Father God,
I come before you with a heart laid bare. I repent. I repent for the anger that rose in me when you were moving pieces in my life, doing what was good for me, and I could only see the disruption. I didn’t know it was good. I couldn’t see the wisdom. Forgive my blindness, my resistance to your unseen hand.
Thank you. Thank you for plucking me out of the world’s frantic race and planting me right here. You knew this soil. You knew this season. You knew I needed to be here, to be the son my mom needed. Looking back over these two long years, your wisdom is now clear. Your love for me, for my family, is obvious in the rearview mirror.
So, Lord, help me to trust that this is always what you are doing. Right now. Today. The things unfolding that I view as pain, as suffering, as hardship, help me to see with the eyes of my spirit what my flesh cannot: that you are working them for my good. Even in this.
Father, I bring you my fears. I am scared of a life without my mom. I am terrified that her heart has not yet fully connected with yours, that she might take her last breath not truly knowing the depth of your love for her, all you have done. I fear my sisters will not find the closure and peace they need before she goes. I worry about the financial demands of this moment, and all the moments that will follow.
And yet, in the middle of this, I thank you. For an uneventful, peaceful night. For every person who has come to visit her, to honor her. For the professional, compassionate care she receives in these final hours. For my family. For the strength you have given me…physically to endure, spiritually not to break.
There’s a bird outside her window. It’s been there all morning. Is that one of your angels, keeping watch? Or is it just a bird, finding a warm spot in the sun? I don’t know. But I choose to see it as a reminder that you are near. That you see her. That you see me.
Today, I ask for one thing. A divine hug. The kind only you can give. The kind that wraps around a breaking heart and holds it together without a word. Can I have one of those?
In the name of Christ Jesus, my only comfort,
Amen.
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Shashue Monrauch
My brother, your prayers help me. I’ve been a follower of Christ since university and am now 76. My husband also the same age is undergoing cognitive decline and it is particularly unsettling because he has been a pastor and was active and a leader responsible in many areas of ministry in the church beyond the local congregation. We are still in the midst of sorting this all out. If I don’t continually bring my anxiety about this before God it almost overwhelms me at times. Your prayers help. Thank you for sharing.