Learning to Pray Again

I’ve been praying my whole life - at least, as long as I can remember.

I recall simple childhood prayers such as “now I lay me down to sleep” and “God bless Mommy and Daddy.”

I remember praying to ask Jesus into my heart at age 8. I can see myself in my minds eye, sitting with my Pawpaw on the green couch in their living room, while Mawmaw cooked Sunday lunch in the kitchen, one room over. I don’t remember what I said, but I know I felt safe and heard.

I can remember praying in journals as a teen and praying through poetry I wrote as a young adult. I loved the intimacy of putting my words to paper and hiding them away.

I remember reading and praying through the Psalms as a newly widowed mom. They were the only thing that gave words to my grief and sorrow and fear at a time when I felt at a loss for words.

And I remember praying with the boys in those early nights too. We had never prayed nightly as a family before loss. But every night since, we have gathered and taken turns praying together before sleep.

After a whole lifetime of prayers, sometimes I think I have it all together - that I know what I am doing. But I have so much to learn still. There are times when my heart feels too heavy or burdened to pray, and I feel shame and guilt over my absence from prayer.

I am getting reacquainted with my favorite book from long ago, after my sister, Mary, gave me a devotion book based on it. I generally reread it once a year, but somehow I missed last year. My 8th grade English teacher, Mrs Linda Matthews, assigned it to my class, and I fell hopelessly and fervently in love with the story of an imaginative, red haired orphan from Prince Edward Island.

One of my favorite scenes from the book is a hilarious encounter where Marilla is teaching Anne to pray. Marilla is scandalized that Anne doesn’t say her nightly prayers and is even more shaken when Anne confesses that someone told her that God made Anne’s hair red on purpose and she had never cared for him much since. When Marilla insists that Anne begin praying, Anne asks Marilla,

“Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I would do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I’d look up into the sky - up-up-up into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer.” (L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables)

This “naive” statement from Anne has held more and more wisdom to me lately. Listen: I’m a words- girl. I’ve always prayed in words, and I especially love to pray in beautiful words. But I confess that when I can’t find words for what I am experiencing, my prayers become less frequent - arguably at the times I need them the most. This word-girl is at a loss for words, struggling to wrap my brain around feelings and situations that doesn’t make sense. So how do I re-enter prayer in these moments?

I’ve always loved Romans 8:26 where Paul says, “The Holy Spirit prays for us with groans that cannot be expressed in words.” NLT

I often imagined that Spirit was turning my words into clear and bold prayers before the throne of God. And I do think this may be true, but I also think Spirit might be sitting beside me, joining me in my loss for words, holding silence with me. Maybe there are moments that words are inadequate, and maybe it is ok that I don’t try to force words around them.

And so I am learning to sit with God in silence. I am learning to pray through stillness and meditation. I am learning to “feel a prayer” and be okay with no words. It is hard sometimes to let go of the ways I think prayer is “supposed” to look. It is hard to let go of the way I want to be eloquent in my prayers. But here I am, finding a new prayer room and learning to pray again.