Excerpt From Prayer Journal – July 4, 2022 – 7:42 a.m.
Oh Lord, my God! How magnificent You are! You order my steps in all of my life. You have kept me all these years. You continue to sustain me. In the midst of my grief You are in me and with me.
You are patient with me in Your grace and mercy when I stumble. I repent of anything I have done that dishonored You whether privately or publicly.
I want to reach for Your strength and wisdom when I speak so that I do not utter idle and profane words.
I ask, Lord, for more discernment and wisdom to know when to be silent, and use the words You would have me speak when it is Your time.
I am camped in Psalm 71 for today. My hope is in You to bear this pain and show me how to use the journey to help others.
The main comfort I receive is in the knowledge that Fred is with You – worshipping You in person, without human hindrances. He’s living higher than his highest earthly mountain top experience. His brain is beyond anything he ever imagined. His joy is complete and constant in worshipping You, in living in Your light.
That gives me solace for here and hope for what is promised to me as Your child. Help me to be about Your will until my day comes to join You, Fred, my children – Jedidiah and Benjamin – and all those who have gone before me. What a reunion!
I hope upon hope that Daddy is there, but I have not worried about the answer to that question since the Holy Spirit told me, “It is done.” With those words came the comfort that no matter his destiny, none of it was my responsibility.
Please, in whatever form that takes, let my Fred – Your Fred – know that I love him still; that his love for me taught me invaluable lessons which have given me a firmer foundation for this new season of my life than when I left home.
He showed me not an example, but a steady living of unconditional love for me, Jo, and Josh.
Between You and Your love, I know that I can get through the remainder of my life with more peace than I have known most of my life’s journey.
I’ll go for now with writing,
In Jesus’ name, Amen. Your Daughter.
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Fred had been gone since January 20, 2022, when I wrote this.
Just a few thoughts
When I close my journal after writing, there’s always a hush that lingers. The words may stop flowing on the page, but the feelings are still alive in me. I often sit for a while, letting the quiet hold me like a soft quilt. It’s not that the grief disappears because it doesn’t; but something shifts. The heaviness eases just enough for me to catch my breath.
In those moments, I remember that grief and love walk hand in hand. The tears I shed over Fred are only proof of how deeply he was woven into my days. Writing to him brings back the rhythm of our life together. Those memories return to me, not to haunt, but to remind me that love never truly ends.
By the time I put my pen down, I feel steadier. The ache softens into a kind of peace that whispers, You can keep living. You can carry him with you into the here and now. Journaling doesn’t fix the loss, but it gives me a safe place to honor it, to honor him, and to remind myself that even in the quiet, I am not alone.
I’d love to hear your thoughts, stories, or even just a word or two if this touched your heart. Your comments remind me that none of us are walking this road alone, and I welcome you to share in this little corner of community we’re building together. Be sure to stop back by—I’ll have more reflections and memories to share soon.
With love,
Gritty Granny
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