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Guest Post: I Can't Pray and That's O.K.

May 9, 2018 by Stephanie Leave a Comment

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Please welcome Andrea Remke to my site! I am graeteful for Andrea’s offer to share her words here. This post was previously published on her blog as well as Today Parenting and the Kathy Lee and Hoda Facebook page. Her story is both heartbreaking yet affirming that God’s eyes are always on us.
I can’t pray and that’s OK
OK, I’m not a big “feelings-y” person. I don’t like hugging all that much and I’m not great with emotions and crap. I never was. I was raised Catholic and so with that came a lot of praying and repenting and feeling guilty and kneeling and all that. My extended family is pretty big on prayers —from Indiana to the Holy Land and back— boy do they love those prayers! But to be honest, I really don’t know how to pray. Yes, I know how to lay in bed and give thanks for my kids, who are healthy and beautiful. I recite the bedtime prayer to them at night. You better believe every time the thermostat dips below freezing, I’m praising the heavens above that I have a house with heat to sleep in. But other than that, I’m not great at that thing called “Prayer.”
I go to church every Sunday, and drag the kids along even when they just want to be in their jammies playing iPads. But I persist. I’m determined to get some meaning, some purpose from this twisted ass life I’m in right now. I want to be better at mothering, at friendships, at prayer—but every Sunday I feel numb, like a person simply going through the motions inside that church. I’m standing, kneeling, sitting up—trying as hard as I can to focus. I’m doing my best to get something out of it other than the free donuts afterwards. I don’t know if any amount of holy water on this old girl will ever be enough to soften and heal this cracked and broken heart that only dwells on sadness, resentment and grief right now.
That was until I got a sign.
The past couple weeks I have been feeling so angry that I’m here doing this alone and he’s not here. I have questioned my faith a lot, wondering why my husband got this sh*t hand—what did he do to deserve death so early? Why couldn’t it have been me?
Then last night after the kids were in bed, I took the dog out. I stood in the front yard staring into my bedroom window, where my husband’s last breaths were taken. And I got angry. I started wondering maybe there’s nothing after we’re gone. Maybe everything is here in this life, and we only have this brief amount of time to live and love. How unfair and sad and crappy is that? Then I started to think that if that’s true, then my husband is just laying there in that box—being nothing anymore. I started sobbing. I kept saying over and over that it wasn’t fair. This isn’t fair. I went to bed crying and mad at the world, mad at God, mad at myself for so much time wasted in this stupid, unfair life.
This morning on the way to school, I got the usual amount of questions, but especially about dad today. They always want to know everything I don’t have answers for—where is he? what is he doing? can he see us? are dogs up there, too? One of the twins said she hopes that she will turn back into a child when she dies so that daddy will recognize her. I told her that daddy will absolutely know her no matter how old she is. I told them that maybe daddy would be able to see our baby that I miscarried several years ago. This was big news to them, and they wanted to know if it was a boy or a girl and what was its name and how old was he or she. I told them I didn’t know, but maybe daddy knows now.
It wasn’t 45 minutes later that I got a text from a friend I haven’t seen all that recently. She’s one of those praying friends. She’ll pray up a storm for everyone in Kentucky no matter who they are or what they believe. She texted me, “…I was praying for you this morning and the kids. I just saw Matthew in heaven with a child and he was so happy. Did you have a miscarriage?… I believe he is up there with that child and they are waiting on all of you.”
Like I said, I don’t like feelings and mushy crap. I’m skeptical and I’m a big ‘Negative Nelly’ most days. But my eyes welled up with tears because I don’t know how at that moment she would have known I needed to know about him. I needed to know he was OK and that I was wrong about him just being in that box six feet under. All the tears of sadness and anxiety I cried last night must have been heard.
I can’t pray to save my soul y’all, but I can sure as hell cry. After reading her text, I looked at the prayer card I taped to the fridge last week—it came in the mail from a complete stranger. It reads, “Tears are prayers too. They travel to God when there are no words to speak.”
That’s when I realized—I’m killing this sh*t called “Prayer.”
This post originally appeared Jan. 23, 2018 on the author’s blog at www.kymomtotwinsandmore.com.
Andrea Remke lives in Northern Kentucky. She has a degree in communications and journalism from Saint Mary’s College, South Bend, Ind. She is finding her way as a newly-widowed mother of an 11-year-old, twin 8-year-olds, and a 5-year-old. She is a freelance writer at www.kymomtotwinsandmore.com
Find her at Facebook www.facebook.com/andrealremke and on Twitter @andrealremke.

 

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Filed Under: Sacred Connections Tagged With: death of a spouse, fear, is daddy in heaven, miscarriage, parenting, praying, widow

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When my first child was born 20 plus years ago, I envisioned taking just a few years off from my role as Pastor of Youth and Family. While that didn’t exactly unfold as expected, God used my gifts and skills in other ways. Read More…

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Sometimes, I go to Target and virtually keep them company as they shop for items. Once in a while, I accompany them on a drive through line to their favorite fast food restaurant. Other times, I walk with them back from class to the dorm. There is no agenda outside of simply connecting and listening. And then there are moments where I am put on speaker mode and I sit in silence while homework is worked on. The reason? To simply sit in their presence.

These moments could easily be perceived as inconvenient and mundane. Truthfully, the calls sometimes interrupt my agenda. However, it is a blessing when your big kid initiates connection. It is something I never want to take for granted.

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#herviewfromhome #Redbudwriters #parentingyoungadults
#Delicatedanceofparenting #parentingyoungadults #p #Delicatedanceofparenting #parentingyoungadults #parentingcollegekids #parentingteens
As I sit in the quiet with the windows open, the s As I sit in the quiet with the windows open, the sounds outside remind me of the changes in my sphere. My neighbor plays her recorder with abandon on this first day of the school year. Suddenly, my mind jumps back to several years ago in this same house. I listened to each of my kids happily discover the joy of exploring this instrument. They fidgeted around, like she does, trying to create familiar tunes and listening to the way their breath helpes create sound.

This is the second time the landscape changed next door since our family planted roots here twenty four years ago. Each time, the new life sprouts up in different ways. Currently, the sights and sounds of young children remind me of where I once was and where I am now.

The seasons of parenting all have their variety of days. There were moments that felt long and dark. Sometimes the idea of getting up the next morning to experience another one felt overwhelming. But scattered throughout the years, were moments of joyful collaborative discoveries of the beauty of this life. Watching your child explore the world around them through their senses is magical. It refreshes any of our own that have grown stagnant.

I love living in an intergenerational neighborhood. Because I need it. Revisiting the seasons of life through new narratives brings me joy. I share in the excitement of the neighbor girl losing her tooth and laugh at her story about the tooth fairy forgetting her tooth. That happened in our house too.

My children are now young adults. People say “the days are long and the years are short.” That feels true. But I am thankful to have the opportunity to relive some of those days with a new generation. It reminds me of the welcoming spaces created for life to bloom, theirs and mine.

#neighborhood #parentingyoungadults #herviewfromhome #Redbudwriters #stephaniejthompson
#humanity #compassion #imagodei #stephaniejthompso #humanity #compassion #imagodei #stephaniejthompson
Recently, I retraced the steps of my childhood. Ho Recently, I retraced the steps of my childhood. However, walking the territory with my young adult children by my side became a whole new experience. Something profound happens when your kids see, taste, and feel the places that shape your life.

This wasn’t the first time, we ventured into the town of my paternal roots When my children were young, we occassionally drove through the town. We drove past relative’s homes and I pointed out favorite destination spots. However, the questions grew deeper and the curiosity expanded as they grew older. Connections to itheir story have been formed.

We enjoyed stomping around the nostalgic grounds together while recognizing how our family’s story fits into a bigger one. I whirled around with my kids on the same carnival ride seats that I once shared with my parents and siblings. We munched on the same tasty comfort food that I delighted in as a child. And watched, with wonder, the twinkly lights of a magical place, lighting up a dusky hot summer night. We walked in the footsteps of those in their personal narrative.

The deeper thoughts and questions came as we winded through the small town, retracing the paths of my youth. However, this time around, their ears longed to know more. How is this person related? Who was the relative that was known for…..? The visual unfolding of a story gives you a context for understanding what has shaped you. It is both formative and yet allows for questions and discerning what you will do with it. What will you embrace and how will you respond to it’s influences?

These are the moments that I do not want to take for granted. Navigating our story together is a gift.

#familystories #parentingyoungadults
#whoami #ancestorsspeak
#familyroots #stephaniejthompson
#Redbudwriters
"Sometimes Jesus’s interruptions mean a reorient "Sometimes Jesus’s interruptions mean a reorienting with our whole being. Surrendering vocational plans and expectations. Using our finances,time and talents in ways that take us out of our comfort zones. Letting go of previously held assumptions about who Jesus is."

#Redbudwriters #Jesusinterrupts #Luke5 #followingjesus #discipleship
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