I have made a practice of grieving. Moving toward, not away from, grief has been healing for me. It is the place where the brave acknowledgement of what is broken (death) intersects with a place to begin to hope (resurrection) in the power of the Gospel.
In the middle of suffering, I tend to employ some defensiveness to varying degrees. When I lost little ones, I pressed into the pain as best as I was able at the time. I have lost eight through the years. The number on the whole is a source of gravity and weighty remembering. Here recently, I have tried to think of each particular child, begun to give each one a name, and work through their losses individually.
I also feel for those who continue to experience this most intimate loss, many times grieving or feeling alone. Whatever the circumstance, mothers (and fathers) know the void miscarriage brings. Knowing one is a mother or father without a living child or children to hold can be excruciating and isolating. For those whose arms are full, being aware of both our living children and the ones gone before when asked “How many?” can be a source of mental and emotional conflict. It is difficult to speak about. Difficult to think about. Difficult to process.
One of the most helpful gifts to the church in the Anglican tradition is the liturgy. The focus on gospel is verbal, literal, and woven into each and every Sabbath service. The union of the saints and continuation of the work of the Word both spoken and heard connects generation to generation of faith for centuries. Having appreciated the prayer book particularly when I don’t know what to pray has been a blessing to me. Knowing the verses have been repeated by so many multitudes of voices, experiencing both the agonies and joys of this life, is an encouragement. Knowing the writer’s, Thomas Cramner, commitment to the scriptures is profoundly meaningful as well.
The following prayer was born from these thoughts and influenced by the impact Scripture and the Book of Common Prayer has had on my soul. For some, it may not be helpful. For others, I wondered if having words to utter when the pain is fresh or even faint may be helpful in both the acknowledgment of hurt and leaning into hope. I also pray it proves that you (nor I) are alone in what we may feel is such intimate, private pain. The God described in Psalm 139 is for us all, both born and unborn, in the work of Jesus, and is near to us by His Spirit.
Heavenly Father, we come to you acknowledging the life of baby ___________. Our lives are forever changed as a result of knowing this child, even for a short time. We thank you for such a gift. We also feel the pain of death. Even as our hearts grieve, hold us in your never-failing love and in the hope of heaven where death will be no more and eternal life, secured by the person and work of Christ Jesus, awaits us. Thank you for accepting our praise and ministering to us as we lament. As you are close to the broken-hearted and save those who are crushed in spirit, draw near to us, Holy Spirit. Continue to hear our petitions of peace, soothe our pain, increase our faith, and provide mercy in times of need.