Dawn with a Heavy Heart

Louisa Ikena explores grief and loss alongside prayer with Psalm 139.

The soft pitter-patter of rain is falling outside. Thankful for shelter. Thankful for warmth. 

The dark night is beginning to soften in dawn, at least to the exterior. The interior is harder to define, harder to pin down at this moment in time. 

When the promise doesn't come as we expect it

It sounds great — let me describe a brilliant sunrise showing the promise of a new day. But what about if that promise is elusive and delayed in coming and, worst of all, mundane? I know objectively of the extraordinary beauty of Creation. I acknowledge each day as a gift. Yet that is my head taking over.

I have heard that there is a very great distance to journey from the head to the heart. What is a new dawn of a new day to a heavy heart? What if it is hard to get through a day due to heaviness and loss and grief? As the sky lightens brighter and brighter, why doesn’t my heart lighten? 

There are no quick fixes. No sudden cures to be found. The mere thought of fixes and cures repulses me. I have desired to live life to the fullest. Yet that means accepting the fullest grief alongside the fullest joy. And what if that grief is a complicated grief, full of many, many different feelings? There is nothing left to do but to feel my feelings. This is a time to be what I call “really real.” 

I lift my mind and my heart up to God. Rudimentary attempts at prayer still count. I lift it all up to You, no matter what the weight of my heart. 

God’s Word remains a constancy in this world of change. 

Lord, you have probed me, you know me: 
you know when I sit and stand;  
you understand my thoughts from afar. 
You sift through my travels and my rest; 
with all my ways you are familiar. 
Even before a word is on my tongue, 
Lord, you know it all. 
Behind and before you encircle me 
and rest your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, 
far too lofty for me to reach. 

Where can I go from your spirit? 
From your presence, where can I flee? 
If I ascend to the heavens, you are there; 
if I lie down in Sheol, there you are. 
If I take the wings of dawn 
and dwell beyond the sea, 
Even there your hand guides me, 
your right hand holds me fast. (Psalm 139:1-10, NABRE) 

I come before You, Lord. Your presence is everywhere. It is my awareness of Your presence that waxes and wanes. You know every bit of me. This moment is a new moment. Your dawn is here, ready or not. Continue to guide me and hold me, Lord. Please accept this prayer, even and especially with a heavy heart. 

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Copyright 2024 Louisa Ann Irene Ikena
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