Tag Archives: grief prayers

When the Leaves Fall

24 Tuesday Oct 2017

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God of the oranges and yellows and reds and browns, we’ve been submersed into autumn. The gold that shines from the edges of the aging leaves dance with the sun’s rays.

But soon these leaves will be falling. The oranges and yellows and reds and browns will be releasing from their lifesource, fall to the damp ground, sapped of its moisture, and become like dust waiting to be absorbed to the earth.

How depressing to dwell on this process, God! Yet how beautiful this season.

So as we all turn from our spring greens and release deeper hues of summer to the bold myriad of colors, give us the appreciation of the change of seasons, changes in our leaves, and transformation in our landscapes.

With your breezes comforting our aging, God, we will find that you will be with us as we glide to your soothing ground.

Amen.

A Prayer As I Embrace Grief’s Journey

18 Wednesday Oct 2017

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IMG_4914God, it appears that I’m making it. I rise each day, take care of what is needed, find healthy ways to express myself.

So I pass grief with flying colors, right?

Not exactly.

I’ll be fine until I see a photo or have a memory or listen to a song from 1975. I’ll be relaxed until something – like a drive or a conversation – takes me back to that chilly September morning. I’ll be traveling home and the warming sunset reminds me of his love of photographing dusks.

Then my heart shudders with the notion that I won’t see him again on this side of heaven. My brain slides back into a dense fog as it tries to protect my soul from intense feelings of loss. My body aches from the heaviness that comes with this extra emotional weight.

And I am reminded again that grief is always a lifelong journey. Completion of this process doesn’t happen here. It’s not a destination. Overcoming it will never happen. There is nothing to win, and I will not get a medal when surviving.

And yet, I’m making it. Fifteen minutes at a time, God, we are making it. For that unremarkable significant victory, I am grateful.

Amen.

A Prayer for Unresponsiveness

14 Saturday Oct 2017

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God who wound nerves throughout our bodies and gave us a “central computer” to connect our mind, body, and spirits, there are patient souls sitting bedside in hospital room chairs wondering and waiting to see if their loved ones will wake up.

These family and friends were just fine a day or two ago… and now they are a shadow of themselves. An accident or illness marred their brain health and function.  No matter what words or commands are given, they rest nearly lifeless.

And then there’s waiting… and testing… and waiting more.

For the waiting, we pray for patience. For decisions that may need to be made, we pray for clarity. For losses that may result, we pray for peace.

God, you run with us at our most active. You recline with us at our most unresponsive. No matter the state of our body, our soul is always alongside of you.

Amen.

*****

On September 18, my dad died unexpectedly. In his final days he was unresponsive due to a lack of oxygen to the brain after a cardiac arrest. This prayer was written remembering our needs and knowing other families are facing similar experiences.

A Prayer as I Remember That Moment

12 Thursday Oct 2017

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God who abides fully in the present,
I keep recalling that moment in my mind.

You know the one – the phone call.
The five thirty am buzzing which jolted me awake,
Wondering why and who and why again as I stirred from sleep.

Deciding I needed to pick it up because five-one-three numbers at five-thirty aren’t wrong numbers.
Thinking that it was him just calling because he was awake in his room,
And for one split second not wanting to deal with an early morning conversation.

For that moment, God, I am deeply sorry.

Oh how now I wish it was dad wanting a five-thirty am phone conversation.
How I would sacrifice an entire night of sleep for that discussion.

How I would rather have heard his voice saying “I just wanted to call” rather than the nurse informing me “his condition has changed.”

How I would have rather heard his voice asking me if I was awake rather than a stranger ask me if I wanted him intubated.

How that moment the last remaining garments of childhood which I still wore my soul stopped fitting.  How the tables turned and I was the one who made the decisions about his well being.

How the summertime of my life ended and the gray days of autumn begun.  How the warmth of daylight turned into the cold shadows of night.

Yes, God, that moment turned into all of this for me.  Innocence lost.  Childhood firmly found in the rearview mirror.  Daughterhood shifted.

God, there is little you can do for me to change my memory of that moment.  But, if you can, fill my soul with a little additional peace each time I remember it.

In time, this moment will lose some of its intense chill.  And maybe I’ll find a new level of innocence.

Amen.

A One-Month Prayer

10 Tuesday Oct 2017

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Divine Crafter of Time and Space,
It’s been a month.

Now, I know that it hasn’t been a full month since he breathed his last breath,
Or the last beat of his heart,
Or the very last time I saw him “alive,”
But a month ago we lost the him we knew and a life of familiarity.

We lost his laughter and his political grumblings,
The ability to ask him one more time what the Tin-Man symbolized in the Wizard of Oz,
As well as questions we never knew to ask him beforehand.

We lost his voice.
Of course, we have recordings from the past thirty years-
Videotapes from birthdays and Christmases.  Even a Facebook video or two on a needed Civics lesson.
But recordings, though sacred, just aren’t the same.

One month ago today,
I lost the blessing of receiving his hugs
And his constant reminders to gargle with saltwater
And to get my oil changed and have all of the fluid levels checked.

I lost the ability to see his eyes not only open
But look and interact with the people surrounding him.

His spirit ascended while we were left to descend into the valley of grief.

So until I can climb out of this valley under the dome of cloud-filled skies,
God grant me the strength I need to take life 15 minutes at a time.

Someday, we will find ourselves on even land again,
Even occasionally making our ways to mountaintops.
It will be a bittersweet journey upward and onward,
As I realize Your strength and his love are on this pilgrimage with me.

Amen.

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A Blunt Prayer in Grief’s Spiritual Block

09 Monday Oct 2017

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Hi God…

Where in the hell are you???

Seriously.

(I’m truly sorry to be so curt. I know you are here. In my mind, I know you are. I keep telling myself this over and over.)

But I must ask: is it grief that has taken a seat between us? Had grief become a wall, a partition that divides me from seeing you?

Then why are you not removing this barrier?

Again I say it: I know you are here. I know you are blanketing me with peace and filling my soul with strength. But from my throne of melancholy, my view is limited.

Shove me off of this throne of despair and may I find a new seat that will reflect your presence. Open my soul as a third eye- one that will see you surrounding me when the wilderness of grief becomes to arid or the swamps of mourning drown my sorrow-filled soul.

Amen.

A Prayer in Grief’s Mental Haze

27 Wednesday Sep 2017

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God of the details, of the inspired work we do-

My mind churns overtime to focus harder on the words others say. But the mists of grief dampen my thoughts. I sense that my brain has turned into a bowl of oatmeal or pea soup.

Through this haze that hovers around my head, give me the clarity to focus on what needs to be completed today.

And whatever mistakes I make or whatever lacks completion, gift me grace until tomorrow… when, hopefully, the fog will be less intense and more rays of the sun will trickle through.

Amen.

*****

My father expectedly passed away on September 18, 2017. In the coming days, more prayers and posts which I’ve written recently or that I will be writing will be included on this blog.