I Can Pray

My family is no stranger to tragedy. My mother’s first husband died after only two years of marriage. He was knocked off the scaffolding while building a silo for her father. He survived for a few days in a coma, but then died. She was a widow at age twenty-five, left with their seven-month-old son, Doug.

After seven years of widowhood, she met and married my father. Together, they had four children, of whom I am the youngest. Sadly, my brother, Nathan, born less than two years before me, drowned in our farm pond at the age of two, just a few days after his birthday.

When I was seven, I remember the pastor coming to our farm to give us the news of yet another tragedy. Doug, my oldest brother, had been killed on a farm where he worked. They found him pinned underneath a tractor, unsure of the exact details of what happened. He was so badly bruised they had a closed-casket funeral.

The next year, my mother’s father died of a bleeding ulcer. Two years later, her mother died from a stroke. Death kept ringing the family doorbell. I wanted it to go away.

Every family has stories. In our family, understandably, it seemed like death was my mother’s central subject. I absorbed the tragic stories like a sponge. Nobody seemed to notice. We all had our own pain.

As if talking about death weren’t enough, we’d go and visit family graves on the holidays. Now that’s quite a holiday tradition for a little girl! In my mind, it felt like we owned half of the cemetery—a city block of graves. Each visit, while my mother stood there looking at the names of my brothers, grandparents, and other loved ones, I was looking at her tombstone. Her birthdate was listed, but the death date remained ominously blank, waiting to be filled in. Each time, I’d turn away, anxious to get out of there.

The blank space on her gravestone is now filled in: September 24, 2014.

While she lived, she clung to the power of prayer. I believe this is what carried her through the tumultuous years. On less tragedy-stricken days, we’d pray about simple things, and that’s how I learned to pray. Almost every Wednesday night it seemed, just before prayer meetings at church, the cows would get out of the barnyard. We’d pray that they’d come back home. It seemed to work. It was good prayer practice.

A few years ago, I was asked to sing for a local National Day of Prayer event. As I thought about the many songs I could sing, I was dissatisfied. It wasn’t that there weren’t any good songs to choose from, I just felt they weren’t saying what I wanted to convey. So, naturally, I set out to change that by writing my own. But as I tried to write, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any words. Even with the long list of tragedies our family experienced and the way my mother modeled prayer, I still came up with nothing.

Then another tragedy happened. But this time, it wasn’t my family that suffered. News came of a tragic vehicle accident involving a young boy I knew. Drawing from the empathetic sadness rising up inside me, I pondered how the mother and sister of this young boy would be feeling in the days, months, and years to come. Their journey would be anything but easy.

I Can Pray

by Frances Drost

Her little baby died today

They couldn’t bring him back they say

And she never had a chance to say goodbye

She cries

They said it was an accident

But now she blames herself for it

And there’s nothing I can say

That can take away her pain

And set her free

But I can pray

I can reach heaven for her heart

I can pray

To Someone who knows more than I

And understands the painful part of living

Even when I don’t

I can pray

His little heart is torn in two

They say his mom and dad are through

And they’ve tried to make it clear

It’s not his fault

No matter what they try to say

He’s still feeling like he’s to blame

So I take his tiny hand

Try to help him understand

But it’s no use

But I can pray

I can reach heaven for his heart

I can pray

To Someone who knows more than I

And understands the painful part of living

My earthly words take hold with power from on high

And make a difference in this life, somehow

I can pray

I can reach heaven for his heart

I can pray

To Someone who knows more than I

And understands the painful part of living

Even when I don't

I can pray

Copyright © 2022 by Frances Drost.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This story was taken from the book, Inside Things. The book and CD are available for purchase here.

 

What Do You Say When Someone is Grieving?

She had no idea that the moment I pulled into the parking lot to attend the picnic, I wiped the tears away so no one would notice. How would I explain that the death of a little boy, over 50 years ago, still makes me cry?

Our conversation was too timely to be a coincidence!

"I knew your brother, Nathan", she said.

I know it can be hard to figure out what to say, but those are some of the most comforting words you can say to someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one—even if it's decades later!

On my way to that picnic I had been listening to the song I had recorded years ago—Beside the Barn—surrounding the tragic death of my brother, Nathan. I was practicing the song for an upcoming video shoot we are planning sometime this year.

(When you're preparing to do a music video, you have to learn the song exactly the way you sang it the day you recorded it so that in the music video, your lip syncing appears to be as if you're really singing it live. You ARE singing it live, but it's not being recorded in a way that people will hear it so it has to match your original version. The only way to do that is to listen to it and practice with it. Even your breathing should be in sync with the recording.)

As I drove to the picnic, each time the song played, the tears would accompany my shaky voice. I could barely even get through the song. It was an interesting prelude to my conversation with the new-found friend at the picnic. (The hostess of the picnic introduced us and thought we'd enjoy connecting because she knew my Mother.) She shared that when she was a young woman, she and her mother were watching children in the nursery at a conference and my Mother brought Nathan to the nursery to be cared for while she attended the missionary conference.

Apparently, while all the other children ran around the room with much animation, Nathan just sat in his little chair and watched. He hadn't been walking yet but not long after that event, my Mother shared that Nathan began to walk. As she shared her memories of him with me, I drank in every word. I asked her all kinds of questions about Nathan. Curious....what was he like that day in the nursery?

She is the one who brought up Nathan—not me—which made it all the more mysterious.

If you've ever lost a loved one, you understand this. Hearing about your loved one from someone else is a fragrance that lingers long after you walk away from the conversation and you absorb every word.

Words like this are a verbal bouquet and the fragrance has an enduring quality. If you know someone who is grieving, perhaps a simple mention of their loved one is a nice place to start in offering comfort.

P.S.

If you're like me and you're curious about "behind the scenes stuff", take a look at the music video, "Inside Things" that I did years ago. You can't see this, but while I sang this song (using the lip syncing method that I described above), I had a whole crew of people helping me: my performance coach reminding me to smile, or look "this" way and "that" way, the videographer running around me with his big camera, plus, my producer and the makeup/hair artist making sure all was well.

In the end, I was shocked that I was able to pull it off. I had to perform as if it was the day I first wrote the song and yet sing it as if no one was there. Like acting as if nothing is going on in the midst of a tornado.....

It was a really fun experience and I look forward to doing it again for the upcoming video shoot of "Beside the Barn". However, this will be a much more challenging song to do because of the nature of the story itself and going back to the home farm where it took place could be quite emotional.

What's your greatest battle? Inside or outside stuff?

Sometimes I think

if I could hide myself away

from the world and all I see

I'd be a better person

if I could live somewhere

far away from here

ignore the things I hear

I could live this life perfectly

But it's not the outside things

 that keep me from you

it's my heart 

all the inside things

it's not the outside things

 that keep me from your love

it's my doubt

 all the inside things

I know a place

I could lay the blame 

for the pain I feel inside

though I know I shouldn't do it

and I'd like to say

 it's all another's fault

that I'm not living free

but it's not them 

it's all in me

It's not the outside things 

that keep me from you

it's my heart

all the inside things

it's not the outside things 

that keep me from your love

it's my doubt

all the inside things

The outside only mirrors what's inside of me

a true reflection of the grace I truly need

Words & Music by Frances Drost

"I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us." Romans 8:39 The Message

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 30 A mascot appears!

Take a look at my newly acquired blog mascot.  It's the first one.

"It even opens ups for inside things", said the reader who gave it to me.  (thank you Janet.)

I LOVE it!  How appropriate that 'inside things' has been my theme for years since the production of the CD called "Inside Things".

Now, I'm moving forward to new things!

I'm celebrating with my new elephants.  I won't eat these.  They are so cute.