A boy’s love for Franklin
He’s a cute five-year-old. Floppy brown hair. Heavy brown eyes. Black framed glasses. Smart. Busy. A little OCD. Sometimes a lot of OCD.
But yes, he’s nearly always completely adorable.
This is my son, Michael. He is the youngest of the five children I adopted on Father’s Day weekend in June 2022. (The adoption of my children’s’ full sibling should happen this June.)
Some used to say Michael and his next oldest sister, a year his senior, experienced the least trauma during their life before having lived full time with me, the kids’ then foster father.
This isn’t true. Yes, the two did experience less trauma from a history I won’t share here, but the two, like their older siblings, still carry deep scars from their pasts.
Some of Michael’s scars come at a particular time each Sunday morning. It is here, during what to him is a special part of worship, that he gets to publicly share his grief.
Our congregation sets aside time each Sunday for prayers from the people. Those gathered share joys and prayer requests. Names and situations are spoken individually from where people are seated in the pews.
During this time, Michael doesn’t name what he cannot name, which is THAT past. Instead, Michael publicly shares what he can name, which is the sudden loss of our family dog, Franklin. Franklin died unexpectedly almost 8 months ago.
I get it. You do, too. Some kids want to call out something—or anything—just because they can. It’s an attention seeking act. Sometimes they want to be heard, or they want to be silly.
This isn’t Michael.
Michael is a spiritual kid. By this, I mean he gets it. This open prayer time in worship is when the people around him speak of happy moments and troubling times. This is a safe space to speak. This is a good place to share.
Michael may never be able to verbalize his earliest losses, but all children with all kinds of losses truly benefit from prayer time. Ask any Sunday school teacher or religious leader about the prayers of the very young. These far beyond single word prayers are touching, tender, powerful and profoundly theological.
Prayer isn’t an Olympic sport. No one has to be good at it, or better at it. Simply put, prayer is an intimate time to talk to and connect with God.
Of course, prayers can be private. Sometimes they can only be private.
There are also times when prayers can spill into a community of care. These prayers, often filled with pain and grief, are not lost. They do not fall into an empty space. Instead, they are gathered. They are held. They are shared.
Ask kids like Michael. Grief must go somewhere. I pray we all find the importance of public prayer for all ages because public prayer offers great healing from the deepest hurts.
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This is a photo of Franklin on Mikey’s bed with Mikey’s stuffed animal. In 2022, Mikey named this super-sized bear Franklin after his pal and cuddle buddy pictured here.
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