If there was ever a time for prayer, I believe it is during a global pandemic while working in higher education. College students live in close quarters, have communal bathrooms, like to sit close to one another in the dining hall and live like the occupancy sign for a building or living space is a mere suggestion. This past semester there was not a day that I did not wake up and utter the phrase, “Oh, dear Lord…”
And while it seemed more like a plea during March and April, as the summer and fall progressed, it was a deep sense of need and desire coming from within my bones, “Dear Lord…” As we navigated how to close, how to open, how to provide care and the college experience to our students, every day started the same, with a moment of prayer and centering myself for what the day would look like.
Most days I prayed for my colleagues who work in student life, those who throughout a campus closure and transition to online life for the spring still provided programming and life for our students. I also prayed for those on our board who make the difficult decisions on how to close and how to open. I prayed for our faculty as they navigated news ways of teaching, trying to bring energy to this stressful time. I prayed for our students who lost out on their college experiences. I prayed for the frontline workers in town who were transforming a floor of the local hospital to be a COVID-19 unit. I prayed for the grocery store clerks and those who supplied us with much needed resources. It was as if every breath I had was a simple prayer for these people. It seemed like all I could do was pray.
As the pandemic raged, I continued in prayer, this time for our students and their families to stay safe. For the students who had now become the primary caregivers of their siblings. For those who lost their jobs. For those who had themselves been exposed to the virus. For those who lost loved ones to the virus. These prayers were some of the hardest prayers, for they were for the ones I love and serve. These prayers usually ended with me in tears, asking for God’s care and support that only God can provide. These were gut-wrenching pleas for care, for protection, for a light in the dark days my students were experiencing.
As we entered the holiday season, I was reminded of all that we lost as a community — of all the gatherings, celebrations, fun and life we should have shared this year. But I was also reminded that while we were not able to gather, there were still life milestones to celebrate, still energy that this time of year brings and still a desire to gather to share the ending of 2020 and all it entailed. We were still able to sit together, to mourn the loss and to celebrate the coming semester and new year. It was a balm for our community’s soul. It was a great reminder that while things are not at all what we would expect or would have liked this past semester and academic year, there was still hope for our future.
At the start of a new year and a new term, I see the joy the students have and the hope they have for our community, and my prayers turn from desperate pleading to joy and thanksgiving for all that we still have.
I notice that in the last few days my prayers have turned to gratitude and thanksgiving. The “dear Lord…” prayer is one of joy — of the deep gratitude of my students who find joy and life during a pandemic, of gratitude for the ways we are able to connect when we can’t be physically together and for all the advancements taking place in our medical field in addressing this virus.
As we enter a new year together, my prayers for health and safety remain the same, asking for care for all of those we serve and their families. That we can continue to find ways of safely teaching, counseling and communing with one another. I also find myself still in a time of pleading with God for the vaccine to be distributed so we can begin to get ahold of this out-of-control pandemic. I also find myself asking God for signs of the kindness and goodness still in the world — for ways in which neighbor loves neighbor, masks being worn, signs of hope in the darkness, life breathed back into our frontline workers who are true heroes.
While my daily routine always involved a time of morning prayer – a time for “Oh, dear Lord…” – there was nothing that could prepare me for all that I faced and that my community faced this year. I had no clue just how much I would need that refrain this year, when I prayed it daily in January 2020. As we start 2021, this phrase is still there. And while we still have a long way to go in handling and processing the pandemic, one thing remains the same: I will pray. I will utter the words, “Oh, dear Lord” in the morning — knowing that through my prayers and pleas, God will provide for the needs and care of God’s people.
