Our beloved sister Margaret is entrusted now to the care of hospice.
We pray our shocking sense of an intrusive inappropriateness:
this should not be.
She’s far too young. She still has too much to give.
There is yet too much she should experience.
So we pray a wrenching grief.
We pray a profound anger
that we would now locate her glorious being on this threshold.
We pray: Jim and Jimmy, Matt and Kathleen, her beloved ones—
for the time they still have.
We pray thanksgiving
for the best and richest of memories—
for the gentle, powerful gift Margaret is—
for her abiding and sustaining faith—
for the absence of fear.
We pray goodbye—
resistant to the very idea,
but needing to honor the truth of circumstance,
the integrity of relationship
and the unflinching honesty of Margaret and her loved ones.
We pray peace that passes understanding
present even when we don’t understand how it can be.
We pray that pains and discomforts cease. We pray rest.
We pray hope and faith that still look forward.
We pray love—
naming our love for Margaret—
the love of her family (immediate and extended)—
the love of friends—
Your love, our God, undergirding all.
We would love midrashic privilege—
love to rewrite this part of the story,
but we believe—we affirm—we trust—
we even celebrate—You,
less as author
as the truth into which Margaret’s story unfolds—
even as ours do—
into Your grace—into the wonder of You—
into Your love.