As a caregiver I spent a lot of time praying. I doubted my ability to carry on and castigated myself each time I lost patience or failed to protect my father-in-law from another setback. While I recognized his frailty I forgot about my own. I expected perfection where there could be none. I prayed for guidance and asked God to show me the path he wanted me to take. There were many days when I doubted He heard me. Often I wondered if I was worthy of His help and attention. I cried a lot. But always, when I was at my lowest, help arrived in some form and I knew my prayers were heard. Today I share this prayer for you, the caregiver, so you know you are never alone and you have done well.
A Prayer for the Caregiver
By Bruce McIntyre
Unknown and often unnoticed, you are a hero nonetheless.
For your love, sacrificial, is God at his best.
You walk by faith in the darkness of the great unknown,
And your courage, even in weakness, gives life to your beloved.
You hold shaking hands and provide ultimate care.
Your presence, the knowing, that you are simply there.
You rise to face the giant of disease and despair,
It is your finest hour, though you may be unaware.
You are resilient, amazing, and beauty unexcelled.
You are the caregiver and you have done well.
Prayer shared courtesy of A Place for Mom
The following is an excerpt from Confessions of an Imperfect Caregiver:
There were only two cars in the church parking lot when I pulled in, but considering it was a weekday afternoon, that wasn’t surprising. After dipping my fingers into the holy water font and making the sign of the cross, I slipped into a pew near the front of the church. For several moments I simply sat there, taking in the lingering aroma of incense, candle wax, and furniture polish. …
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,… ” I prayed, the words taking on a new importance as tears of frustration and guilt streamed down my face. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done …”
All right, God, if it is Your will that I take care of my father-in-law, I’m happy to do it. But You have to help me. I’m new at this, and I’m afraid I’m not doing it very well. He’s a sick old man, and he’s not trying to be difficult. I know that. So why do I feel so angry?
“… And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.… but deliver us from evil … ” I sobbed, my heart breaking for both of us. Why couldn’t I be stronger?
“Help me to be more patient and understanding. Guide me to make the right decisions when it comes to his care. Help me find the right words to soothe him when he’s confused and frightened. Please take the anger away. It frightens me. It weakens me, and I need to be strong to do this. I don’t want to let Mike down, and I can’t let Rodger down. He has nowhere else to go. Please, hold me in your love and light and show me the path you want me to take. Amen.”
My prayer complete, I struggled to stop crying, but the harder I tried the harder the tears flowed. Just as I began to fear they’d never end, exhaustion and embarrassment forced me to gain control of myself. Get a grip, I scolded myself. You’ve had a good cry, and it’s time to go home.
I’d left my purse in the car and had nothing to mop up the watery mess I’d made of myself, leaving me with no choice other than to wipe my nose on my sleeve. I didn’t notice the near-silent approach of the only other person in the church until a tiny elderly woman, dressed all in black, touched my shoulder and handed me a bunch of tissues.
“God bless you,” she whispered as she turned and walked away.
Yes, God bless me. I sure do need it.
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