It was a typical, crisp Centurion Saturday morning. You know the kind—the N1 traffic is already humming in the distance, one of those annoying leave-blowers are chasing leaves away. Next to us on the sports fields the kids and parents are already in highest gear with energy, playing and competing and supporting for honour and glory. We are playing an English school. I was standing in a queue at the school’s food stalls, waiting for a cinnamon-sugar pannekoek, doing what I’ve recently started calling my “Pancake Prayers.”
It’s a simple thing I’ve learned in this season of my life: ministry isn’t just for the pulpit. It happens in the mundane. It happens while waiting for a pancake.
As I stood there, I noticed a mother a few spaces ahead of me. She was holding her young son’s hand, gripping it perhaps a little too tightly. She had that look in her eyes—the “moeg baklei” look. The battle-weary stare of someone who is holding her entire world together with sheer willpower and a prayer. There was no support to be found anywhere around her. I didn’t know her story, but my heart broke a little, and in my heart, I quietly said a simple Pancake Prayer for her.
Later, sitting on my stoep with a Cortado coffee, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and about so many mothers just like her in our community.
My dear friend, if you are a single mom reading this, navigating the heavy, heartbreaking aftermath of a separation, I want to speak directly to your heart today.
I know why you drew the line in the sand. I know the primal, fierce instinct of a mother who realizes she must protect her children from a toxic storm. You watched the man you loved, and still do, become swallowed up by unmitigated anger, volatility, and confusion. You watched him become an “identity-less” man—a husband and father who somehow lost his vital connection to our Heavenly Father, and in doing so, lost himself.
I’ve heard this question more than once. “Is this truly the man I once married, or has he somehow lost sight of who he is?“
You stepped away, you set a boundary, because you couldn’t let your little boy or girl drown in that toxic domestic atmosphere. You did what you had to do to keep them safe.
But let me tell you about a dear friend of mine—let’s call her Mary. She walked this exact, agonizing road. For months after her separation, resentment was her daily bread. It is such an easy trap to fall into, trying to overcome the pain of a broken family with bitterness, anxiety, and a deep-seated fear. But holding onto bitterness is like picking up red hot coals to throw on the one that burnt you. It leaks into the atmosphere of your home, and worst of all, it blinds your children from ever seeing the possibility of their earthly father finding his way home to the Heavenly Father.
Mary was drowning in that resentment until she truly encountered the man with the long black hair—Jesus. He met her right there in her mess and offered her the Living Water. But He didn’t just offer abstract peace; He gave her a profoundly practical, grace-filled survival guide to protect her kids and heal her heart. He taught her what Paul meant in Romans 12 when he said to “overcome evil with good.”
Through her walk with the Lord, Mary learned four radical, deliberate steps to navigate her boundaries with love:
1. She acknowledged her anger without harbouring it. Jesus gave her permission to admit she was furious. Betrayal hurts. But she also learned that while anger is a natural initial reaction, Ephesians reminds us that holding onto it turns into toxic wrath. She chose to feel the pain, and then consciously hand it over to the Lord so it wouldn’t metastasize into bitterness.
2. She established impersonal, functional boundaries. To stop the endless, volatile fights at the driveway gate, Mary realized she didn’t have to engage in retaliatory emotional games. She restricted their communication to just the necessary, business-like logistics about the children, strictly using written formats like WhatsApps or emails. This wasn’t to punish him; it was to protect her emotional peace and prevent the reignition of conflict.
3. She surrendered the illusion of control. Mary told me, “Willem, the day I realized I cannot force him to be a good man or change his behaviour, a massive weight lifted off my shoulders.” She stopped playing tug-of-war. She recognized her limitations and left the vengeance and justice completely in the hands of the Righteous Judge, knowing God sees everything.
4. She started to actively pray for him. This was the miracle. She started praying for the man who broke her family. Not prayers of judgment, but Pancake Prayers for his soul. When she did this, her own heart shifted from retribution to grace. It broke the psychological hold of bitterness and aligned her will with God’s redemptive purposes. By extending unmerited kindness from behind her boundary, she was “heaping burning coals” on his head—awakening his conscience toward repentance.
Divorce and separation are heartbreaking tragedies; they are never the ultimate solution God desires for His children. But in the messy, broken reality of where you find yourself, forgiveness is the key to your freedom.
Forgiveness does not mean removing the boundary. A boundary is absolutely necessary while a man is healing. But forgiveness means releasing him from the prison of your resentment. It means saying, “I will not let my anger dictate the atmosphere of my home anymore.”
It is a difficult path, I know. My own flesh fights against surrender every single day. My own comfort often screams louder than my desire to be obedient. But when we yield to the Holy Spirit—when we drop the heavy stones of bitterness—we give God the space to work on us and our loved ones. We show our children what grace looks like, and we keep the hope alive that men can be transformed when God gets hold of their hearts.
Keep your boundaries clear, my friend, but let your heart be soft. Let the Living Water wash away the anxiety and the fear. Love from a distance, pray boldly for his transformation, and trust that the Father who holds you and your children is more than capable of redeeming the most broken of stories.
May you find deep rest in His grace today.
A pancake prayer for a single mother:
Heavenly Father, I lift up this mother who is bravely raising her son in the shadow of a broken home. Lord, alleviate the heavy burden of guilt she carries, and remind her daily that You are the ultimate Father to the fatherless and the fierce Defender of her home. Grant her the profound wisdom needed to release her child into Your care, knowing You love him more deeply than she can comprehend. Protect her heart from the poison of resentment and grant her the supernatural grace to forgive the deep wounds inflicted upon her family. For her son, who is wrestling with anger and confusion, we ask that You bring godly men into his life to guide him during this critical season of development. When he tests the boundaries, provide the necessary advocacy, discipline, and affirmation that only a male mentor can offer. Give this mother Your strength when she is weak, establish peace within her home, and transform her son into a man of honour, integrity, and faith. In the precious name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
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