There are days when prayer feels like the most natural thing in the world. The birds are singing, the coffee is strong, and your heart just overflows with gratitude. And then there are the other days. The ones where your prayers sound like they’re bouncing off the ceiling tiles of a drafty parish hall. Days when you sit down to pray and find yourself mentally rearranging the kitchen drawers instead.
I’ve had mornings when I open my prayer book, take one look at the Collect of the Day, and think, “Lord, you’re getting a rain cheque on this one.”
And yet, it’s precisely on those dry, distracted, spiritually uncooperative days that prayer matters most. Because prayer, at its core, isn’t about our mood, our eloquence, or even our enthusiasm. It’s about relationship. And relationships, as anyone who’s ever tried to put together an IKEA bookshelf with another human being knows, require consistency more than sentiment.
The psalmists knew this feeling well. “How long, O Lord?” is not just poetic language — it’s the ancient equivalent of “Are you even listening up there?” But still they prayed. They brought their silence, their frustration, their anger, and their boredom to God — and somehow, mysteriously, that too became holy.
Now, I must confess: I’ve spent years trying to make my prayer life as tidy as my sermon notes (and those who’ve seen my desk know that’s saying something). I’ve colour-coded detailed prayer lists. I’ve experimented with apps, and even set reminders on my phone that cheerfully say, “Time to talk to God!” — which, I suspect, makes the angels roll their eyes. But the truth is, prayer is rarely tidy. It’s a long conversation with the One who loves us enough to sit through our tangents.
There’s an old saying that “faith is not feeling but fidelity.” That’s why I keep praying when I don’t feel like it — because prayer is less about getting results and more about staying rooted. Even when I can’t find the words, the rhythm of prayer — the Our Father, the Lord have mercy, the gentle cadence of the Daily Office — carries me like a steady heartbeat when my own rhythm falters.
And here’s the funny thing. More often than not, when I finally stop trying to feel something and just show up, God does the rest. The silence softens. The ceiling tiles disappear. And somehow, grace sneaks in through the side door, carrying a mug of tea and saying, “I’ve been here all along.”
So if you’re in a season when prayer feels dry or distant, take heart. Keep showing up. Say your prayers even when you’d rather scroll the news or take a nap. Because sometimes the holiest thing we can do is simply to show up, tired and distracted though we are, and say:
“Here I am, Lord. Again.”
And God, who has been waiting all along, smiles and says,
“I know. I’m glad you came.”
Prayer: When Prayer Feels Hard
Gracious and patient God,
You know the days when prayer comes easily,
and the days when the words just won’t come at all.
When our minds wander and our hearts feel heavy,
remind us that simply showing up is enough.
Teach us that prayer is not performance,
but presence — Yours and ours together.
Help us to rest in the rhythm of faith,
trusting that even our sighs and silences are heard by You.
When we are weary, be our strength.
When we are distracted, be our centre.
And when we don’t feel like praying,
draw us gently back to You —
for You are always waiting,
listening,
loving.
Amen.