When Words Fail Us: Remembering a cousin and a friend – By Babatunde Olugboji
Sometimes we don’t know what to say when we lose a loved one, like I did this past week. My first cousin, at 54, ended his journey on Planet Earth. His loss leaves a silence that words cannot easily fill. The grief is real. 
Last week, my world changed, and that of our family. There is a chair that is empty, there is a voice we will reach for and not hear. There is a hand we will want to hold, and the ache of its absence is real and deep. But we will seek comfort in God’s tender promise in Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Not near, not nearby. Close, real close. That is the God we serve, that is the God my late cousin worshipped, and that same God remains on the throne.
Grief can make us feel isolated, as if no one could possibly understand the specific shape of this loss. But I want to remind our family and friends that our Heavenly Father understands loss perfectly. He gave His own Son. He knows what it is to watch someone He loves suffer, and through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, He turned the darkest loss in human history into the greatest hope the world has ever known. That same resurrection power is the foundation on which our faith stands today.
To family and close friends wondering how we will make it through tomorrow, or next week, or the next holidays, we are comforted by the promise of Isaiah 40:31: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint.” God does not promise that grief will be short. He promises that His strength will be sufficient. We hold on to that promise.
My cousin was known in his place of work, in his Church, known by name, known by his laughter, his faithfulness, his presence, especially in the life of his wife and children. He was kindhearted, a real gentleman, friendly, polite, and approachable.
One of the greatest comforts we have is this: God does not only give peace, He is peace. Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you… Let not your hearts be troubled” (John 14:27). This peace does not deny the pain; it strengthens us inside it. It is the steady hand of God on a trembling heart. It is the quiet assurance that we are being held even when we feel like we are falling apart.
And God can carry what we cannot. 1 Peter 5:7 says, “Cast all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” Grief can come in waves: sometimes sadness, sometimes numbness, sometimes anger, sometimes confusion. Let’s bring all of it to God, God is not offended by our tears, He welcomes our questions. He receives our burden.
We also have the comfort of eternity. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Me, though he die, yet shall he live” (John 11:25). Death is painful, but for the believer, it is not the end, it is a transition. It is not goodbye forever; it is goodbye for now. There is a reunion coming, and there is a day when suffering will not have the final word.
Revelations 21:4 gives us a picture of that day: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more… neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.” That is the future God promises, and until that day comes, the God who promises tomorrow’s restoration also provides today’s strength.
When words fail, let’s allow prayer to carry us. The Lord who gave us that fine gentleman as a gift will also be our comfort in this loss.
May His peace guard our hearts. 
May His presence surround our homes, and may God’s grace sustain us, day by day.
Good night cousin Sanmi, sleep well.
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