Can't Sleep? Try Praying.

So many of us struggle with restless nights. Several years ago I posted a “Prayer When I Can’t Sleep,” which I’m sharing again today, along with a reflection about praying in “the night watches.” These dark and quiet hours are particularly vulnerable times. They can open us to surrender, self-offering—even praise—if we can transform them from empty moments of worry and frustration into vigils of prayer and connection.

From the October issue of Give Us This Day, shared here with permission.

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Holy One, Maker of the Stars,
In the beginning there was only darkness,
And your wind swept across the face of the deep.
Tonight I see this darkness. I hear its silence.
I feel its emptiness. It surrounds me.
In my home all is still except my mind.

Sweep across me, Holy One, whole and entire,
Across every undone thing in me, every unresolved thought,
Every restless rustling of my soul, every ache and pain of my tired body.
Speak with your creative breath into my night,
Speak the light of your presence into every crack and crevice,
So I may have peace and sleep, and wake to the gentle hope of morning.


Praying Through the Night

When the psalmist couldn’t sleep, he prayed.

He prayed in his bed, he prayed on his couch, he prayed in the sanctuary and under the stars. He cried aloud, he wept, he stretched out his hands, groaned, pondered, meditated, and exhorted. He blessed God. He felt God’s hand upon him. He remembered God’s name and proclaimed God’s faithfulness. And according to the psalms, he did all of this “by night,” in “the watches of the night,” or even “all night.” (See, for example, Psalms 6, 63, and 77.)

Most of us have struggled at one time or another with falling or staying asleep. Lying awake at night can feel frus­trating, wasteful, and lonely. But the middle of the night has traditionally been a fruitful, even intentional, time for prayer. In some religious communities, rising in “the watches of the night” to pray is customary.

The nighttime hours are dark and quiet, with fewer distractions than our full and busy days. If we live with others, they are likely asleep. We are not needed. We won’t be inter­rupted. There is nothing we need to accomplish. In the stillness and silence, we can turn our full attention inward, to our hearts, and raise our hands outward, to our God.

The dark of night can feel oppressive, but we can learn to experience it biblically—as the “original darkness” before creation, from which light sprang forth and life overflowed, out of which the relationship between God and human beings emerged. Darkness may feel like a void, but it is the void that gives way to all that lives.

The darkness of our sleepless nights teems with potential. Our wakefulness can become a vigil, our restlessness an invitation, our silence a summons to the Maker of the Stars to speak in us with the same creative breath that swept across the original darkness. In keeping this vigil, our own darkness may be filled with light—the light of Christ that cannot be extinguished.

And so it is that in the watches of the night, we may come to share another experience of the psalmist—faith that in the presence of God who neither slumbers nor sleeps, darkness is not dark at all, for the night shines like the day (Ps 121:4; 139:12).

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Amy Ekeh, from the October 2024 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.

Prayer vigils. Photo by Tim Vineyard.

A Prayer for Lent

An old friend posted this prayer on social media, and I quickly grabbed a screenshot. It is beautiful! I thought it was a wonderful prayer to share with you as we begin our Lenten journey:

A healthy life we ask of you, the fire of love in us renew,
and when the dawn new light will bring, your praise and glory we shall sing.

—6th century Compline hymn,
Te lucis ante terminum

Let’s pray for one another these 40 days and 40 nights!

Blessings,
Amy

Photo by Tim Vineyard. St. Patrick Catholic Church, Dallas, Texas.

A Prayer for Lent

Let’s pray for one another and for our world as we journey together this Lent. May the days ahead be rich with peace, prayer, and the giving of ourselves.

Loving God,
we offer you these sacred days.
May they be days of peace and prayer,
days of change,
days saturated in your presence.
May they be days to listen and understand,
to encounter and serve,
to heal and be healed.
May they be sacred days.
Amen.

Open Hands

You open your hand and satisfy
the desire of every living thing.
—Psalm 145:16

To describe or even think about God, we rely on our own words and experiences. This means we are limited of course, and yet, what beautiful images we have! And what depth of experiences to draw upon.

The simple image from the psalm verse above—the image of God with open hands, providing for everything that lives and breathes, giving boundlessly to everything that desires—is such an image. I have experienced these outstretched hands. So have you. We’ve seen and touched them. We’ve received the gifts flowing from them, the generosity of God’s open hands.

And we’ve held our own hands open, in imitation of the God we love. We’ve outstretched them to our children, our students, our parishioners, and our coworkers, to friends, family, strangers, and spouses. We’ve kept them open longer than we ever thought we could. We’ve learned from covenants and crosses and stories of prodigal children to give more than was expected, to extend our hands deep into whatever inner stores we’ve kept and share whatever good we can find there. We’ve given till it hurts, and still we’ve kept our hands open.

This is the image I choose this Thanksgiving and Christmas, as these times stretch us and the challenges of the season await us. This is the image I choose—of a God with open hands, endlessly open, boundlessly open. Of me, remembering the times I’ve opened my hands and imitated the God I love. This is the image I choose—to stretch myself, to keep my hands open when I’m tired or disappointed, when what was supposed to be perfect isn’t, when there doesn’t seem to be enough. This is the image I choose—to keep my hands open, to imitate the God I love.

A Short Litany of Open Hands

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to imitate your love.

When there are needs to be met, open my hands.
When there is emptiness to fill, open my hands.
When there is work to be done, open my hands.

When I don’t think I can, open my hands.
When I’m willing but weak, open my hands.
When I’ve given my all, open my hands.

For the love of creation, open my hands.
For the joy of salvation, open my hands.
Without hesitation, open my hands.

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to join in your love.
Amen.

A drawing of open hands by Siobhan Ekeh.

A Prayer when Putting on a Mask

The ideas within this prayer are simple. Even if you don’t remember the prayer, you may remember the gist of it and say something similar as you put your mask on to go out into the world. Praying for all of you during this time!

A Prayer when Putting on a Mask

Loving God,
   I wear this mask to protect others.
   I offer you any discomfort it may bring me.
   I pray for those who are ill today.
   While my face is covered,
   may my eyes look upon the world with your love. 
Amen.

Masks with Eli.

Masks with Eli.