Tag: prayer life

Sacred Echo: Listening to Heaven’s Heartbeat

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

I went to bed last night asking God to show me more of His heart. I know I say I want to know Him more, but how often do I really press in for His sake, not just for what He can do for me?

This morning, while journaling, I wrote:


“God, I want to know You—not just know about You. I want to understand what breaks Your heart and what makes You smile.”

It hit me hard: I say I love Him, but how often do I actually seek to understand Him, not just myself through Him?

Most people walk around so desperate to be seen, known, and loved. I get it. I’ve been there. I still have those days. But then I remember—this ache to be known is actually something we inherited from God Himself.

Genesis 1:27 reminds me, “So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.”

If I bear His image, then it makes sense that the ache in me to be known is actually a glimpse into how God longs to be known.
I’m created with that desire because He has it first.

Sometimes I look around at Christians and ponder… how are we so satisfied with just Sunday morning services, small groups, and bumper-sticker theology?

We memorize verses like Isaiah 55:9—“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts”—and then use that as an excuse to not even try to know God’s heart.

But that’s lazy. And let’s be honest, it’s prideful. Because we want a god that fits in a sermon series or a devotional plan. But the real God? He’s infinite. And if we don’t dig deeper, we’ll stay infants in our faith, knowing about Him but never knowing Him.

I’ve been praying over Jeremiah 29:13 lately.
“You will seek Me and find Me, when you seek Me with all your heart.”

It doesn’t say, “when you scroll Christian TikTok for an hour” or “when you listen to worship music passively.” It says, “with all your heart.”

ALL. Not a part. Not when it’s convenient.
That one verse alone has been wrecking me.

So today I turned off my phone. Sat with my Bible. Prayed in honesty. Not performance. Not pretty words. Just raw. Just real. Just me.

I told God, “I want to know Your heart. I want to know what makes You weep and what makes You rejoice. I want to love what You love and hate what You hate—even when it costs me popularity, even when it separates me from shallow Christianity.”

And He met me. Not in thunder or lightning. Just in quiet. In peace.

I read about Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb—not because He was powerless, but because He feels deeply. He didn’t rush past the pain. He sat in it. That’s the heart of God.

I read about the woman at the well. About Peter’s restoration. About God’s justice in the prophets. About His mercy in the Psalms.

And slowly, I started to feel like I wasn’t just reading about God—I was sitting with Him. Like a friend. Like someone worth knowing deeply.

If we want to know God’s heart, we have to move past religion and step into relationship.

Yes, God is holy. Yes, His thoughts are higher. But He’s also Emmanuel. God with us. He stepped down to make Himself knowable. Jesus came not just to save us, but to show us what the Father is like.

John 14:9—“Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father.”

So if I want to know the heart of God, I need to look at Jesus. His compassion. His fire. His correction. His mercy. His truth.

And if I’m not willing to carry all of that—not just the feel-good parts—then do I really want to know Him? Or do I just want a version of Him that fits my comfort?

Tonight, I’m ending with a prayer:

Father, reveal Your heart to me. Not the filtered version. Not the Instagram caption version. I want the real You. The One who weeps over sin, who rejoices in truth, who loves with fire in His eyes and scars in His hands. Teach me to walk with You, not ahead or behind, but right beside You. I don’t just want Your blessings. I want Your heart. I want to be a woman who makes Heaven smile. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Wrestling with Doubt as a Christian

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

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The weight of the world feels almost unbearable some days. Everything seems flipped. Right is called wrong. Wrong is celebrated. Sin is dressed up in sequins and paraded in the streets, while righteousness is mocked and silenced. I used to think we’d have more time before it got this loud—this twisted—but here we are. And I know You’re not surprised.

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness…” — Isaiah 5:20.


Your Word warned us, Lord. And now we are living in the middle of that woe.

Sometimes I just want to scream. Not because I hate people—I don’t. I ache for them. For the blind leading the blind. For the influencers raising a generation on relativism and emotion, not truth. For the silence of the church where there should be a shout. For my own weariness in holding the line.

I feel the tension in my soul every single day. To go along or to speak up. To be silent or to be that “annoying Christian girl” who just has to bring Jesus into everything. But how can I not? He is everything to me. He pulled me from darkness. He healed parts of me no one saw. He made me new. If I deny Him, I deny myself.

But today was hard.

I watched another celebrity mock believers. “Y’all still believe in that sky fairy?” she laughed. Thousands of likes. Thousands of cheers. I cried. Not because I’m weak, but because I know what it’s like to live without hope—and I know what it’s like to meet Jesus. And I want that for them, even if they spit in my face. Even if they call me brainwashed. Because Christ said they’d do all of that.

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” — John 15:18

Jesus, You knew this would happen. You promised this walk wouldn’t be easy, but You also promised You’d walk with me. I guess that’s what I’m clinging to right now: that I’m not alone, even when it feels like I’m walking upstream in a river of compromise.

It’s hard to hold on when it feels like faith itself is on trial.

Every time I open social media, the battle is louder. The culture says be “politically correct,” while You’ve called us to be morally correct. There’s a war raging, not just around us, but inside of us. The culture war is just a symptom of the deeper spiritual war, and I can feel it tearing at hearts. Mine included.

But Lord, I believe. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel You the way I used to. Even when my prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling.

I still believe.

I still believe You are the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).
I still believe the Bible is Your living, breathing Word (Hebrews 4:12).
I still believe You died and rose again, defeating death and hell (Revelation 1:18).
I still believe the cross is not foolishness, but the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).
I still believe You are coming back, and soon.

So help me, Jesus.

Help me keep my eyes on You, not the headlines.
Help me keep my ears tuned to Your voice, not the noise of the crowd.
Help me to stand, even if I’m the last one standing.
Help me to speak when You say “speak,” and be silent when You say “wait.”
Help me to love, even when I’m hated.
And help me to never confuse compassion with compromise.

The world follows Carl Sagan’s voice—”The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be.” But I hear Your whisper through the ages: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” — Genesis 1:1.

Sagan saw a godless void. Calvin saw a stage for Your glory. I choose to see what Calvin saw—what You showed us. Creation is Your theater, and we’re living in the final act. I’ve read the end of the script. I know who wins. You do. So I will not be afraid.

But Lord, give me wisdom. There’s so much deception. And it’s subtle. The devil isn’t dumb. He disguises lies as “love.” He paints sin with glitter and slogans like “your truth” and “just be you.” But Your truth is the only truth that saves. And it breaks my heart that so many will miss it because it doesn’t feel good or sound trendy.

Jesus, revive Your Church. Shake us. Wake us up. We were not called to blend in. We were never meant to be lukewarm or “cool.” We are salt and light—meant to sting and shine. Forgive us for choosing comfort over conviction.

I want to be bold, God. But not rude. I want to be loving, but not compromising. I want to reflect You, even when people reject me. Because this world is not my home. I’m not living for likes. I’m living for “Well done.”

So tonight, I lay my weariness before You. I pour out the ache, the confusion, the heartbreak, the loneliness. I give it all to You. And I pick up peace. I pick up faith. I pick up the cross.

Because You’re worth it.

Every tear.
Every rejection.
Every label.
Every loss.

Jesus, You’re worth it.

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Is “Forgiveness” The Hardest Gift For Christians?

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Over the past few months, forgiveness has been on my heart in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like the Holy Spirit is gently pressing on that sore place I thought I had numbed with time. But maybe God doesn’t want time to heal this one. Maybe He wants truth and grace and surrender to do the healing.

Forgiveness—what a strange, holy word. It’s supposed to be freeing, right? But why does it feel like a prison sometimes? Why does giving forgiveness feel harder than asking for it?

I read 1 John 1:9 again today: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

That verse always humbles me. It reminds me that I’m no better than anyone I’m struggling to forgive. I’ve sinned too. I’ve broken promises, spoken in anger, judged others, been selfish. And yet, every single time I come back to Him—even when I crawl back all broken and ashamed—God forgives me. Not just partially. He forgives completely. He doesn’t say, “I forgive you but I won’t forget.” He says, “I will remember their sins no more” (Hebrews 8:12).

So if God, the only perfect One, can forgive me… who am I to withhold forgiveness from someone else?

But, oh, Lord… it’s still so hard.

I’ve always thought that justice felt fair, and it does in a worldly sense. It’s like my flesh wants people to pay for the hurt they’ve caused. But then, what about mercy? Mercy is not getting what we do deserve. And then there’s grace, which absolutely undoes me—grace is getting what we don’t deserve. And that’s what God gives every day.

I heard something this past Sunday that keeps ringing in my ears: “Grace is scandalous. It offends the part of us that wants everyone to earn their way. But Jesus paid so we don’t have to.” I want to live that way. I want to give people that kind of grace. But in moments when the wound is still raw, forgiveness doesn’t feel like a gift—it feels like a death. Like I’m laying down my right to be angry. And sometimes, I don’t want to let that go.

I was reading Matthew 6:14-15 today: “For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

Oof. That one always hits me in the gut.

We love to receive forgiveness, but giving it? That’s where the rubber meets the road. And yet, the Bible is so clear: it’s not optional. Forgiveness isn’t about saying what someone did was okay. It’s about letting God handle the justice part and freeing ourselves from bitterness. Because unforgiveness is a cage, and the longer we sit in it, the more it poisons us.

Lord, help me with this. I’m tired of holding on to things that You’ve told me to release.

Jesus, You forgave the very people who nailed You to the cross. You said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). If You could do that while bleeding, rejected, and mocked, how can I say that someone is unworthy of my forgiveness? Help me to forgive like You—fully, freely, even when it costs me something.

I think that’s the hardest part: forgiveness costs something. It costs pride. It costs comfort. It costs the illusion of control. And in return, we get peace—but not always instantly. Sometimes it’s a slow release. A decision we make over and over until our heart catches up.

Sometimes I wish God would make it easier. But maybe it’s not meant to be easy. Maybe forgiveness is supposed to stretch us until we look more like Jesus. Maybe it’s the sacred ground where healing begins.

Today, I remembered a time in college when someone I trusted deeply betrayed me. I thought I had let it go. I said the words. I prayed the prayers. But something in my heart still flinches when I think of them. I still want them to “get what’s coming.” But that’s not the way of the Kingdom, is it?

Romans 12:19 says: “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

God is just. He sees. He knows. And He doesn’t need my help delivering justice.

Maybe that’s why forgiveness is so difficult. Because it requires trust. Trusting that God is who He says He is. That He won’t let evil go unanswered. That He truly works all things for good (Romans 8:28)—even betrayal, even heartbreak.

Father, I confess that sometimes I want to be judge, jury, and executioner. I want people to know how deeply they hurt me. But I surrender that desire to You. I lay down my right to be angry. I choose to forgive, not because they deserve it, but because You forgave me when I didn’t deserve it either.

I think about Peter asking Jesus how many times we have to forgive. “Up to seven times?” he asked. And Jesus replied, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:21-22). Not because people should keep hurting us—but because we’re called to live with hearts that are open and clean.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean there aren’t boundaries. It doesn’t mean we have to allow toxic people to stay in our lives unchecked. But it does mean we let go of the right to hate, to resent, to get even.

And that’s hard. Because bitterness can feel like power, can’t it? But in the end, it only weakens us. It robs us of joy. It distorts how we see God and people.

I want to be a woman who walks in freedom, not chained to old pain.

I want to be someone who can say, “Yes, it hurt—but God healed me, and I’ve released them into His hands.”

Lord, help me live that way.

You know what’s interesting? The more I meditate on what it cost You to forgive me, the easier it becomes to forgive others. I see the nails. I see the crown of thorns. I see the blood. I see the open arms. I see the empty grave.

And suddenly, that petty grudge doesn’t feel so worth holding onto.

I’m reminded of Ephesians 4:32: “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

That’s the standard. Not “forgive when it feels right.” Not “forgive if they apologize.” But forgive as Christ forgave us—freely, sacrificially, completely.

That’s the Gospel.

I’m so grateful that God doesn’t love me with conditions. That His mercy is new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). That He doesn’t define me by my worst moment.

So why should I define someone else by theirs?

Jesus, help me remember that You didn’t just die for my sins, but for the sins of those who’ve hurt me too. You love them just as much. And maybe, just maybe, my forgiveness could be the beginning of their healing too.

If I really believe in the power of the cross, then I have to live like it means something. I can’t be half-grace, half-grudge.

Forgiveness is messy. But so was Calvary.

And if God can bring resurrection out of that, He can certainly bring healing to my heart too.

Lord, give me the strength to forgive again. And again. And again. Until it no longer hurts. Until I no longer flinch. Until Your peace becomes my default. May I never forget what You’ve done for me, and may I reflect that same mercy to the world around me.

Forgiveness may be the hardest gift to give, but it’s also the most Christlike thing I’ll ever do.

I want to be more like Him.

Cling to the Cross: How to Keep Yourself in God’s Love

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

For a while now, at least since Spring I’d honestly say, my heart has been heavy, but not with sorrow—more like reverence. A deep, weighty awareness of how fragile my love can be compared to Yours (God’s). I’ve been sitting with Jude 21 all week:

“Keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.” – Jude 21 (NIV)

That verse doesn’t let me off the hook. It commands me. It tells me that remaining in Your love isn’t automatic—it’s intentional. And that convicts me.

Because, God… how many times have I allowed distractions, fears, or even just apathy to distance me from You? How many times have I let my emotions steer me away from Your presence instead of clinging to the cross like it’s my lifeline—which it is?

I sat in my car earlier after running errands, and I just started crying. Not out of sadness, really, but out of this mix of longing and guilt. I want to stay in Your love, but some days I don’t even know what that really looks like. And yet—Your voice, gentle and steady, reminded me: Cling to the cross.

Not just in the hard moments. Not just on Sundays. But every single day.

When I woke up this morning, I prayed out of routine. But by the time I got to mid-afternoon, I had already snapped at someone, scrolled mindlessly through my phone, and barely acknowledged You in the middle of my thoughts. And then tonight, You bring me back again—to Your Word, to Your presence, to Your mercy. You always bring me back.

“Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.” – John 15:4 (NIV)

You are the Vine. The source of love, strength, and truth. I’m just a branch. I dry out so quickly when I’m not connected to You. I think that’s why Jude tells us to keep ourselves in Your love. Because the world pulls hard. Our flesh pulls even harder. And the only way to stay in Your love is to choose it daily—to choose You daily.

Jesus, I don’t want to just visit Your love when life falls apart. I want to live there. Dwell there. Make it the home my heart always returns to. I want to cling to the cross—not out of desperation, but out of love and dependence.

I thought about what clinging to the cross really means, and I think it starts with remembering. Remembering what You did for me. Not just in a distant, “Sunday-school” way, but really reflecting on it. You gave everything. You suffered shame, pain, rejection—all for me. You didn’t hold back. How could I?

Lord, help me not to treat Your sacrifice like a safety net I only fall into. Help me treat it like the center of my life—the reason I do what I do, the lens I see everything through. When I’m tempted to wander, bring me back to Calvary. When I doubt, show me Your hands. When I feel unworthy, let me hear Your voice again: It is finished.

I guess what I’m realizing is that clinging to the cross looks a lot like choosing You in the smallest moments. Like…

  • Opening my Bible instead of opening a complaining text.
  • Choosing prayer over worry.
  • Forgiving when I want to sulk.
  • Turning off the noise and just sitting in silence with You.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.” – Hebrews 10:23 (ESV)

You are so faithful, Lord. Even when I’m not. Even when I wander. Even when I forget. And that faithfulness pulls me back into Your love every single time. It’s not a love I earned—it’s a love You gave. Freely.

Tonight, I wrote this simple prayer in my journal and I want to pray it out loud now:

Father God,

Thank You for the cross. Thank You that Your love was poured out in blood, not just in words. Remind me daily that Your love is not distant—it’s present. It’s active. It’s sacrificial.

Lord, help me to keep myself in that love. Teach me how to cling tightly when the world distracts and the enemy lies. Strengthen my heart to obey, to abide, and to remember that no matter what’s happening around me, Your love is constant.

When I feel cold or distant, draw me near again. Let my soul be tethered to Your cross—never wandering too far, never forgetting the cost of grace.

In Jesus’ holy name,
Amen.

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You know, I used to think “keeping myself in God’s love” meant being perfect. Like, if I read my Bible enough, prayed long enough, behaved good enough—then I’d stay in it. But now I know: Your love isn’t something I have to perform for. But keeping myself in it? That’s about protecting the space You’ve made for me. It’s about fighting to remain in the awareness of Your grace—fighting to stay in the shelter of it when my emotions say otherwise.

I’m reminded of Psalm 91:

“He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” – Psalm 91:4 (NIV)

Your love is my refuge. My safe place. My covering. And I don’t want to step out from under that. I want to stay close—no matter how grown-up or independent I feel. Because truthfully? I’m nothing without You. I don’t want to be anything without You.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and whisper again, “Cling to the cross.” When my thoughts scatter, when my heart grows tired, when the enemy tries to accuse—I’ll choose the cross. I’ll choose the love that never gives up on me. The love that bleeds and redeems and resurrects.

I don’t always know what lies ahead, Lord. But I know what holds me now: Your love. And I’m keeping myself in it by clinging tightly to You.

When God Whispers: Finding Faith in the Silence

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

Today has been quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brings peace, necessarily — more like the kind of quiet that feels like You’re hiding. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve felt distant from You lately, like I’m calling out into a canyon and all I hear is my own voice echoing back. It scares me.

I keep thinking of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. After the fire, after the earthquake, after the wind… there You were — not in the chaos, but in the still small voice. A whisper.

“And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.”
— 1 Kings 19:12 (ESV)

I wonder if I’m just too distracted to hear Your whisper.

This morning, I sat with my coffee and tried to read the Word like I usually do. But I’ll be honest — I didn’t get far. My mind kept wandering to everything I feel like I’m missing: direction, clarity, certainty. I want to know what You want from me — with my career, with my singleness, with this sense of waiting I can’t shake.

I know faith isn’t about feelings. I know that. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. But I miss feeling You near.

So I prayed:
“God, if You’re here — please, help me to hear You. Even in the silence. Especially in the silence.”

And right then, I felt a strange peace settle over me. Not loud. Not even warm, really. But steady. Like a whisper I couldn’t quite catch, but I knew was meant for me.

Maybe that’s what faith looks like sometimes — trusting that You’re present even when You don’t speak loud.

I remembered Psalm 46:10:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Being still is harder than it sounds. My brain constantly wants answers. Movement. Resolution. But You invite me into stillness. Not just quiet around me, but quiet in me. A heart that isn’t frantic for answers but anchored in You.

Faith, I think, is most real when it has to lean on who You are, not what I can hear or feel.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

I guess I’ve been measuring closeness with You by how “seen” or “heard” I feel. But maybe this is one of those seasons where You’re inviting me deeper — past the emotional highs, into the quiet trust.

Like a relationship that matures. Less fireworks, more foundation.

There’s something beautiful and hard about that.

I walked down to the lake near my apartment this evening. The water was still — not a breeze. Just birdsong and the hum of life going on. I sat on a bench and asked You again: “Are You here?” I didn’t hear a voice. No signs. But my eyes caught this tiny ripple on the surface of the lake — like something beneath moved, unseen, but there.

I don’t know why, but I thought: That’s You. Moving beneath the surface of my life. Quietly. Faithfully. Even when I can’t see it. Even when I forget to notice.

It reminded me of Isaiah 30:15:

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

That’s the kind of strength I want. Not the kind that performs or pretends to have it all figured out. But the quiet strength of a heart that trusts You are good — especially when I don’t have the map.

Jesus, I believe You are enough for me in the silence. I don’t need a booming voice or a perfect plan. I just need You. And You’ve promised You’ll never leave.

“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
— Matthew 28:20 (ESV)

Tonight, I’ll go to bed still not knowing exactly what’s next. Still single. Still unsure about grad school. Still a little worn down. But I will lay my head down in peace — not because the silence is gone, but because You are in it.

You whisper, and that’s enough.

Let me learn to lean in. To trust even when You seem far. To believe that You’re close even when it feels quiet.

A Prayer Before I Sleep:

God,
Thank You for meeting me in the silence.
Even when I can’t feel You, You’re faithful.
Teach me to listen for Your whispers —
Not just in the quiet around me,
But in the stillness of my soul.
Grow my faith in the unseen.
Help me to rest in Your presence —
Not because I have all the answers,
But because I know You hold them.
I love You, even when I don’t understand.
I trust You, even when You whisper.
And I’m Yours, always.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Ten Ways to Encourage Your Teen’s Prayer Life

Posted on by thechristiantechnerd

My parent’s used a few of the ten methods below to help encouraged me to pray and to become a better Christian overall when I was a teenager…I’m not a parent yet, but if you’re a parent that’s reading this, and are having a difficult time getting your teen to pray, then I suggest these 10 methods of encouragement below because they really do work…

  1. Be an Example

We aren’t going to be much help to teens if we’re leading with a “do what I say, not what I do” perspective. We need to encourage teen’s prayer life by modeling our own. Let your kids of all ages see you pray. Let them know when you’re having your quiet time with the Lord.

Initiate prayer in front of them—and not just around the dinner table (though that’s a great start!) Start small but start somewhere!

  1. Talk about Prayer Organically

Normalize prayer. Don’t let it become an awkward, taboo subject in your family. Talk about it! Ask your kids if they’ve prayed today. Talk about the reasons maybe why they didn’t. Never shame or punish if they forgot or didn’t make the effort—but discuss it and see what is holding them back so you know how to help.

But if you don’t talk about prayer with your kids, it’s going to be rare that it’s in their minds frequently enough to do it on their own.

  1. Point out That Prayer Isn’t Always Formal

Sometimes, teenagers hold back from something new because they don’t want to get it wrong or embarrass themselves. So make sure your teenagers know that prayer doesn’t have to be formal or stilted.

They’re not going to “mess it up”. They don’t have to be on their knees or in a certain room or pray at a certain time of day. There’s nothing legalistic about talking to the Lord! Tell them they can prayer anytime, right where they are—whether that’s in the school hallway, in the car, on the ball field, or even in the shower.

While it’s important to come to the Lord with respect and reverence, it’s of the utmost importance just to simply come. Hebrews 4:16 (ESV) Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

  1. Buy Them Books/Find Podcasts on Prayer

If your teen enjoys reading, there are so many quality books on prayer that you could purchase for them as a guide. Ask your church friends or online community for recommendations, and get your teen set up with some nonfiction books to help develop this area of their life.

Sometimes, reading about someone else’s experiences can help pave the way to make our own. If your teen needs an icebreaker, reading a book on prayer could really make a difference in their life. If your teen isn’t a reader, but loves listening to audiobooks or podcasts, research some quality Christian podcasts that tackle the topic of prayer, and invite them to listen.

  1. Read the Lord’s Prayer Together

Jesus gave us an example of how to pray in Scripture. It would be incredibly beneficial to discuss that model prayer together as a family and dissect it. The Lord’s Prayer isn’t meant to be the way we pray as a rote citation, but rather, a template to follow where we can plug in our own thoughts, thanksgivings, and petitions.

Matthew 6:9-14 (ESV) Pray then like this: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you…

  1. Discuss the “Why” behind Why We Pray

One of the best reminders I can give myself about why it’s important to pray is the simple fact that Jesus did. Maybe your teenager isn’t going through anything difficult at the moment and doesn’t understand why he/she should pray when they’re not asking for anything.

Take the chance to point out that even Christ, in all His sinless perfection, made specific effort to get away and pray to His Heavenly Father. If Christ needed to do so, how much more do we as sinful humans?

  1. Give Them a Prayer Journal

I don’t know many teen girls who wouldn’t jump at the chance to own a new journal! There’s something so comforting and aesthetic about a fresh journal and a new pen.

Purchasing your teen—boy or girl!—a prayer journal and their favorite box of colored pens or markers might be one way to get them interested in writing their prayers. This can be especially helpful if your teen struggles to focus mentally and tends to drift off into distraction when they pray. Writing requires a different type of mental effort and could be a solution.

Also, it’s cool for teens to be able to look back when they’re adults and have a tangible reminder of how they grew in their faith over the years.

  1. Challenge Them to Pray for Something Specific and Watch for Results

There’s nothing more motivating to pray than watching an answered prayer come to pass. While we know that God’s ways are higher than ours, and that not all our prayers will be answered with a “yes”, it’s so encouraging when they are.

To pique your teen’s interest in this partnership with the Lord, encourage them to pray for something specific and then watch for the results. Maybe it’s for healing, or for a friend to come to salvation. Maybe it’s to make a good grade on a big test coming up. Whatever is important to them in their life right now, challenge them to pray for it and then look for the Lord at work.

This could also be a great opportunity to point out how God answers prayers in different ways—sometimes with “no” or “wait.”

  1. Explain the Benefits of Prayer

Your teen is probably more naturally bent toward prayer when they need something. Maybe they’re hoping a certain boy or girl asks them to the dance at school, or they’re struggling with math, or maybe are going through a health issue they need relief from. Those are good times to pray—the Bible makes it clear we are free to bring our petitions to the Lord.

But be sure to point out that prayer isn’t just asking for things—it’s also praise and thanksgiving. And when we’re worshiping the Lord with praise through prayer, we’re naturally filled with peace. Our anxieties fade. Our tension eases. We’re trading our burdens for the Lord’s comfort and filling our minds with thoughts of Him, rather than the world around us.

Philippians 4:6-7 (ESV) …do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

  1. Pray Together

Be sure to pray with your teenager. While this can be awkward at first, it’s a great habit to get into. It doesn’t have to be long or official—taking turns saying a quick prayer in the carpool line on the way to school or at the end of the night can be a simple way to normalize prayer for your teen and get them used to praying out loud.

This will build their confidence and likely cause them to pray more often on their own