Learning to Pray When Words Won’t Come

August 31, 2025

The other night I sat on the couch, phone in one hand, mind completely blank. I knew I should pray—I even wanted to—but nothing came. No words, no clever phrases, not even the old fallback lines I usually lean on. Just… silence. And you know what? I think God was fine with that.

Prayer Isn’t Always Pretty

We act like prayer has to be polished, like some polished speech we rehearse in front of a mirror. But sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s just a sigh when you’re too tired to think straight. I’ve had days where my “prayer” was literally, “Lord, I don’t know what to say.” That was it. And oddly enough, those moments stick with me more than the long ones.

A Story That Changed How I Saw It

A few years back, a close friend got terrible medical news. I sat in the hospital waiting room trying to pray. Nothing came out except tears. I felt useless, like I’d failed him by not storming heaven with eloquent words. Later he told me he felt an unusual calm during that same window of time. It hit me hard—apparently my silence wasn’t wasted. God heard me anyway. That realization still changes how I pray (or don’t pray) today.

What’s Really Happening in the Silence

Here’s something I’ve learned: silence doesn’t mean God isn’t working. Sometimes it’s just my own exhaustion catching up. Other times it feels like space is being cleared. But honestly, I don’t always feel spiritual in the quiet. I feel awkward. Fidgety. I check the clock too much. And yet, more often than not, I leave those awkward silences lighter than when I started.

Think about Hannah in 1 Samuel. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. People thought she was drunk. But God understood her heart better than she did. That’s a comfort, especially for people like me who stumble over words.

Some Things That Help (When Nothing Helps)

I won’t pretend there’s a formula here, but these are things I do:

Breathe in and out slowly, whispering “Jesus” if I can manage it.
Read a verse and just sit with it. Not study it. Just let it hang there.
Walk outside and talk to God in fragments. Even grumbling counts.
Keep a journal nearby. Sometimes doodles or one random word is all I get.

Half the time these don’t feel profound. But looking back, those tiny attempts stitch together into a rhythm.

A Personal Confession

This might sound odd, but as someone who writes and teaches about faith, I almost feel guilty admitting how often I run out of words. You’d think prayer would come easier to me by now. It doesn’t. But maybe that’s the point. It keeps me dependent. It keeps me real.

A Question for You

What do you do when your words run out? Do you force them, or do you let the silence sit? Could it be that God’s less interested in how much you say and more interested in whether you show up?

Final Thought

If tomorrow you wake up and can’t form a prayer, don’t panic. Just sit. Breathe. Maybe whisper, “Lord, I’m here.” That’s enough. God has this beautiful way of translating even silence into something sacred.