Every year, I limp into Lent, reclaiming again a season that feels both fraught and familiar. When suffering and death move to center stage in our worship rituals and prayers, I recognize how grief has shaped my faith and reoriented my life and ministry. The short story is this: Five years after the infant loss of one of my twins, through the grace of God and a workshop offered through a local hospice, I learned the power of writing as a practice for carrying grief. Gentle prompts led to words and meaning on the page and – despite the pinpricks of pain – a spark of hope as unexpected as the first Easter.
After more than two decades of scratching out words about grief in dollar-store notebooks, here is what I know: Putting lament and loss on the pages of my journal opens up space on the next page for hope, love, forgiveness and even joy. While good science and research validate the ways in which writing about difficult subjects can lead to healing, I’ve experienced the mystery of God’s grace in the process, as well. It’s become my primary spiritual practice. With confidence that the same can be true for you, no matter your experience with writing or with loss, here are some writing prompts for you to try this Lent. The key is to begin writing and then keep your pen moving without stopping to edit or review. Let the words flow, and trust that the Spirit is working beneath the surface to let what matters move onto the page.
An object
List some ordinary or special objects that belong to you or a loved one (a car, a hairbrush, a pair of shoes, a handmade item). Choose one and write more about it. If you have the actual object available, spend some time with it, then start by describing it on the page. Let your writing take you wherever it needs to go — perhaps to a memory, a question, or somewhere unexpected.
A photo
Choose a photo of someone you love, or someone you have lost. It might be a photo of the person alone, with you, or with a group of people. Begin writing with the words: “In this one, you are …” If you get stuck, wonder on the page about what is just outside the frame of the photo, who took the photo, or what happened just before or after the photo was taken.
A repeating line
Begin with the line, “I see now …” and write until you finish that thought in a sentence, a paragraph, or more. Then repeat the line, “I see now …” and keep writing. Repeat several more times. You can also try the repeating line: “I’m thinking about …” then at the end write “I’m not thinking about …” Try, “I remember/I don’t remember …” or “I’m wondering/I’m not wondering …”
The body
Write about a loved one’s hands, legs, or another body part. Or write about their voice, or a particular mannerism they used, or how they answered the phone.
A place
Close your eyes and imagine yourself at a table with someone important to you. Notice the details: are you inside or outside? What sort of table is it? What other objects or people are nearby? Is this a memory, or a table from your imagination? What is about to happen?
An acrostic
Down the left side of your page, write a loved one’s name, one letter per line. You might also use a place name, or a favorite word or phrase. Use each letter as the start of a word, a phrase, or a sentence. For example:
G od, you have been my
R esting place
A
C
E
A verse or a story
Use favorite verses or Bible stories that mean something to you as a starting place to write, or take the lessons from the daily or Sunday readings here: pcusa.org/daily/devotion. You might write a prayer in response, or a letter to God about the verses, or start with a verse like Psalm 30:5b: “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning” then say, “Here’s what I want you to know about that …”
A poem
Use the title or find a word, phrase, image, or idea in a poem as a place to begin. You might even talk back to the poet. Try this suggestion to start:
Made Visible
Some days I wish our pain was visible,
that our grief gave off a slight glimmer
from the center of the chest, so that as we
walked down the street, shifting a bag
of olive oil and bread from one hand
to the other, every passerby might see
a glow lifting off of us like moonlight
on the surface of broken water, and know
to soften their eyes, and whisper hello.
— By James Crews
From Turning Toward Grief: Reflections on Life, Loss and Appreciation (Broadleaf Books, 2025).
Now it’s your turn. Choose a prompt, then let your words loose on the page. Think you aren’t a writer? Poet William Stafford said, “A writer is someone who writes.” These don’t need to be words fit for publication or even for sharing. When we let go of the need to please our inner editor or a long-ago English teacher, and we keep our pens moving, meaning grows on the page.
May your own words and the grace of God carry you through Lent and any season of loss and grief.
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