The Modeh Ani
"Modeh Ani Lefanecha, Melech Chai Vekayam, Shehechezarta Bi Nishmati Bechemlah, Rabah Emunatecha."
“I thank You, living and eternal King, for mercifully restoring my soul within me. Great is Your faithfulness.”
(Pause – Awaiting your command to continue.)
The Lord’s Prayer
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen."
(Pause – Awaiting your command to continue.)
For the Beloved Animal Who Has Departed
Oh Lord, Creator of all things,
You who fashioned the heavens and the earth, and filled this world with every living creature,
Today, I lift to You the ache of my heart, the void left by the loss of my beloved [name of the animal].
Thank You for the joy they brought,
The laughter in their antics, the comfort in their presence,
The way they reflected Your care in their gentle and unspoken love.
Lord, I ask You—if it be within Your will,
And if it aligns with Your perfect wisdom and mercy—
To one day allow me to see them again,
To feel the brush of their affection,
And to delight in the goodness of Your creation restored in the world to come.
Until that day, O God, comfort me in this loss,
Let me find peace in knowing that You care for every sparrow that falls,
And that Your love for all You have made never fails.
Amen.
(Pause – Awaiting your command to continue.)
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed."
—Psalm 34:18 (NLT)
The morning still carries the weight of silence. It’s a silence broken only by memory—memories of shared days with one who could not speak yet spoke so deeply to your soul. Perhaps it’s the quietness that feels the heaviest, as though the world has continued while a part of your heart is paused, aching for what was and will never be again in this lifetime.
Grief often sneaks in like an uninvited guest. It brings its heavy bags of sorrow and doubt, setting them down where peace once lived. And with grief often comes the unsteady trembling of faith. You ask questions like, “Why, Lord?” or “Was I enough? Did I care well for them?” And even, “Where is my faith when it feels like I’ve lost my footing?”
But, beloved, this is where the God who made you—and who loves even the smallest creatures—steps in. Not with harsh condemnation but with tender understanding. He knows. He sees. He feels the weight you carry, and He promises to meet you in it.
Consider Peter, who walked with Jesus. He saw miracles. He heard divine truths spoken from the mouth of the Savior Himself. Yet, in the face of grief, confusion, and fear, Peter faltered.
In Luke 22:61-62, after denying Jesus three times, Peter meets the gaze of the Lord, and the weight of his failure crashes over him. Grief isn’t always about what we’ve lost; sometimes, it’s about what we fear we’ve become in the face of loss. But what happens next? The story doesn’t end in Peter’s denial.
After the resurrection, Jesus restores Peter on the shores of Galilee (John 21:15-19). Three times, He asks, “Do you love me?”—not to shame Peter but to reinstate him, to remind him that even after his unfaithfulness, he is still beloved, still chosen, still called.
You see, our grief, our doubts, and even our unfaithfulness in hard times don’t disqualify us. In fact, they become the very places where God’s grace meets us most profoundly.
When loss strikes, it’s easy to let grief chip away at your esteem. You may question whether you did enough, loved enough, or even trusted God enough. But the truth is this: Your worth isn’t determined by your perfection in the face of pain. It’s found in Christ, who loved you first and holds you still.
Psalm 34:18 reminds us that God is not distant in our brokenness. He draws near. Like a shepherd tending to a wounded lamb, He binds up our hearts, reminding us that even in our unfaithfulness, He is faithful.
Father,
You are the God of all comfort, the One who knows our hearts better than we know ourselves. In this moment, I lift my grief to You—not as something to be fixed, but as a place where I long to meet You. Draw near to me in my sorrow, as Your Word promises You will.
Help me to see Your faithfulness even here. And when I falter, Lord, remind me that You are steady enough to hold me. Restore my heart, renew my faith, and remind me of the hope that is mine in Christ Jesus.
Thank You for loving me, for holding me, and for the promise that one day, You will wipe every tear from my eyes. Until that day, I trust You with my grief, my questions, and my heart.
In the name of Jesus, Amen.
Beloved, take heart. He sees you. He is with you. And He will carry you through.
For my dog and companion by my side through depression no matter what, Macchiato. You will be missed and you will always be loved.
