Learning to Love Prayer (Instead of Just Adding it to Our To-Do Lists)

Everyday when his turn comes up, my four-year-old says the same exact prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you for this day,
Thank you that people are home,
Thank you that people are always home,
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

The original sentiments were sweet and intentional (at least as intentional as you can be when you’re four), but it quickly morphed into a rote recitation. It’s got the same rhythm, cadence, and intonation every time, and you can tell the primary thought in his brain is ‘Lets get this done so we can get to dinner.’

But after years of prodding my kids to “add one more thing,” searching for ways to help them pray effectively, and encouraging them to “think of something else you’re grateful for,” it wasn’t until just a few weeks ago that I realized:

I praying the exact same way.

Pray Thoughtlessly, or Pray Effectively?

My prayers were different every time, sure, but they were variations on a theme:

I’m thankful for my family, my husband, our home, this day.
Please bless someone who is sick or in need (a different name, but the same request).
Please help me to be a better mother, better wife.
Please help us to be able to find a way to pay for what we need.
Please help us to know the things you would have us do.

Again, this isn’t a bad prayer. But it isn’t a soul-baring prayer either.

I can bare my soul to my friends, my mom, my husband–but why is it so hard to soul-bare to the One who created my soul?

My prayers needed to be courageously specific.

In the wake of a nationally felt tragedy, Emily P. Freeman wrote a post that moved me to my core. In it she wrote about how desperately dangerous it feels to be specific:

I have realized this week, even in the last 24 hours: I am afraid to be specific.

Specificity feels vulnerable and intimate. Asking for something particular is more risky than asking for something in general. Longing and desire are lovely when spoken of in an over-all, wide-ranging way. But start to name those longings one by one and things get terrifying quickly…

It’s too much to ask for, too detailed to hope for, too much to lose.”

It is vulnerable to be specific, isn’t it?

If I don’t ask for something, I can’t feel the sting of a “no” if it comes.

But if I can’t be specific, can’t be vulnerable, how can I ever expect to find meaning and connection in prayer?

It helps to remember who we’re speaking to.

There is so much in this world that makes us feel less.

Makes us feel out of place.

Makes us feel other.

But one place I have always felt safe is in my family. I hope I’m building that for my children, too.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is credited with this beautiful quote that changed my perspective on the limits of that feeling of family:

…of all the titles of respect and honor and admiration that are given to Deity, He has asked us to address Him as Father.”

Yes, when I kneel at my bedside to pray, I am talking to the Creator of all things. The Omnipotent and the Almighty.

But I am also talking to my father.

Someone who loved me from the beginning. Someone who cares deeply, is invested to His core, in helping me to do and become the very best version of myself. Someone who wants to hear my thoughts and my fears. And someone who will take the time to hear every single one.

Who could I trust more with my specific, vulnerable prayers?

How I pray now.

I don’t always pray in depth. There are still many prayers that are brief and to the point–a quick check-in over meals or as we sit in the car before leaving for school–but more and more now I find myself able to retreat from the world for a few minutes to slow down and pray differently.

Think of it this way:

Can you imagine if you made space in your day for a deep conversation with your best friend, who you knew was struggling deeply, and she sat down and one-sidedly spouted off:

“Hi. I need more money. I need more time. I hope things get better. Thanks for the cookie recipe you emailed. Talk to you later.”

Disappointing, right?

Partly because I’m sure you wanted to connect with her, but also because you wanted to help her, and you didn’t get the opportunity.

Everything was too broad, to quick, and she signed off before you got your say.

But that was my normal prayer.

I was the friend, spouting off my general list, saying thanks for a few things, and then saying goodbye without regard to what Heavenly Father might want to relate to me.

How I pray now, when I can, is like this:

I get really specific.

I kneel down, and I pour. my. heart. out.

First I talk about all the things I am worried about.

Specific things.

Things like:

Am I spending enough time with my 6-year-old?
How can I help my small business grow?
What can I do to feel less afraid of being pregnant again someday?
Am I in the right volunteer position at church?
How can I encourage my family to clean up the things they always leave out?

These things might sound trivial to you. But they are things that occupy my mind, use up my energy, discourage or frighten me. And they are not trivial to God.

I admit, I thought they might be too trivial to pray about.

But as I’ve prayed about these specific–and sometimes very small things–and asked for help with them, I’ve been shocked to see answers coming, readily and at the perfect times.

Second, I look for really specific points of gratitude.

I try to call them up in my memory, and be grateful for them.

I’m thankful for the security and sweetness of falling asleep beside my husband.
I’m thankful for the genuine love in my son’s eyes when he runs over to give me a hug.
I’m thankful for a huge bag full of books borrowed from the library.
I’m thankful for the way my children gravitate toward me when I’m folding laundry on the floor.
I’m thankful for the way my toddler’s hair curls at the nape of her neck.

These are the things that make up my heart, and they are the things I love to remember and communicate and say thank you for.

I’m learning to love prayer.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit that prayer has, at times, felt like a chore.

It’s been drilled into me since I was young (and for great reasons) that we pray over meals, we pray at bedtime. And sometimes I am so hungry or so tired that I fall into the pattern of feeling rushed or guilted into prayer.

But this new way I’m praying?

I love it.

I’ve always said prayers throughout the day, asking for help in the moment or saying thank you for a tiny miracle.

But I love making time to treat prayer as a confidence. I love feeling heard, and looked after–even if the answer isn’t necessarily what I might have chosen for myself.

I love, most of all, remembering, and feeling deeply, that even when I feel alone:

I am not alone.

And neither, sweet mama, are you.

xo,
Jamie

first image & pin images via Jeremy Film, Johannes Plenio, & D. Jameson

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