Before becoming a parent myself, someone shared the oh-so-helpful statistic that surveys show that most couples report that the happiest days of their marriage were before having children. It was not a heartening statistic to hear as a newly-married-but-as-yet-childless person.
We waited eight years before having children and, yes, those years held many joys to which we have since waved bye-bye. Joys like choosing when you want to wake up, jauntily walking out the door when it is time to leave the house, or not needing to check your sweaters each time you wear them to make sure they haven't picked up any new stains from food or... other things. As with most things, Michael McIntyre sums it up nicely.
This season of life has held new joys of its own though—and new sorrows. It has been harder than I could have imagined, but I can also see that in the difficulty, the best parts of me have grown and the worst parts of me have been revealed and peeled away. Sometimes when I walk through the door, three little beings scream my name and walk/crawl over to me for a hug. Other times, however, I walk in while two or more of these little angels are screaming at, hitting, stealing from, or otherwise menacing one another. Sometimes I feel that I should read Ellie Holcomb and Douglas McKelvey's "Liturgy for After a Fight Among Siblings" before coming home and have Andrew Roycroft's "Liturgy for After a Child's Meltdown" or Hannah Greer's "A Liturgy for Responding to a Child's Needs" at the ready for soon after arrival.
My oldest son started kindergarten this year and watching him ride his bike to school on his first day brought on a peculiar melange of feelings that I hardly have words for. It was a bright sadness, to say the least. Yet I know it is but a foretaste of what is in store when my children grow up and leave the house. I imagine that I will return to this post to read Heidi Johnston's "Liturgy for Contemplating the Empty Bedroom of a Child Who Has Left Home" on that day.
On the whole, parenting is a delightful, strange, and maddening mixed bag. But did I leave my happiest days behind me when we had our first child? Definitely not. Has there been a trade-off of one kind of joy and one kind of suffering for another? Certainly.
One thing is beyond doubt, parents need all the support they can get. So parents, to that end, we offer these liturgies gratis and with our blessing to help you through all the many ups and downs you will encounter on the way.
Each of these liturgies is taken from Every Moment Holy Volume 3 from Rabbit Room Press. You can find more liturgies like these at EveryMomentHoly.com.
Liturgy for After a Child's Meltdown
by Andrew Roycroft
Lord, as this present storm subsides,
as we process our own agitated emotions,
even our exasperation at this meltdown,
help us to breathe out again.
Soften this wounded hush into readiness
to hear your voice,
to show your mercy,
to offer your grace,
to model your love.
All-seeing God, the hurt we feel
is not unknown to you.
Jesus, great High Priest, you
are not unsympathetic to our distress.
Blessed Holy Spirit, who brooded
over formless ruin, come to us
with your creative peace.
We bring our child to you now
overtaken by emotion,
overwhelmed with frustration.
Calm them, we pray.
Root them ever more deeply
in our unconditional love.
Steady their ragged breathing
and raging thoughts.
Blossom their budded fists
into opened hands.
Where gospel conviction would lead them
to your grace—our grace—let it do its work.
Where harmful guilt would drive them
to the brink, draw them back.
Let your love shown through us become
their safe place, their nearest shore.
Thank you for the gift of our
relationship with [child's name]. Thank you
that our love gives them a sheltered space
in which they can express their heart,
their fears, their hurts and confusion,
rather than choking those emotions
down till they become a quiet
poison in their veins. Help us
to be steady for them in such
moments, not reacting abruptly or
unpredictably from our own old
wounds—even when we feel overwhelmed
by this child’s outburst.
We bring ourselves to you, O Christ.
We are sinners.
We have raged against others in the past.
We have raged against you.
Forgive us.
O Lord, we confess our failure
in our handling of these circumstances.
A MOMENT OF QUIET REFLECTION AND REPENTANCE MAY BE OBSERVED.
Where we have spoken to our child
with unbridled tongue, cleanse us, and
re-season our speech with grace.
Lord give us the courage to confess our sin
to our child without justification or reservation.
Help us to mean our repentance; help us
to model it for them.
In the present chaos of these emotions,
remind us of your covenant,
and help us to embody that same love
to our child today.
O Lord, as our child will come to us
conscious of what they have done,
cautious of our response,
enable us to stand with open arms
in the path that our child takes home,
to welcome them,
help them,
teach them,
and guide them.
Take us beyond the symptoms of this meltdown
and lead us to what is really the matter.
May this present stress serve over time
to strengthen our bonds of love.
Help us to walk in the way of the cross
and let your reconciling power be at work here.
O Lord, help us!
Work your gospel into this moment.
Grant that I and my child would not only
experience recovery through these hours,
but that together we would discover
your redemptive grace
in new and healing ways,
knitting our hearts even more
closely than they were
before this flare of emotion.
Amen.
A Liturgy for Contemplating the Empty Bedroom of a Child Who Has Left Home
by Heidi Johnston
Eternal, unchanging God,
meet me here in this moment as my spirit
hovers over the bittersweet emptiness of this
place that once echoed with noise
and life and laughter and possibility.
Help me see the space before me
as the next proper stage in this,
the story of my child,
and of my child within our family,
and of our family within your greater story—
the end of which will not be changed by
circumstance or undone by the passing of time.
Give me grace to look back with gratitude
and not regret, treasuring the memories that
come so easily to mind.
ONE MIGHT PAUSE HERE TO REFLECT AND GIVE THANKS.
Thank you, Father God,
for the privilege of loving and nurturing
this child over so many years.
Forgive my countless failings.
Use them only as reminders of your grace.
If, in our home, there has been
any delight in you,
any hunger for your Word,
any love for your people,
may such things take root even now,
growing ever deeper
and spreading farther
for the extension of your kingdom.
As we move into this new season,
teach me to accept with gladness
the independence that has always been
the end goal of parenting—in the knowledge
that the bond between parent and child
will not end with this letting go.
Even as I acknowledge my changing role,
help me to be a faithful supporter,
always offering an open door
and a listening ear,
and, above all, remaining fervent in prayer.
Thank you that my love for this child,
although at times I imagine it unmatched
in all of humanity, is but a shadow
of your own never-ending love which follows
them now where I cannot, and knows all that
now remains hidden from me.
Give me the courage to entrust to your care
that which was never mine to keep. Bless and
protect your child through all that is to come,
captivating their heart and sustaining them
with hope. Grant them wisdom and
discernment and the courage to live well
in the light of all that is eternally true.
ONE MIGHT PAUSE TO PRAY FOR ANY SPECIFIC CHALLENGES NOW FACING THEIR CHILD
Just as this child was always yours,
so also is this empty space,
to do with as you will.
Breathe now into this void,
showing me how to best use it for your glory.
Are there others in need of nurture and care,
who, for even a short season,
may find refuge in this space?
Or perhaps it will become a sanctuary,
dedicated to your service in other ways.
A place where I, or others, may use or hone
or explore whatever gifts and talents
you have entrusted to us
for the building of your kingdom.
ONE MIGHT PAUSE HERE TO PRAY FOR GUIDANCE AND WISDOM
And now, with fondness for all that is past
and anticipation of all that is yet to come,
help me embrace this new season without fear,
looking always ahead to that day when we
will see that no ending was what it seemed;
when all our stories finally merge
into one epic tale of your relentless faithfulness,
and we find that we are forever home,
delighting to dwell in the rooms
you have prepared for us.
Amen.
A Liturgy for Long Hours Caring for an Infant
by Leslie Eiler Thompson
I am so tired, Lord.
This young life requires such constant
expenditure of my energies and affections,
till I feel drained of both.
But you, O Jesus, knew in your own flesh
the constraints of the human condition,
for you also experienced the weariness
of long hours tending endless needs.
I beg now your provision of grace
as I face the coming hours. I long for
the moment when sleep finds me,
but till then, I pray your strength
would be at work even in my weakness.
Now fill my empty cup again,
with patience and with peace,
that I might pour it out
for my child, in joy.
Amen.
A Liturgy for Responding to a Child's Needs
by Hannah Greer
O Father, I abide in the beautiful truth
that I can come to you expectantly,
knowing you will hear me and answer me.
You bend to listen to my pleas
for help and comfort and
guidance and strength.
You carry me always.
You never tire of it,
and I depend upon your dependability
to comfort and hold me.
And yet, sometimes the voices of my own
children become so continuous and exhausting
and overwhelming. I am so easily put out and
wearied by the whining, tugging, grabbing, and
crying to be continually held and attended to.
In my humanity, I am confronted
with my many limitations.
I am so easily given to selfishness, exhaustion,
tedium, frustration, and irritation.
My back aches and my neck and shoulders are
aflame from hoisting small children up
again and again and again
and balancing them on my hip
while trying to accomplish my tasks for the day.
How easily my sin can twist
the joyful blessing of holding a child
into drudgery and a wearisome task.
Is this not what I prayed for, Lord,
when I asked you to fill my arms with children?
I am so like the Israelites, who complained
though you rescued them from their enemies,
who complained though you rained manna
from heaven and provided water from a rock.
Yet you never tire of coming
to the aid of your children.
Father, give me the capacity I need
to respond lovingly to my children who cry out
to be picked up and held again and again.
Remind me of the blessed truth
that while I hold my little ones, you hold me.
Let me display to them what it looks like
to joyfully lay down one’s life for another.
Help me to show them that
while I will fail them at times,
you will never fail them,
and you will always hold us fast.
Amen.
A Liturgy for Giving Your Child Bad News
by Janel Davis
O Lord, in a few moments
I have to tell my kids one of the worst things
I hope they will ever hear.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.
I know you love them more than I
could ever love them.
Help me remember that truth
as I watch the pain cross their faces,
and also in the coming months
as I shepherd them through the grief
that is sure to follow.
May this moment of awful revelation
not become a memory that might uproot
their budding faith, but rather one that plants it
deeper within them, turning their young hearts
to you in the midst of their dismay and giving
those gospel seeds the resiliency they need to
flourish for a lifetime, no matter the suffering or
the circumstances they experience in their lives.
Help me not to fall apart as I tell them, Lord.
Help me hold my emotions together so that
I don’t scare them, but also let me open enough
of a window into my own sorrow that they
might see that it is okay and good to grieve,
to weep, and to express their feelings.
Sovereign Lord, this news is so awful
my children likely won’t even understand
some parts of it. And I’m not sure quite
how to explain it. Grant me wisdom, insight,
and understanding to communicate
just enough that they might comprehend
this heartbreak in an age-appropriate way,
but also such that no horrid,
graphic details would lodge
in their dreams
and imaginations.
I rely on you, Holy Spirit, to be
my counselor, nudging me toward
what to tell and what to hold back.
Let me be sensitive and responsive
to your voice that I might
in this moment become a conduit
of your wisdom and
your love for my children.
There will almost certainly be a loss
of innocence in learning of this news.
My children will begin to understand
hard truths about life and humanity.
Till now I’ve tried to guard their hearts
from things too dark for them to deal with.
I’ve tried to show them the flourishing
and the beauty of your good creation.
Now they will also hear of the horrors that
followed on the heels of the fall.
Lord, may they know that you are still good.
May they better see why the news of your
coming kingdom is such a great hope.
May they begin to learn how you will subvert
even this evil, somehow using it for the
good of your people and for your glory.
I entrust their innocence to your hands.
Lord, our great Healer—
redeem the trauma this brings
to our lives. Let your redemption be
active in ways we cannot even imagine.
Redeem the shock and the wounds
we will feel. And redeem the wreckage
in the lives of those affected most directly.
Do not let this trauma lodge for long
in our bodies, spirits, or minds, O Lord.
Make us resilient. Let our faith become more
rooted and fierce in the face of storm and
darkness. Give us a grit that would glorify you,
using even this experience to make our lives
more sheltering for others in their sorrows.
Hold us, heal us, and comfort us, Lord Jesus.
We entrust you with all that is good
and all that is awful in our lives.
Be near us in the hard conversation
soon to happen. Be our balm and our
guide, our counselor and our shepherd,
in the hours and days and months that follow.
Amen.
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