Serenity

Every morning recently, I have been praying the Serenity Prayer. Not just the short version most people know or associate with sobriety groups, but the whole thing, just as Reinhold Niebuhr originally wrote it. Niebuhr, a pastor and theologian in the United Church of Christ tradition, understood that faith was not about escaping the brokenness of the world but living honestly within it.

Here’s the version I keep in my office and on my phone:

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardship as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as he did, this sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it.

Trusting that he will make all things right
If I surrender to his will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with him forever in the next.
Amen.

I pray this prayer because I need the reminder. Every single day.

The first stanza grounds me. There are limits to what I can change, and denying that truth only wears me down. And yet there are also places where courage is required—where God is nudging me to stand up, speak out, or step forward. The wisdom to discern between the two is a lifelong practice.

The middle stanza goes deeper in ways both challenging and life-giving. “Accepting hardship as the pathway to peace” is not a line I would have chosen. I don’t want hardship. I don’t want to take the world “as it is, not as I would have it.” But that line reminds me that nothing can be changed or accepted without first seeing it for what it truly is. My desires and preferences are often at the center of my world, but they aren’t at the center of the world. God is. And it is God’s heart, not mine, that ultimately holds the measure of what matters.

The final stanza places everything back in God’s hands. This is my surrender, but not one of passivity. Mine is a surrender rooted in trust. It’s about remembering that even “reasonable happiness” is grace enough for this life, and that my deepest joy is forever bound up with God’s promise that love, not despair, has the final word.

I keep coming back to this prayer because it steadies me. It keeps me from the arrogance of thinking everything depends on me, and it keeps me from the despair of thinking nothing matters. It names life for what it is: Both hard and holy, both limited and full of promise.

And maybe that’s the heart of walking faithfully and courageously through the times we find ourselves in: Not overlooking the simple or seemingly small things that hold us steady. For me, it’s this prayer. For you, it might be something else—whatever it is, though, don’t dismiss it. Let it ground you. Let it be enough to remind you that even in a chaotic world, God is here, and God is holding you–holding us. And we are promised that is enough. Nothing more and nothing less than what we need for the moment we are in—our daily bread.

So this week, look at your world—look at the prayers scattered about in it—an evening fire, a long walk with a good podcast, a sunset drive with the one you love—and let them steady you.
Let them be enough. Enough to offer the serenity required to accept the things you cannot change. Enough for the courage to meet the mome Every morning recently, I have been praying the Serenity Prayer. Not just the short version most people know or associate with sobriety groups, but the whole thing, just as Reinhold Niebuhr originally wrote it. Niebuhr, a pastor and theologian in the United Church of Christ tradition, understood that faith was not about escaping the brokenness of the world but living honestly within it.

Here’s the version I keep in my office and on my phone:

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardship as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as he did, this sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it.

Trusting that he will make all things right
If I surrender to his will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with him forever in the next.
Amen.

I pray this prayer because I need the reminder. Every single day.

The first stanza grounds me. There are limits to what I can change, and denying that truth only wears me down. And yet there are also places where courage is required—where God is nudging me to stand up, speak out, or step forward. The wisdom to discern between the two is a lifelong practice.

The middle stanza goes deeper in ways both challenging and life-giving. “Accepting hardship as the pathway to peace” is not a line I would have chosen. I don’t want hardship. I don’t want to take the world “as it is, not as I would have it.” But that line reminds me that nothing can be changed or accepted without first seeing it for what it truly is. My desires and preferences are often at the center of my world, but they aren’t at the center of the world. God is. And it is God’s heart, not mine, that ultimately holds the measure of what matters.

The final stanza places everything back in God’s hands. This is my surrender, but not one of passivity. Mine is a surrender rooted in trust. It’s about remembering that even “reasonable happiness” is grace enough for this life, and that my deepest joy is forever bound up with God’s promise that love, not despair, has the final word.

I keep coming back to this prayer because it steadies me. It keeps me from the arrogance of thinking everything depends on me, and it keeps me from the despair of thinking nothing matters. It names life for what it is: Both hard and holy, both limited and full of promise.

And maybe that’s the heart of walking faithfully and courageously through the times we find ourselves in: Not overlooking the simple or seemingly small things that hold us steady. For me, it’s this prayer. For you, it might be something else—whatever it is, though, don’t dismiss it. Let it ground you. Let it be enough to remind you that even in a chaotic world, God is here, and God is holding you–holding us. And we are promised that is enough. Nothing more and nothing less than what we need for the moment we are in—our daily bread.

So this week, look at your world—look at the prayers scattered about in it—an evening fire, a long walk with a good podcast, a sunset drive with the one you love—and let them steady you.
Let them be enough. Enough to offer the serenity required to accept the things you cannot change. Enough for the courage to meet the moment and change the things you can. And enough for the wisdom to know the difference.

On the journey with you,
Pr. Melissa 

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