A Liturgy for Last Things: Approaching goodbyes to people, places, and things — hand in hand with the Father

Breathe Deeply,
remember the very breath of life which God breathed into his creation flows in you now.
As long as you breathe it, you do so for God’s good please.

Opening

Father,

You are the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 22:13).
You stand at beginnings, and You do not step away at endings.

As I come to the close of a chapter,
with bags half packed,
with words half formed,
and with memories pressing in on me,
I do not come alone.

Hold tight to me, may I feel you in the turning of the page.

Naming What Is Ending

This is the last time I will sit here.
The last time I will hear this sound.
The last time I will see this face in this familiar light.

You, who number my days (Psalm 139:16),
knew this moment would come.

Nothing here was accidental.
Not the joy.
Not the growth.
Not even the pain.

Father, help me to honour what has been
without trying to hold it past its season.

Gratitude Without Clinging

Thank You for what these people have given me, these sacred people.
For laughter.
For shaping.
For wounds that made me softer.
For conversations that widened my world.

Thank You for this place, this sacred place.
For walls that sheltered me.
For roads that carried me.
For ordinary days that, somehow, became holy.

Every good and perfect gift is from You (James 1:17).
None of it was truly mine to keep.
It was entrusted.
And now it is released.

Teach my hands to open.

Permission to Grieve

Father, You are not threatened by my tears.

Even Jesus wept (John 11:35).
Even Your Son stood at gravesides and felt the ache of parting.

So I will not put on false strength.
I will not spiritualise this into something neat.

This hurts.

Some goodbyes are clean.
Some are complicated.
Some are heavy with things unsaid.

Hold all of it, Lord, as only you can.

Trust in Your Fatherhood

You are not only Lord of where I have been.
You are Father of where I am going.

Abraham went out not knowing where he was going (Hebrews 11:8),
but he did not walk alone.

I do not know the texture of what comes next.
The faces.
The work.
The welcome.

But I know Your voice.
And I know Your hand.

You do not lead Your children into absence.
You lead us into deeper dependence.

Releasing What I Cannot Carry

I release the version of myself that dwells here.
I release expectations that were tied to this soil.
I release regrets that I replay when the room grows quiet.

If there are apologies I must make, give me courage, fill the gaps in my conscience.
If there is forgiveness I must extend, soften me, overflow my love.
If there is unfinished business that must remain unfinished, grant me peace to move on.

You are the One who makes all things new (Revelation 21:5).
Not me.

Blessing What Remains Behind

Father, bless the people who will walk in the places I leave behind.
Bless the friendships that will continue without my presence.
Bless the hands that will work where mine once did.

May what I planted, in your name, bear fruit in ways I will never see.
May what I damaged, in my foolishness or ignorance, be restored by gentler hands.
May what I learned here not be wasted, may I take the lessons of this place forward for your glory.

Nothing given to You is ever lost.

Stepping Forward

Now, as I shoulder these bags
and live the last few lines of this chapter,
I choose trust.
Help me to trust you as we turn this page together.

Not because I feel steady,
but because You are.

Not because I see clearly,
but because You do.

Take hold of my hand, Father.

As I close this door,
walk with me into the next room.
Open the doors,
show me to our seats,
and sit with me in that new sacred space.

Amen.