Every journey ends,
and this prayer is for our friends
who know their lives are waning.
Friend of the dark garden,
you know the regrets,
the reluctance, the gloomy fears
that shake our very souls.
Anxiety about our bodies’ demise
consumes us,
Thank you that even
as we feel most desolate,
your comfort finds us.
We do not kneel alone.,,,
I seek you, God, in the spaces of my life.
The spaces between what I’ve done
and what I’ve left undone.
The spaces between my convictions
and my actions,
the spaces between all that I hoped to do,
and what I’ve actually done.
I come with humility,
knowing that I can’t always see
the way I’ve disappointed you,
nor can I always see
the long-term effects of the good I’ve done….
We come to prayer this morning
at the crossroads of summer and winter.
Summer still shines, asters blooming with yellow and orange vividness,
warm days calling us to walk outside and enjoy the sun,
fresh fruit and vegetables still fill our tables and delight our tastebuds.
And yet, the nights grow cold, we see our breath in the morning,
yellow and red creep into the leaves of the trees,
the days get shorter, the earth tilts
and there’s no stopping the coming of winter….
Psalm 119:1-2 and
We’ve come to worship, God,
straight to your house, to your people,
to hear your words and learn of your ways.
This morning, give us strength for the journey.
Thank you for all these people seated here,
faithful companions on the road.
Help us as we map our way together,
following the route that Jesus showed us.
In his name we worship, and we pray, Amen.
We offer our gifts to you, Lord,
with grateful, cheerful hearts.
Thank you that you meet our needs on the journey,
providing what we need when we need it.
Trusting you, we can share what we have with others,
and we do this joyfully, together, today,
in Jesus` name, Amen.
On the long journey,
where many steps are required each day,
there comes a time to pause and look back,
to join with a companion and say, “There!
Those steps have been completed, they’re done.
I’ve come this far.”
Or if no companion is there,
to stand alone and whisper, with clear eyes,
“I’ve done this, I’ve made this journey.”
The journey with mental illness
has milestones seldom marked except by those who walk there…
a day where I continued to live,
a week where I managed to take my medication,
On our dry journey,
forgiveness is the water on the horizon,
and we’re the pilgrims in the desert
who cannot possibly walk there.
Tied up tight,
revenge is a hot little bundle
we hug to our chest.
We are plagued with hurt;
the betrayal, the murder,
the verbal barbs, the abandonment
the lack of love, whatever.
We have been robbed
Glorious God, we come together as your people.
We come as a praising people, singing your goodness;
we come as a hungry people, longing to be fed;
we come as a praying people, bringing our needs, our joys;
we come as a journeying people, looking for direction.
In this hour of worship,
empower us for faithful living.
We pray this in the name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, Amen.
God, you know I hold my family together:
balancing the needs of everyone,
the schedules of everyone,
the health of everyone,
juggling each ball with dexterity
and not dropping one, not one.
I give thanks for strength and stamina.
But there’s a haunting sense
that I’ve reached my limits
and that even this camel’s back
will not take one straw more.
One morning will I stand on the road
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.
I love to write and to lead worship! If you are finding my writing helpful, I would love to hear from you! Feel free to use or adapt the material here, it is all written by me. If printing material, please credit “Copyright Carol Penner www.leadinginworship.com” (and say whether you modified it). If publishing, please contact me for permission. Contact me at carol@leadinginworship.com
Get regular resource updates and special announcements!
