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Let my prayer be set before You as incense,
The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice. Psalm 141:2 NKJV
A boy, head down, muscles taut, legs spotted with bruises, pulling a red wagon through the yard. Alone. Throwing a ball high in the air, huge eyes fixed on the rising red blur as it reaches its apex. Alone. Gouging clumps of dark earth from Grandma’s garden box, flinging the soil over his shoulder. Alone.
Unreachable.
Remote.
As a mom, that’s how I feel sometimes about my autistic son, Luke. How do I connect to a boy who prefers solitary play (except when Grandpa’s home)? How do I have a relationship with a six-year-old who can’t have a simple conversation?
Prayer can feel like this, too. Awkward, distant, too formal, like writing a letter to the company president.
And it can lead to more questions and confusion:
- Does God prefer formal prayers like letters to a foreign dignitary?
- How about lighthearted “email” prayers?
- Why does He want us to pray?
- Why should I keep praying when I don’t get an answer to this one thing I want so much?
- Why should I pray when I can’t feel His presence?
- What should I pray about?
How do we have a relationship with God when we are confused about how to talk to Him?
For a moment, let’s put aside what we think prayer should be, and look at what the Bible teaches us about talking to God. These are a few things I wish I knew about prayer years ago:
1. God wants to hear from us because we are His children.
Yes, He desires to connect with us. He’s not saying, “Hmmph, her again…alright, let’s hear it.”
No, He encourages us to pray as welcome daughters.
Old Testament figures addressed God as “Lord” or “God of my fathers,” or “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” “Lord” showcases God’s divine authority and power. Powerful but less personal at first glance (although the psalms of David prove how intimate God is).
We see a radical swing in intimacy when Jesus arrives. This Man – God’s visible face – introduces us to a personal God. We call Him “Father.” We call Him “Abba,” meaning daddy, the most tender patronym for a father.
Don’t we love hearing our kids hearts? Knowing that they chose to pull back the curtain and reveal their thoughts to us?
When Luke talks, I listen. My mind soaks up his meager words as my thirsty mama’s heart yearns for deeper dialogue with my child. On the other hand, Elias, my preschooler, could talk a stranger out of the deed to his house. My boys are as different as moon and comet, but their words – many or few – light up my heart.
If we as moms take so much simple pleasure in chatting with our kids, why are we surprised that God wants to talk to us? We are His daughters. God gave us those feelings for our children so we could taste the goodness of His love.
King David put it like this:
Let my prayer be set before You as incense,
The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice. Psalm 141:2 NKJV
Our prayers are like the sweet aroma, a gift offered to God in holiness.
Our prayers are treasures to our Father.
2. God rewards us for praying.
“But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly. Matthew 6:6 NKJV
Why would God reward us for praying? Wouldn’t answered prayers be enough?
When a person prays in secret, not putting on airs, not making great speeches, but simply trusting that God hears and answers – isn’t that faith?
Why do so many of us do the opposite – avoid praying, become discouraged, even bitter? Because somewhere deep inside we doubt. We doubt He will answer our prayers. We doubt He cares about one person among billions of needy souls. Or we’re sinning and we don’t want to be told no or to feel guilty.
God rewards faith, and prayer expresses faith. When our children ask us for food, they are showing faith in our willingness to provide for them. When we ask our Father to provide for us, we are offering a morsel of faith in our folded hands.
But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. Hebrews 11:6 NKJV
Let us bring our ragged faith, our spotty hearts, our fears and praises and joys and lay them before God.
3. Prayer unlocks power.
A man kneels. He pushes open the window to welcome the afternoon sun. This window faces toward home. Jerusalem. Heat rushes in and warms his face, and through his closed eyes he sees the amber glow of the bright city. Daniel prays.
While he was still praying, God’s answer arrived on the lips of a heavenly messenger.
“O Daniel, I have now come forth to give you skill to understand. At the beginning of your supplications the command went out, and I have come to tell you, for you are greatly beloved.” Daniel 9:22-23 (most of it). NKJV
I could write countless lessons from this tidbit of scripture, but I’ll save them for another time. Here’s the thing: God answered Daniel after Daniel asked. Praying unleashes power.
Why? Maybe God wants to get credit for His gifts to us. To build trust and faith in the souls of His fickle children. To compel us to use this powerful conduit to our Father.
Jesus cut through the confusion and said it plainly. “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” Matthew 7:7-8 NKJV
Ask. Be bold. The unfathomable strength that swept stars into the heavens and set uncountable planets in the void isn’t tapped out. It’s waiting for us to knock, seek, and ask.
4. A thousand little moments.
I get stuck in a rut.
I get bogged down in the idea that prayer can only be a long, laborious, cleverly worded speech to God. The more boring, the better. And make sure to use Church Girl words so He understands. Daniel prayed three times a day. So now I need a schedule, too. Should I block it in on my calendar?
Is this a relationship or a job?
It’s hard to see the difference. And the more we see prayer as a duty rather than daddy time, the easier it is to shirk, delay, avoid, or excuse ourselves from prayer.
Plenty of times the Holy Spirit has met me on my knees. Despair or delight has sent me into serious communion with my Father. We’ve all had moments like that.
But most of my prayers are easy and familiar: “Lord, please keep that motorcyclist safe and save his soul, too.”
“Nice clouds, God.”
“What should I write about on my blog? I want to write Your words.”
“Was that the right thing to say to Luke?”
“I’m sorry.”
Not every prayer with God will be epic like we’ve prayed in our wretched moments, just like not every conversation with a loved is a deep, heart-to-heart discussion. Most of the time, we talk with loved ones while running errands or chatting after dinner or passing each other in the hallway. God, too, enjoys the fellowship of everyday moments.
It’s natural to fall on our knees when we are desperate for help or overcome with gratitude. But if we only pray in the valley or on the mountain top, we are missing out on the sweet, commonplace episodes in between.
If we think about it, we spend far more time living in the little moments. Between the wonderful or weary events of life, we experience a million ordinary occasions.
Meet God in momentous prayers when you need Him all-in, right here, right now. But don’t forget to say “good morning” to God, or thank Him for a glimpse of trees ablaze in autumn leaves, or ask Him to protect a child on the bus to school.
Real relationships thrive on small moments.
All of those moments add up to a relationship.
This is a life of prayer.
On an unseasonably warm winter night, I sat in a rocking chair on the back deck. Luke, who shrinks away from hugs and ducks kisses, climbed onto my lap. Rarely one to sit still for long, it didn’t surprise me when he hopped down. But he quickly reappeared with his favorite blanket and settled onto my lap. Wrapped in the blanket, we gazed at the icy stars. Bats flew silently across the dark trees. Luke spoke few words, but his small presence spoke volumes. Despite his limited capacity to relate to people, Luke chose to spend these moments with me. A treasure for a mother’s heart.
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