God of the Living and the Dead,
You are present in our laughter
and in our tears.
You were with Abraham when he held Isaac in joy,
and You were with him
when he buried Sarah in sorrow.
He mourned for her
his partner in promise,
his companion through barrenness and belief,
his beloved.
Lord, teach me to grieve like that.
Not with despair,
but with dignity.
Not with denial,
but with hope.
You do not despise my tears.
You are near to the brokenhearted.
You watched Abraham weep
and You did not rush him.
Because grief is holy when held in Your hands.
I confess
I sometimes try to skip sorrow.
I fear it, avoid it,
treat it like weakness.
But Abraham shows me
that faith makes space for mourning.
That love is honored through lament.
And yet he rose.
From mourning to movement,
from sorrow to stewardship.
He did not demand land.
He didn’t exploit the promise.
He asked humbly,
negotiated with honor,
paid full price.
Lord, make me that patient.
That grounded.
That gracious in the waiting.
You had promised him the land
but he owned none of it.
Still, he trusted.
And when Sarah died,
he bought a burial place
not just to honor her,
but as a declaration of faith.
That tomb in Machpelah
was more than a grave
it was a seed.
The first piece of the promised land.
The first foothold of forever.
God, give me that kind of vision.
To plant hope in places of loss.
To see covenant in every cost.
To let my grief become ground
for future glory.
Help me to love well,
mourn deeply,
live humbly,
and trust boldly.
Because You are the God
who stands beside the grave
and still speaks of resurrection.
In the name of Jesus,
who wept at the tomb
and then called the dead to life
Amen.