Sometimes Grief Prays Out Loud

I’ve been a little absent these past few days. We were watching a two-year-old grandson, and anyone who has spent time with a two-year-old knows they require your full and constant attention. It was four sweet, exhausting days. We learned it really takes two grandparents to equal enough manpower to get the job done. In our efforts to set an example, this little guy became quite accustomed to folding his arms before eating, carefully mimicking Grandpa’s words, and finishing with a very enthusiastic “amen.” Nighttime prayers quickly became expected too — possibly a very effective delay tactic — but expected nonetheless. Even at two years old, he knew prayer was what we do.

That experience stayed with me as I read  Helaman chapter 7.

Nephi’s prayer on the “garden tower” generated some questions. Why would anyone go to a garden tower to pray out loud? My own vocal prayers, when private, are just that: private and whispered. Prayer feels sacred and secluded to me.

But looking closer, Nephi is praying in his own garden tower — a private place that just happens to sit along the roadway of a busy city. He has returned from a devastating experience trying to help people recognize their own wickedness to the point they repent. He is heavy with sorrow. He looks back on the history of his people and mourns that he could not have lived in earlier, more righteous times. I get it!

It is easy for me to look backward and imagine another generation had it better. I sometimes think longingly of the pioneers — no cell phones, no televisions, no constant noise from the world. Their greatest challenge seemed simply staying alive. Well… perhaps I don’t really want all of it. Some parts sound like adventure until I remember the losses, hardships, and endurance required — far more than my current self would likely manage well.

Maybe this is simply human nature.

Did Nephi really believe earlier generations had it easy? Hardly. His own family history proves otherwise. A note I wrote to myself in a previous study: Don’t lament another people’s time. We all have trials.

Back to Nephi.

Nephi’s prayer is filled with grief. As a parent, I recognize that kind of prayer. Parents often pray alone — pouring out worries they would never voice publicly. Yet sometimes children quietly witness those sacred moments. And those glimpses teach more than formal lessons ever could.

Nephi’s prayer seems to work the same way:

·       unintended witness

·       authentic devotion

·       teaching through sincerity rather than presentation

The people were not meant to hear a sermon. They overheard a soul.

There is a gentle irony in this chapter. The very people who would not even consider listening to a prophet, stopped walking because they overheard a prayer.

Sometimes hearts open not when someone talks to us, but when we see how they talk to God.

I have vivid memories of hearing my dad pray in the mornings before breakfast. His prayers were long — surely heartfelt. I remember hearing him express gratitude for “the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ upon the earth.” How I wish now that I had paid closer attention, that I had listened more carefully to what mattered so deeply to him. Hindsight has a way of sharpening appreciation.

In a way, I was doing exactly what Nephi was doing — looking backward and wishing I had understood more in another time.

Nephi lamented the past. I sometimes do the same. But perhaps the lesson is this: every generation is given its own moment to believe, to struggle, and to pray.

And sometimes, when sorrow is deep enough or love strong enough, prayer refuses to stay silent.

Sometimes grief prays out loud.