’t want to be someone who loved position or perks, but I knew I would miss the people, the influence, and the rhythm of ministry life. And to add to the change, we didn’t just retire—we also moved to a new state. 

The Unexpected Weight of Loss 

Moving meant the “fishbowl” life was gone, but so was the familiarity. Suddenly, no one knew us—not at Costco, not at church, not even in our neighborhood. That loss of recognition, of being known, was harder than I expected. 

Now, the blessing was undeniable: we were only five minutes away from all eight of our grandchildren. That’s about as perfect as it gets! But still, the adjustment wasn’t easy. 

To my surprise, I slipped into depression. I couldn’t understand it at first. I was finally free from the spotlight, free from the constant demands and criticism, and free from the heavy decisions. Shouldn’t that have felt like relief? Yet underneath it all, I realized I was grieving. 

After a year of struggling, I sought grief counseling. My counselor used The Grief Recovery Handbook by John W. James and Russell Friedman, and it opened my eyes. I hadn’t just lost a job; I had lost so much more: 

• My church family of 33 years 

• The home where I raised my children 

• A neighborhood where every face and every shortcut felt familiar 

• Longtime friendships that had taken decades to grow 

• My identity as a pastor’s wife, staff member, and leader 

• My influence, which came from being known and trusted 

Each one was its own loss. Each one needed its own grieving. 

Learning to Grieve Honestly 

One of the most important things I learned was not to sugarcoat the past. It’s easy to romanticize what we’ve left behind, but that isn’t honest. Ministry was full of beauty, yes, but it also carried hardship. Remembering both allowed me to honor what was good without getting stuck in what couldn’t come back. 

When we cling too tightly to the past, we replay stories in our minds until we can’t move forward. Athletes do this with their glory days, actors with their defining roles. But we can do it too—especially in ministry. Paul’s words about taking every thought captive (2 Corinthians 10:5) became more than a verse; they became a lifeline. 

Staying Present and Building Again 

Once I began grieving, the next step was learning to stay present. Practicing mindfulness helped me in surprising ways. It was as simple as noticing the feel of the floor beneath my feet, the cool water running over my hands, or the sunglasses sitting on top of my head. Those little things grounded me in the here and now, reminding me that life was still moving forward. 

But presence wasn’t enough on its own. I also had to rebuild community. That was hard. In ministry, friendships often came to us. People invited us, pursued us, and sought us out. In retirement, it doesn’t work like that. I had to start reaching out. 

Friendships that took decades to form couldn’t be replaced overnight. But I kept reminding myself: relationships take time. Slowly, by inviting people over, joining groups, and asking for walks or coffee dates, I began to see new friendships take root. It took effort—much more effort than before—but it was worth it. 

Rediscovering Joy 

Now, two years later, I can say I’ve found joy again. I love playing games with my grandchildren and babysitting when I can. I love that my husband and I are adjusting to a new church and new rhythms of life. I have new friends who bring laughter and encouragement. 

Most importantly, I’ve seen God’s faithfulness in fresh ways. Jesus’ promise in Mark 10:28–30 has been true for me: “Then Peter spoke up, ’We have left everything to follow you!’  
’Truly I tell you,’ Jesus replied, ’no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age . . . and in the age to come, eternal life’ (New International Version). 

That promise isn’t just for when we’re in active ministry. It’s for now too. God doesn’t stop providing in retirement. He just provides in new ways. 

A Word for Others Entering This Season 

If you’re walking into retirement, especially from ministry, here’s what I’ve learned: 

• Let yourself grieve. Loss isn’t always about death; sometimes it’s about places, roles, and seasons. 

• Be honest. Remember the beauty, but don’t ignore the struggles. 

• Stay present. Notice the little things that remind you God is still with you. 

• Take initiative. Don’t wait to be invited; start inviting others. 

• Hold to God’s promises. His faithfulness doesn’t retire when you do. 

A Final Word 

Retirement doesn’t mean ministry is over. It just means it looks different. The way we influence and serve may change, but God still uses us. 

Yes, I still miss parts of the life I left behind. But I’ve seen enough to know this: God hasn’t stopped writing my story, and he hasn’t stopped writing yours, either. 

So hang in there, friends. Even when it feels like you’ve lost more than you’ve gained, trust that God is still working. He is faithful—yesterday, today, and forever. And he’s not done with us yet. 

Denise Harlow, alongside her husband, Tim, served Parkview Christian Church in the Chicago, Illinois, area for 33 years. During that time, Denise directed the worship ministry, a church relocation project, three building campaigns, and a multi-site ministry. Denise continues to speak around the country encouraging other women and ministry families.