It’s been a month.

It’s seriously been quite the month. We’ve lost four of our almost-full-sized chickens, one hen, one turkey, and Little Boy.

And I’m so tired. Of loss. Of futile feelings. Of powerlessness against outside forces.

And I miss my kittens, who weren’t really kittens, but who won’t get to grow up to be stately old cats.

And the Daisy-turkey won’t make me chuckle any more with her silly antics.

I am hopeful that we will get a couple more kittens.

We will likely eventually get more chicks.

But for now, the chickens are no longer free ranging.

And I will be grieving the loss of my Little Boy. And I am missing my Mitten Kitten all over again.

And so I offer you — and me — this lament, this Liturgy for the Loss of a Living Thing from Every Moment Holy by Douglas Kaine McKelvey.

King of Creation,

Here was your good creature.

Here was your good creature, O Lord,

pondered and called to life

by your own compassionate design.

Here was your good creature,

and here were the spaces and the days we

shared, enjoying the glad company

and cheerful fellowship of a fellow creature.

We made room in our lives,

room in our home, room in our hearts,

to welcome your unique creation.

And we gave your good creature the name Little Boy.

We were filled with a right and fond affection

for another living thing your hands had made,

delighting daily in its presence.

Now this season of our shared lives

is ended by death.

Our hearts are unprepared for such loss,

and we are deeply grieved.

Even so, Heavenly Father,

we are so grateful for the life that was,

for the gift of a living thing so easily loved.

We are thankful for the many blessings

of knowing this creature,

and for the lingering imprint of such a cherished presence in our lives.

We are grateful for these good memories of sweeter times.

We are grateful, O God,

for the happiness that was,

even as we mourn the sorrow that is,

even as we sit in the sadness

of now empty spaces

in heart and home,

empty spaces that echo our loss.

Now we say our goodbyes.

O Lord, how long till all is made right?

How long till your wild grace restores all loss

and upends every leaving?

How long till these hurts are healed

and these griefs eternally sealed and set aside

by the finally completed work

of your redeeming love?

We know if no sparrow falls

beyond the ken of your compassion,

that you also, in this moment,

inhabit our sadness at this wounding,

your weeping at the world’s brokenness

somehow deeper than our own.

Be near us, O God.

Be near each of us who must reckon

with the sorrow of death

and the sting of separation,

for what we feel in this loss

is nothing less

than the groan of all creation.

Our finite minds cannot trace

the deeper mysteries of your eternal mendings,

but this we know with certainty:

You are merciful and loving,

gentle and compassionate,

caring tenderly for all that you have made.

We know that the final working of your redemption

will be far-reaching,

encompassing all things in heaven and on earth,

so that no good thing will be lost forever,

so that even our sorrow at the loss

of this beloved creature will somehow,

someday, be met and filled,

and, in joy, made forever complete.

Comfort us in this meantime, O Lord,

for the ache of these days is real.

Amen.

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I hope you are not in the same place I am, grieving. It is a very hard place to be.

If you are, I pray for peace and comfort for you.

You are not alone in your grief.

I am not alone in my grief.

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Here’s the first movement from John Rutter’s Requiem. The first requiem I sang with a very big choir. (No, this is not that choir.)