I lost a close friend a couple years ago and watching her decline was painful. I found that after she died I couldn’t pray. Much if at all. I could read the bible – and write to God. So I carried on. But that felt inadequate in my tradition. It’s been frustrating – I felt a fake – a very sore hearted one at that. But the only one giving me grief was me. My friends just prayed for me instead and told me writing was fine. So I have bought a book of celtic prayer by the Northumbria Community. I find it gives me words and a framework:
A glisten of garden lanterns lighting the way to a fire gathering
The hard packed stone paved trackway across featureless peat
A line of age whitened posts in a landscape vulnerable to snow
Liturgical prayer is anchoring me.
Keeping me on course
Stopping me from sinking
Allowing a little fire warmth
To creep back into the dust.