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For 17 months following the death of my parents, I blogged. This blog is threaded with vulnerability, faith, fear and peace. This blog isn't "pretty" or politically correct; It isn't exciting or amusing. It is raw. It is the journey of me, as a Christian, giving myself the grace to grieve; the grace to be human in the midst of the greatest trauma of my life. Though I wish this pain on no one, I hope that through my words you may find words of your own; that through my voice you may find a voice to your own hurt that leads you closer to Christ.

Blessed Assurance

2/12/2017

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​Praying for the living is something that’s always come natural to me. Perhaps it’s the “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer that was a part of my nightly routine as a kid or maybe it’s the adult prayers for the prosperity and health of my loved ones. Whatever the root, praying for the living is easy or even exciting to me, which is why praying for my parents as they faced death felt like an oxymoron.
 
I vividly recall standing by my mother’s comatose body saying, “Mommy, it’s ok for you to go. Everything is going to be ok…but Mom if this is one of those times where God is going to completely heal you and bring you back, that would be great! I don’t want you to think I’m giving up on you.” Similarly, I prayed daily with Dad in his final weeks and I’d always include, “… this is what the doctors are saying…but we know You, God, can change this entire situation.”
 
Something about praying for my parents in their final hours made me feel as if I was doubting God. As I watched my father’s organs fail, was it pessimistic for me to pray for a smooth transition? Did I administer last rites too soon? Was it too optimistic or even unrealistic for me to pray for his healing? At what point do prayers for “healing” and “restoration” become prayers of “peace” and “understanding”?
 
I’m not sure there was a “right” or “wrong” answer for the questions posed above, but I knew I could not go wrong praying, “Thy will be done.” When I started praying for God’s will, I could better understand that God held the present and the future of my parents’; that He held their current life and their eternal life. For death, itself, was not a “finite” act but a transition.
 
Once I embraced this understanding, I prayed for my parents without the worry of being “right” or “wrong.” I asked God for guidance on how exactly to pray and in response He only required my heart. Thus, my prayers in their final hours became worship. I sang to mom (“When I lay my burdens down”) and I encouraged Dad (“Everything is going to be ok; you are ok”). During my weary time, I found worship. Though I was only 28 when Mom died and 29 when Dad passed, how awesome is it that I had the experiences that I did with my parents? How awesome is it that for 28+ years they poured into me, such that the overflow could hold me in the years I’d have to live without them physically being present? What a glorious God we serve who traded my prayers of uncertainty with blessed assurance.
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  • Home
  • ABOUT
  • The 21-Day Journey
  • Candid Conversations
  • Resources
    • The Grace to Grieve (Book)
    • For The First Time Mommas (Blog)
    • The First Year of Grief
    • Publisher's Roundtable
  • CONNECT
    • Contact Kiya
    • Brand Ambassador
    • Virtual Internship Program