prayer

A Prayer in Pain: Lamenting in Sadness, Depression, Grief, Disappointment, Sorrow…..

By: Courtney Hollingsworth, PLPC

I don’t think it a coincendence that many of our posts on this blog have talked about the lost and silent feeling that often accompanies pain, sadness, loss, grief, suffering, sorrow, depression, darkness, etc., like here and here and hereto just name a few. In these dark places in our lives and hearts, we are often at a loss for words or just don’t know where to start. In the Bible, godly people would cry out to God in prayer from those places, and it is called a Lament. I’m sure you can see that this is the root word for “lamenting.” There are many Laments in the Psalms and the book of Job, which God has given us. You can also write your own. A great book on this is A Sacred Sorrow, by Michael Card. Here is a a prayer of pain modeled after the way God has shown us in the Bible.

I jumped into the deep end, or I was pushed, I’m not quite sure.
The water is dark and icy, torrent like a storm.
I can’t even recall what the sunshine feels like on my face.
My tears well up in my heart, and overflow onto my cheeks,
Though they are veiled by the rain.
Do you see my tears?
Struggling to swim, gasping for breath,
My arms grow tired.
Do see my hands reaching for the sky? Do you even see me?
There are weights on my ankles,
And the more I fight, the heavier they become.
I wish I could say my voice is hoarse from calling out your name,
I wish I could say my eyes have never left the horizon, searching for your face.
I’m afraid I have drifted too far out to sea.
If you’re there, I cannot see you.
If you’re there, I cannot hear your voice.
Have you left me to struggle alone?
Do you see me at all, or have I wandered too far?
I told you I was prone to wander,
You knew it was true.
Where was your hand in mine?
Did you forget me too?
I just can’t do it anymore; I’m just not going to make it.
My Shepherd, you have never failed me, you have never let me drown.
I cannot save myself. I cannot protect myself, try as I might.
I must hide in the shadow of your mighty wing.
You see every tear I cry and hold it in your hand, my Comforter.
I long for the day when you will wipe away all my tears.
Keep me firm in your embrace until that day. Hold me fast.
I beg you not to let me drown.
Please do not forget me.

The Prayer from the Darkest Hour

by Jonathan Hart, LPC

God.
    I’m not really sure you’re even listening right now.  It certainly doesn’t seem like it.  I’m done.  I can’t do this any more.  If you want it done, you have to do it.  Whatever you are doing with me, get it over with because this hurts too much.
    I’m angry, and I’m pretty sure I’m angry with you.  I don’t understand.  I feel like you’ve turned your head and you don’t see me anymore, you’re not listening, and you don’t care.  Everything I’ve ever learned about you says you are kind and loving and you want the best for me, and I’d like to believe that, but I can’t seem to bring myself to risk it.  If I believe that, then it means that the hell I am living through right now is somehow for my good.  I want something else.  Not this.
    So if you are who and what you say you are, and if you really do care about me and you really do hear me, then … I don’t know … do something.  Show up.  Give me something to work with.  I’m tired of hurting, and I am utterly helpless.  You’re all I really have, and I’m scared you’re not there.  Amen.

I know a lot of people who would be scared to pray a prayer like this.  It doesn’t feel respectful.  It feels like asking for a lightning strike.  “I can’t be angry with God!  I can’t tell him I’m hopeless… Faith is always trusting him, and this isn’t trusting at all!”  Yet I think there is more faith in a prayer like this than in many that are said on Sunday morning.
    The thing that makes a prayer like this a prayer of faith is the fact that it is a prayer: it is addressed to God.  It may be said through clenched teeth, but it is a prayer, and prayer is an act of faith, especially when it expresses doubt, fear, and pain.
    God is big enough and real enough to handle our doubts.  He can handle our anger and fearful lashing out.  He is the kind father who absorbs the tearful, angry pummeling of his small child, lovingly contains the flailing fists, and soaks up the tears with his shirt. He is still present, he is still mindful, and he still loves his child.
    So when you feel your darkest hours upon you, turn to him.  Shout at the heavens if need be.  He loves you  as you are, especially when you are angry and doubtful.  He desires relationship with you: he wants to hear your heart in whatever state it happens to be at the moment.  

Do not be afraid.