No Need to Pray for Me

I hate to admit it but often that blasphemous thought “no need to pray for me” runs through my mind.  Before you go off and begin praying (despite my wishes) for my salvation or write me off as an unappreciative heretic, let me try to explain what is running through my demented mind.

Many of you read my entries into this blog and you see my assorted and scattered thoughts that I put to writing and post on Facebook.  They tend to revolve around how Karen and I (along with Ben, Beth, and Katie) are managing after the death of Jacob (our son and brother).  They are often maudlin and depressing to the reader, especially to one that hasn’t experienced the depth of pain that we are expressing.  Our verbalization of our pain is usually compared to a scab being ripped off an old injury and our recounting of such an experience that pricks our heart can often become uncomfortable to the reader.

Frequently, the reader will express their love and concern for us by responding with a well intended “I’m praying for you.”

Well, I’m going to be brutally honest right now …. Please don’t.  As harsh as it sounds, I don’t need your prayers. 

Before you walk off saying, “Well, I never! That ungrateful cur!” let me explain.

As a minister and as a Christian, I know the value and power of prayer.  I will admit that I have struggled with how our use of prayer is sometimes misguided.  But I know God relishes our communication with Him and our acknowledgment of His sovereignty.  So please understand I am not seeking an abstinence from the use of prayer in our lives.

Let me try to accurately articulate my reason for this seemingly bizarre request.  Often, when we say to someone “I’ll pray for you” it is much more akin to the dreaded southern expression “Bless your heart” (interpreted "you poor thing").  Let me be clear, I’m not seeking anyone’s pity.

Another interpretation I generally have from the phrase “I’m praying for you” is “I hope you get better soon” or “I hope you can get over this”.  Grief is not a disease with a cure.  You don’t get over it.  And honestly, I don’t want to get over it!  Grief is and forever will be a part of me.  I’ve been told I am now ‘damaged goods.’ I have been forever altered.  I’ve heard the pain of grieving compared to an amputation.  You are now missing an integral part of your body.  I’ve read that amputees often have sympathetic pain where they still feel a tingling where that missing limb would still be attached.  They reach out for it and then are reminded of the present reality that it is no longer there.

As painful as these flashbacks and reminders are, I do not want to “get over” my loss of Jacob. I do not want to “move on” and forget about him.  He was and still is an integral part of my life.  I love the remembrances I have of him, even though they are frequently shrouded in grief, pain, and tears.

So, please, don’t say “I’m praying for you” in that manner.  

But I do value your friendship and your concern.  I don’t want to lose that.  I also appreciate the relationship that many of you had with Jacob and the impact you had on his life.  So here’s what I prefer you to say to me (and I will speak for others who would make this request):

“Thank you for allowing me to share in this experience with you.”

“I miss him too”

"What a precious memory to hold on to. Thanks for including me."

"Your love for him is so evident."

“Thank you for being so transparent.  It means you trust me.”

“Thanks for sharing this. I love to hear stories about him.”

“I love you, my friend.”

“I have had a similar experience.  Let’s get together and share stories.”

“He holds a special place in my heart as well.”

“I wish I could have known him. He sounds like such a special person.”

“Thanks for sharing your heart.”

In closing, here are two quotes from famous people who know the ever present pain of grief.  They eloquently express the value of sharing our hurting hearts about the pain of losing a loved one with our loved ones and the holy communion it creates between the two parties.

“If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who’s important to them, and you’re afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died … they didn’t forget they died. You’re not reminding them. What you’re reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that’s a great, great gift.” – Elizabeth Edwards

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” ~ Washington Irving