blessing for the broken heart
This advent season, I wanted to write, but I didn’t know where to start.
The last seven months have been extraordinarily hard, as I’ve waded through grief and trauma. The emotions and fears that simmered under the surface for so long, erupted all over the place. My physical body suffered, my mind, my faith, my hope was nearly dead. I completely came apart at the seams, which were bulging for so many years. I had kept it together, I had kept it partially contained. And then, having Rory, a fragile, helpless newborn to care for, tipped me right over the edge.
As I continue to heal by piecing together the broken bits and settling down the fears that drove me for so long, I’m finding that my anxiety levels are decreasing. I am figuring out my heart, my body and my spirit in this new season. It’s a whole new discovery as I come face to face with the girl that I once was, a bit battered by trauma, by death and by grief, but still standing.
So, my heart is here offering a few simple blessings for those of you that have been battered by storms so big, you thought you wouldn’t make it. Four blessings leading up to Christmas, blessings to speak over yourself, whether you have lost a child or a spouse or something else entirely. These are specifically written for mothers and fathers that have lost children, because this is a grief that is specific to me. However, I also wrote them with medical mamas and dads in mind. Grief and pain, however they have found you, are universal. You may want to rework some of the wording to apply it to your story. But please feel free to print these out and stick them to your bathroom mirror, so you can speak life on those lifeless days and in the tender Christmas season. My hope is that you, dear reader, find the strength to dig in to healing, and instead of feeling pierced this Christmas, may you feel that marvellous patchwork cloak coming over your shoulders.
Place your hand on your heart.
Thank you, precious heart, for holding onto hope even when it felt impossible.
Thank you for being a warrior. Thank you for fighting for life, even in the midst of death.
You have been crushed by deep loss, but heart, you will begin to mend.
I give you permission to heal.
I acknowledge the scars that you carry and I love you, heart, even if you’re torn and tattered. I love you whole and I love you shattered.
I accept the state you are in right now. But you will not stay this way forever.
I believe in redemption and I believe in wholeness for you.
Heart, may you be wildly courageous again. May you seek peace and justice, hope and truth.
May you release any bitterness, anger or fear. May you forgive those that misunderstand the pain you carry.
Heart, don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of the future, of the past or of the memories that are so deeply imprinted on you.
I want you to feel all of this, because I want you to heal. I trust this journey.
I acknowledge that a piece of you no longer lives here on earth. I can see the ragged edges of the empty pit deep inside of you.
But you don’t need to absorb the pain any longer. I give you permission to release it.
I open myself up to love and healing so that you, dearest heart, may find the strength to trust again.
To trust life, to trust God, to trust the story.