Prayer might be the one thing I want to write about less than I wanted to write about my mess last week, for some reason. 

I don’t live up to my own expectations. I would love to be able to sit down and read the bible, and then journal and then pray.  All in one sitting. but that’s just not my life right now. Standard prayer is marginal. I hardly ever pray intentionally. 

Prayer just isn’t somewhere I feel whole, but sometimes leads to wholeness. Whether or not I engage with a purpose or looks how I might expect. 

Sometimes prayer is simply an unexpressed longing for better and a “please, God” directed heavenward. Because words fail.

Sometimes it is simply thinking long enough on the painful to figure out why it hurts. 

Sometimes it’s praying my worries at the end of the day until I fall asleep. 

Sometimes playing the piano feels like a prayer, but less of a prayer and more just wordlessly tuning into my interior. And God meets me there, too. Oddly peaceful and fulfilling.

Sometimes running brings peace like a prayer might. A connected calm with who I am in the world and then the rest of the day flows more naturally. Because maybe God likes to meet us where we are. 

Sometimes it’s a wordless pain erupting from the depths of human souls colliding. The Holy Spirit interceding we weep in confusion or denial or pain, and then reach heavenward for answers hopefully. Begging a life less complicated. Messy prayer.

Sometimes it’s a longing for a close and wholly accepting warm embrace. No doubts, just perfect understanding and love in our helplessness.

Sometimes it’s writing my prayers in whatever way seems fit. Sometimes journaling turns into praying without my permission as I react to what I’m processing and feel my own inadequacy.  Because that’s God.

I suppose if we always felt adequate for our own lives we’d never stop to pray. 

If we never felt pain we’d never reach for comfort.

If we always knew anything we’d never wish for greater Wisdom. 

And maybe that’s why I feel so uncomfortable writing about prayer. I don’t measure up to my own performance standards in prayer. And. And. It’s the only place where brokeness is on free display and I cannot help my own image. It’s admitting inadequacy, vulnerability, and ignorance. God knows the depth of my failings, but also then tells me it doesn’t matter.  

But I so desparately wish to measure up, I’m left resisting this prompt to write about prayer. Because surely my version must fall short somewhere. My human measuring systems attempt to take a reading on the divine. and fail. 

But my relationship will look different from anyone else’s. We all find Him in different moments of our days and use different combinations of our own inadequate words to express our connection with the Holy One. The beauty is being called to know Him and have him know us without the barriers of perfection we so busily establish and protect.

Prayer is the only place we’re known completely. Broken and whole at the same time.

No semblance of perfection in the presence of God. 

Only our reliance on His in place of ours.

I just know my broken better than I know His Whole.

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Link up with us or read other Whole Mamas’ thoughts on prayer at Esther’s! 

And you absolutely shouldn’t miss going to Esther’s because have our very own interview with the wise Sarah Bessey. She talks about how prayer and motherhood aren’t really as at odds as we might think. 

 So. Much. Love.

Also: you should join on twitter on monday nights. Our hashtag is #wholemama. I have been so encouraged by these weekly chats. So do come! 

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