Imagine opening a notebook and writing today’s date at the top of a fresh page. You begin a prayer: “God, I miss them.” Then you glance at yesterday’s page. The same words are there. Perhaps you hesitate. Surely you ought to have something different to say by now. Something that sounds a little further along.
The date has changed, and the ache has not.
If that feels familiar, you can bring that same grief to God again today. You do not have to wait until you can tell him that something feels better.
In Psalm 88, verse thirteen, we read: “O Lord, I cry out to you. I will keep on pleading day by day.”
Notice those last words. Day by day. The writer has been here before. Earlier in the psalm, he has already described crying out each day. Now he comes again, still troubled, still asking why God seems to have turned away.
Those words are his own plea, not a demand that you find the strength to pray every day. If today is the first time you have managed a few words in a while, there is room for those words too, exactly as they come.
The psalmist’s suffering has lasted a long time. He feels overwhelmed and alone. And when we reach the final verse, we hear this: “Darkness is my closest friend.”
The prayer ends there. We are not told that he feels any better.
Yet his words have been kept in Scripture. There is room in this psalm for someone who brings God the same sorrow they brought yesterday and cannot say that anything feels better today.
That may be the permission you need today. Perhaps you have prayed about this loss so often that you feel you are repeating yourself. You know what you would say before you begin. The same name. The same longing. The same question that still has no answer.
You can say it again.
You are speaking about someone whose absence still matters. Your love for them has not become less real because you mentioned it yesterday. Neither has the sorrow you bring before God.
Think of that notebook again. There is no requirement for each entry to sound more hopeful than the last. Today’s page can hold today’s truth, even when it looks much like yesterday’s.
This psalm does not ask us to measure how far we have travelled through sorrow before we speak. It lets us hear a person praying from the place where the pain remains. We can draw close to that prayer without pretending our own grief has softened.
So, in one quiet moment at home today, tell God one true thing about the grief you still carry. Just one thing, even if you have told him before.
Perhaps your words are simply, “God, I still miss them.” Perhaps there is a question you need to ask again. Let that be enough for this moment. You can finish speaking while the question remains open.
There is no need to search for a reassuring sentence afterwards. You have brought him what is real today. You can leave your prayer there, without needing to feel different before you return to the rest of your day.
Question for you: Have you ever held back a prayer because you felt you had already said it too often? Share only what you feel comfortable sharing in the comments.
Let us pray.
Father, here is the grief we have brought you before. We still miss them. We still have questions. Help us speak without feeling we must have made progress first. Thank you for this psalm, where daily pleading and deep darkness remain together. Receive the words we have today, however familiar they are. We bring you our sorrow again. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Join me tomorrow as we explore what God’s care might mean when grief leaves your body tired.