I have written my prayers in a journal since I was 12 years old. Those early prayers recounted conflicts on the playground and upcoming school exams, gifts received for Christmas and adventures with friends. Then when I became an RN and worked in the intensive care unit, my prayers changed. Many became prayers of lament, crying out to God about the pain and suffering I was witnessing in my patients. Writing these prayers while holding a pen helped me to put words to what I wanted to express to God.
Just a few weeks ago, I was on a plane returning from speaking at a conference with graduate students. I had a moment of inspiration while I thought about all the situations that are unique to those working in healthcare. I wrote out these prayers — again with my pen in my journal — recalling those intimate moments of caring for others who may be sick or injured, carrying burdens seen and unseen. Yet I had an opportunity to be with them in the midst of the joy and the pain, and remembering that Jesus was with us too.
I invite you to use these prayers as your own or adapt them to better reflect your experiences. Perhaps you would like to try writing out your prayers as well? Whether you use these prayers or write out your own, my hope is that you will process with Jesus the emotions and thoughts stirring within you.
After witnessing the suffering of a patient
Such pain, such distress —
Jesus, this patient is carrying so much suffering —
and I cannot even know the full extent of it,
yet I know that you know all they carry.
You know the pain, you know the burden.
Jesus, be with them in a way that only you can.
Show them that they are not alone,
that you see, hear, know, and suffer with them.
And show me how to be a compassionate witness and caregiver to this precious person who suffers.
Before starting a long shift of caring for others
Lord, the hours stretch before me …. who will we care for today?
I say “we” because it is both you, Jesus, and I who will care for each broken person.
You alone know each one’s inner questions, fears, regrets, shame —
and also the strength, love, and hope that got them to this day.
So guide me, dear Jesus, to love each one as you do —
to see the spark of the Imago Dei in each face and each conversation.
Remind me that this is a holy work I do —
a sacred dance with people who are so valuable and precious to you.
After making a mistake in the healthcare setting
Jesus, I am overwhelmed.
How did I make this mistake?
I know I am not perfect, but I feel the weight of others’ dependence upon me.
Yet you lovingly forgive and comfort me.
You collect my tears and enfold me in your embrace.
Give me the strength and wisdom that only you can give
to determine one step
and then another.
Feeling joy as I celebrate another’s healing
Why am I surprised, O Lord, yet again, that you,
the God of healing and restoration, brought healing to this patient?
You have restored their joy,
turned their mourning into dancing,
and filled their eyes with delight.
I praise you, Lord, because you are good.
Your mercy endures forever.
Your faithfulness continues through all generations. (Psalm 100:5)
Witnessing spiritual suffering in a patient
O Lord, you know
the shame
fear
anger that this person carries.
I see how it is impacting many areas of their life,
and I long for your healing for them.
You are faithful, Lord,
and I know you can meet them in this suffering.
Please bring your healing to the deepest parts.
Cut out what needs to go so your repair can begin.
I trust in your goodness.
You are the God who makes everything new.
After feeling good about the care I gave
Good Shepherd, thank you for inviting me
into this restorative work of healthcare with you.
Today I felt satisfied and proud of the care I gave.
Thank you for that time in the past —
every hour of studying when you sustained me
and for the mentors you brought to guide me.
It is because of the abundant gifts that came from you
that I had the privilege of caring for this person
today.
When I feel weary
Lord, I know all the reasons that
this work is good, and yet today
I feel weary.
My patience is low,
my compassion feels thin,
and I have very little to give.
Yet I know that each patient deserves
the utmost care, respect, and love
for each one is precious in your sight.
So, my Good Shepherd,
sustain your tired sheep this day, this night.
Give me what is needed for each moment, each conversation.
And give me the gift of your life-giving rest.
You are my Sustainer and Healer.
