I Still Can't Forget (A Prayer)
Note: I write prayers for myself, and for others who engage pain of every type—mind and heart, body and soul. I invite you to change these words as needed and make the prayer your own. Or change the words and pray for someone you know (or better, someone you don’t). I appreciate prayers—but I appreciate even more the prayers we speak for others.
Sovereign over the universe,
vast beyond my imagination;
Living God over all life,
complex beyond understanding.
You alone are my God
in a god-filled world;
each competing for allegiance:
loud, proud, demi-gods,
and cool, quiet, seclusion.
I just need you to know
my pledge is to you.
I have no place to complain:
mortal to immortal,
finite to infinite.
Nor any right to question,
only your invitation
to speak truth.
So, I just need you to know:
I miss my life, God,
all that I once enjoyed;
pleasures in full retreat,
now out of sight—
but not out of mind.
Not when I pass a golf course,
and see myself standing;
practice swings on the tee box,
walking down the fairway.
Not when I pass a bass boat,
and see myself standing;
flipping a worm into brush,
the line twitches,
I feel the hook set.
My heart feels sick
and I can’t forget.
Not when we are on the coast,
and I see us walking;
you made the beach for two,
waves to splash over feet,
words to speak in silence.
Certainly not in the mountains
when I see myself hiking;
up a trail hidden in the trees,
breathing hard, gulping air,
a sharp turn and suddenly,
breathless at the sight.
I miss standing and walking,
no pain screaming profanity;
medicine absorbing memory,
and I still can’t forget.
Not when I pass the university,
and I see myself teaching;
a room alive with energy,
questions, ideas, living joy.
I see my colleagues at work,
student-filled offices;
brilliant minds to teach,
soft hearts to point the way.
I see myself in my office,
back when I was leading;
days-dreaming, fire du jour,
walking the halls,
working with J.R.
Lord, you asked me,
what else can I say?
I miss what pain has taken,
slowly draining my life;
then a bandit at night
steals the unexpected.
I know you already know,
or so your son claimed;
but I need to say it too,
it’s not just my feet,
my legs, my hands;
my spirit too.
You asked,
Be honest.
So I have,
I can no more forget,
than pain can lose meaning.
And I also can’t forget,
I have no hope but you.
All I can do is remember,
the promises you made;
hope for the future:
your presence now, here.
Amen
Limited permission is granted for reuse of this prayer in worship or other venues. If printed in any form attribution must be given as "Glenn Pemberton, mosaicsite.org/glennpemberton." Special permission is required to print three or more of these prayers at one time in any form, print, electronic, etc., and must be secured by request at gdp05b@acu.edu.
