When Loss Changes the Way You Pray

WHOA it has been a hot minute. Do people even read blogs anymore? Now we speak through videos and write in emojis and honestly, I’m all here for it, but sometimes it’s just nice to put down thoughts to paper – or in this case a blank computer screen. I felt the urge to write this afternoon after something significant struck me, and typically I just pen my thoughts along with a photo onto my instagram page as my scrapbook/journal all in one, but felt like click-clacking my fingers on the keyboard. So here I am, over 2 years later and it feels good.

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The hot grease sizzled and popped as I slid diced carrots and onions into my royal blue dutch oven. I noticed my phone light up and glanced at the notification banner – a GroupMe text from my dad to our family’s group chat. Another update on my mom’s health. Yesterday, she had been released from the hospital after her Car-T therapy transfusion over a week ago. But at 10:18pm, another text came in from our baby sister, Hannah (now acting as caregiver along with my dad) saying she had a high fever and they were taking her back to the hospital. Chris and I were already staying up way too late laying down tile for our hall bathroom remodel, so when I got the text around midnight that her fever had dropped a few degrees, I felt both relief and uncertainty. It’s always easy to pinpoint the exact emotion after the fact, but in the moment I feel like a pinball machine not sure how or what to feel. Scared? Worried? Doubtful? Fearful? Sad? Angry? Bloated? (sure why not!)

Back to this afternoon’s text – the doctor confirmed that a known possible side effect for this new treatment was resulting in mom’s high fever, so they were combating it with an IV antibiotic. Dad went on to console and encourage us kids as he always has, our gentle giant protector of a father (I mean he is 6’4″). He ended the text with a “thanks again for your prayers!”. So as I stirred the now simmering beef bourguignon on the stove, I began praying for my mom. Well, I began praying for the doctors and medical team and for modern technology and for discoveries that make these new treatments even possible. I also prayed for Hannah and my dad as they’re taking care of my mom night and day. But when I started praying for healing over my mom, sentences began but I couldn’t finish them. Words fumbled, and I couldn’t quite get the simple “God please heal mom” one out – that’s when I realized experiencing loss changes the way you pray.

Throughout Luke’s pregnancy, I remember praying for healing – the kind of healing we all want – a removal of the ailment and a physical wholeness, agreed? That was the only kind of prayer regarding healing my mind could fathom. But once you have spent a season (or more) praying praying praying while surrounded by your family praying, your friends praying, your church praying, and in the end you don’t get the answer you were praying for, well, it changes you. After we lost Luke, I was a numb buoy tossed in a sea of anger and confusion and despair. And yet, still somehow comforted and at peace (a snippet of the Lord’s tangible goodness). You know what they don’t say enough from the pulpit? “I don’t understand WHY”. It’s as if admitting our inability to fully understand God and His ways is something to be ashamed of, and yet, he clearly tells us over and over in His Word that we cannot begin to fathom the way He works. (Isaiah 55:8-9, Ecclesiastes 3:11, 1 Cor. 2:11)

I put the heavy lid on the dutch oven and gently placed it in the oven. Setting the timer for 2 1/2 hours, I went back to talking with the Lord. I still ask for my mom’s complete healing, and as soon as the words escape my mouth it always feels like a battle raging in my mind whether to trust and believe or not. The journey after losing Luke showed me that our experiences here on earth are all unique and somehow wildly similar, but the only thing that I can personally offer to the Lord is my unhindered heart. I don’t understand why bad things happen to good people, but I choose to trust and believe that the Lord is still good. Does that make me look crazy? HIGHLY probable, but I’ve experienced enough of his goodness to hold tight to what I know to be true, rather than the things I don’t fully comprehend.

So instead of letting bitterness and cynicism creep in, my prayers look more like this:

God I don’t even want to think about losing mom because it terrifies me. I can’t even wrap my mind around the alternative to healing because that loss feels too great. I want mom to be fully healed so I don’t have to be tossed back and forth by the tormenting fear that this is it, now she’s going to die. I don’t understand but whatever happens, let my heart always remain tender toward you. I trust that you are good even when it doesn’t seem fair or make sense. I choose to believe that I will continue to see your goodness in my life and in mom’s life, but I also know You don’t owe me anything. Help me keep my eyes on you instead of focusing on the storm. If I experience loss, only you are capable of comforting and restoring my heart once again. I am safe in your arms.