When It's Hard to Pray

I’ve been finding it difficult to pray lately. My heart too heavy to lift my eyes heavenwards. My mind too exhausted to search for the right words to identify and express my emotions, desires and needs.  The praises and declarations of thankfulness falling flat, if they arose at all.

I often become inattentive when I pray. My mind wanders to the load of laundry that needs to be transferred to the dryer. My eyes glance at the clock to check on the time. My body falls asleep. And although it may be time for the day to end, it still seems impolite to drift off mid conversation.

I have found a way to reduce the distractions that interfere with keeping my attention focussed solely on God as we converse … I walk. The fresh air clears my mind and opens my heart. The physical movement makes my body less restless. I prepare for our chat, just as I do for a phone call to a family member or friend.  I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to listen.

When my evening walk is omitted for more than a day or two, my spirit becomes unsettled. I miss that intimate time with my Heavenly Father. With my best friend that welcomes my excited outbursts of overflowing joy and gratitude, as well as the ugly sobs of my deep sorrow and pain, and everything in between. Sometimes the words and tears spill quickly and freely. Other times we walk in stillness and silence, but together and in tune. Just enjoying each other’s company.

I’ve been missing that lately. Circumstances have kept me at home more than usual. But even when I do venture out, I find my feet shuffling along the pavement exercising my body but not my soul connection with God. My heart is numb. Weary. Maybe even resistant to communication.

Why resistant? Because sometimes it hurts to keep praying. Sometimes it feels hopelessly futile. And sometimes the possible answers scare me. And, well, sometimes it is overwhelmingly all of the above and my instinct is to withdraw and protect my heart from the danger of further injury. Perhaps if I tightly clench my fragile brokenness in my own hands, it will remain safely in my control. Even if the shards continue to slice my bleeding palms.

Romans 12:12 instructs us to “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

That is challenging. Difficult. Next to impossible to do on my own strength. Bringing my requests, needs and desires to God requires vulnerability. Exposure. An invitation to shine a spotlight into the concealed crevices of my heart. And when I bring that offering of me to God, and I don’t receive the immediate answer that I want, when I want it, I am disappointed. As I repeatedly pray for the same thing, my discouragement and frustration grow. I don’t see any evidence of answers or change, therefore, nothing must be happening.

It is easy for me to be deceived into believing this silence is a rejection. A waste of my time and energy. It is my fault. I’m doing something wrong, or at least not right. For some reason, I don’t deserve it. Even though the Bible teaches us to be patient and to persevere in bringing our requests to God, I give up in defeat. But maybe that is human nature too. It has been ingrained in me from a young age that “no means no”. Wait and ask again later was not a viable option and was sure to bring rebuke, anger, disapproval, displeasure, a withdrawal of love from the parent, teacher, authority figure I was pestering. It seems that I transfer these negative human responses onto God rather than trusting in His goodness.

And then there are the times when I am wary and afraid to pray because I already sense that the answer to my prayer will require change and action from me. That is not generally the solution I desire. I prefer the positive outcome without doing the hard work.

There are two very different ways that God draws me closer to Himself during my times of silence and prayer resistance.

With the first, a gentle stirring of my heart brings me an awareness of the Holy Spirit’s presence alongside and within me. I feel the soft nudges guiding me to pray for a specific person or situation. As peaceful and lovely as that sounds, I confess that more than occasionally I willfully dismiss those whispers. I have been known to tell God “No,” “Not now” and “I don’t want to pray for that.” But … even though I attempt to suppress God’s prayer requests and turn my attention elsewhere, those seeds He planted keep growing until I surrender my will to Him in supplication. Amazingly, when I am finally obedient to praying God’s will and not my own, peace flows through my entire body and hope expands beyond my limited understanding of God’s ways.

There are other times when God needs louder, stronger ways to get my attention. When my heart has hardened and the only thing that will rescue me from isolation is His cheers of encouragement to take a soaring leap of faith into His outstretched arms. I hear His shouts, “Be bold,” “Be brave,” “You will be okay” “Say it! Pray it!” And then I ask God to help me pray the words that I have been withholding and desperately clutching to myself. And that is enough. My prayer of courage and trust is a beginning.

My prayer walks can be invigorating, restorative, convicting, or stretching, but always they strengthen my faith and intimate relationship with God. Thankfully, it is the intentional step of putting on my shoes, taking hold of God’s hand and walking out the door that is just as meaningful as the first words I finally articulate. I have chosen to be with Him, and He with me. That is the beginning of my unspoken prayer.

Cindy