Breath Prayer: “goodness” “and mercy” Compassion fatigue is a phrase that speaks to the heart of whose we are in this world together. I don’t know where or how this phrase was birthed. My earliest memory was in the mid-‘90’s when I was working with folks infected and affected by HIV and AIDS. I remember feeling as though I’d been slapped across the face when someone first said it to me. Back before protease inhibitors began to turn this tragic crisis in a new direction, back in the work of us together there were dark and endless days. Friends were growing ill, many dying. Each week. Each day. And there was a weariness of heart and spirit. For centuries, for lifetimes Psalm 23 has held within its words a journey all its own: He leadeth me. In these ancient words we witness the struggle that comes when traveling life’s path. And here in these words we are given new hope of strength and words of comfort for what’s been and for what will be: thou annoinst my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Compassion fatigue feels thin and fleeting, goodness and mercy on the other hand are words that will endure and point us on. Goodness and mercy speak to what we are here to live into together. Prayer: Shepherding God, guide us we pray. Lead us on when the nights are long and the road seems to only wind uphill. Sustain our hearts and spirits so that we may be your hands and feet. May your compassion for your children be seen this day in us. Amen. Journeying through these Lenten days reminds us daily of prayer. We can become more mindful of the ways we pray, the times of day we pray, the habits we’ve created along the way. Our two boys have been great teachers for me of prayer. When Brogan was a toddler we had our evening ritual. We’d sing a couple quiet songs. Then we would share prayers (Now I lay me, 23rd Psalm, The Lord’s Prayer) and then we would sing Taps (carry over from my Girl Scout days, I guess). When Brogan was 3, Sam was born and he was welcomed right on in to our evening prayers. Our prayers shifted about the time Bro was 5 and Sam 2. They were beginning to have lives of their own and I was nosey. (There I said it). It was one of those times when the growing up of children is fine for the kids and hard on the grown-ups. Somewhere during that time we added saying our “best thing and hardest thing” of the day to the songs and prayers and Taps. This as much as anything else became my window into their lives. At the end of the day each of us chose one thing that was our best thing and next vented (just a bit) about our hardest thing. One night must have been particularly hard for one of the boys and therefore tender for me, because we needed something after the hardest thing ~ so the Hopeful Thing was added. This was then added to our nightly ritual. Is it true that the things we teach our children are the things we are continuing to learn about ourselves? If so, these prayers have grown to be very comforting companions: Best things. Hardest things. Hopeful things. Each day holds at least one and often more than one. Praying these prayers each night reminds me to pay attention to all of the day, not just the good or the bad. Praying these prayers each night remind that God is listening for them, as I listened for the boys’ prayers at the end of the day. This I believe to be true. It’s part of my “hopeful thing” prayer most every night. Prayer: Mother/Father God your presence in our lives is our daily gift. Teach us this day to pray. Weave our lives into yours and renew our spirits, so that we might be better followers. And we are ever grateful. Amen. |
Lesley BroganWorking in Family Experience at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, Lesley is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. A Candler School of Theology graduate, Lesley has just published her second book, Grief and the Psalms: Companioning the Moon for 29 Days (available on this website). She and her partner, Linda Ellis are raising their two sons, Brogan and Sam in Decatur, GA. Archives
April 2018
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