Pause
Here I am, God. I place my hands on top of my womb. Inhaling, I breathe in “here.” Exhaling, I breathe out “now.” Inhaling, I breathe in “healing.” Exhaling, I breathe out “letting go.” I am grateful to be myself with you, God.
Ask
My prayer today is for my miscarriage. It is hard to know where to begin, God. What words to say, what questions to ask. New life began in me, and then came undone. I, too, have come undone in different ways by this sudden change. Restore my faith and trust in my own body, in you, and in the possibility of finding joy in my life after the loss I have suffered.
Listen
I remember how your mother was there when you were taken down from the cross. How your body was laid in the tomb. How the women returned to care for your dead body, and instead found the tomb empty. I remember you calling Mary Magdalene by name, as she wept in the garden, wondering where your body had been carried to.
Share
Be with me, Jesus, just as surely as you were there with your mother and the other women at the tomb – both before and after the resurrection. I gather up my hope, heartbreak, exhaustion, disillusionment; I lay them down as an offering at the tomb. Help me to return to you, even when I am unsure of what awaits on the other side of showing up, of honouring my baby. Help me rise each day.
Reflect
God, there are no easy answers for me today. But in your presence, I feel seen, heard, known. Even in the disorientation of loss, I am held in the certainty of your love. In the comfort of your gaze, I can let mystery unfold at the same time as grief. You accompany me now, in and through and out to the other side of the tomb experience within my own body. You are my constant.
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