Stephen Ministry at Village Church

True stories of hope & healing

Stephen Ministers are lay people specially trained to listen, care, and support others who are going through tough times—such as grief, illness, divorce, infertility, a faith crisis, or job loss. This one-to-one Christian care is confidential and available to church members and the wider community at no cost. 

Debra and Brian Burnes (below, center) share their personal account about the how care provided to them by Stephen Ministers at Village helped them navigate a very difficult season in their lives.

Debra Burnes shares:

“If you were to have asked me at the start of 2019 whether I could handle loss, I would’ve absolutely said yes.

In 1998, my sister died of cancer at age 46. My parents died within five months of one another in 2005. In 2010, I was abruptly laid off from my job of 24 years in a career that had spanned 31 years. I carried through those hard times.

But then, on the evening of January 13, 2019, our 21-year-old son, Sam, died suddenly and unexpectedly of a seizure. Its cause is still a mystery to the medical world.

I am so fortunate that I had many incredibly dear family members and friends—many who [are part of the Village Church family]—who rushed to our side after Sam passed. Each and every one of them offered help and love. Again and again. I can’t think of one person who wasn’t there for me. And, of course, Brian and I had each other.

In those months that followed Sam’s passing, a few friends here at Village Church mentioned the Stephen Ministry program. Despite the endless love and caring I was getting from friends and family, something tugged inside of me— saying that perhaps this was something Brian and I should at least look into. It could only help us.

We all live with challenges and troubles. There were, for me, moments I didn’t know how to go forward. This time was messy and awkward. Many times I was blindsided by a memory that made it a challenge to take my next breath. The loss of Sam threw me off course—sometimes for a moment, for an hour, or for a day. The grief had its own schedule in my mind and, certainly, in my heart.

My Stephen Ministry caregiver was like a personal trainer. While you might enjoy being active by playing pickleball with friends or taking a hike with family, you have a different, focused relationship with a personal trainer. My caregiver was my navigator through the difficult times that kept coming even three years after Sam’s passing.

She showed up for me and allowed me to focus, heal, and move forward in a unique way. Being with her allowed me to be more present with my friends and family—and to feel the joy that I knew I was capable of. The joy that Sam, and God, want for us.”

Brian Burnes shares:

”I’ve been meeting with my Stephen Minister for several years now and one thing I’ve gained from our meetings is perspective. For anyone suffering trauma after a recent loss, I realize that word doesn’t sound like much. Maybe it sounds almost insulting. My caregiver, who had also suffered an awful loss, helped me realize, first, that I’m not the only person in the history of the world to have had such a horrible thing happen to me.

My caregiver gave me specific advice on how to monitor the trauma I associate with the night that Sam left us. I’ve learned, for example, to accept the trauma and know where I ‘keep’ it. We discussed the tradition (followed by some Indigenous peoples) of keeping items associated with lost loved ones inside sacred medicine bags or pouches—not to be taken out obsessively but to keep secure. 

I have taken my caregiver’s suggestion to “look for the dessert items on the menu.” He described how he and his daughters maintain happy memories of his late wife by ordering her favorite desserts when at a restaurant. This, he says, has allowed her memory to remain in their daily lives in a positive way. Our family has begun to be able to do this. 

Recently, Deb and I noticed how random and happy memories of our son will come up in organically in conversation, and how—in those moments—his memory lives among us in a joyful way. This was not possible for us in the weeks, months, and even years immediately following Sam’s death. But it is possible for us now and I credit, at least in part, the discussions with my Stephen Minister.

I don’t believe that I ever will be completely “healed” from the trauma of losing Sam. But no longer am I immediately triggered when remembering a specific moment from Sam’s time with us. More and more, I’m just happily reminded.”