I have been reflecting on what prayer looks like during the most difficult seasons, specifically, how can we pray when life is heavy and disappointing. It is a strange space to occupy, knowing deep in our souls that God is real and that he loves us, listens to us, and has a plan. Yet, at the same time, we may feel utterly disappointed and sorrowful when life does not go the way we had diligently prayed for. How do we keep talking to God, and what could we possibly say when the answer we got back brought so much grief? 

I was sharing this reflection with my husband, Ryan, recently. He reminded me of a time when he prayed so hard and was met with great disappointment. As time has passed, he can look back and see how prayer kept him going and kept him connected with God, even though God felt so far away. Rather than retelling his experience, I asked my husband, who has been an English teacher for 27 years, to share this story of prayer with you in his own words:  

An Unexpected Tuesday Morning

I find great joy in what I do and enjoy exploring the world of stories and writing with students. My task is not only to teach them about communication and storytelling, but also to help them become discerning and wise adults in a complicated world. As a teacher at a Christian school, I recognize that part of my job is to care for each student: their academic, physical, and emotional well-being. 

But nothing in my nearly three decades of teaching prepared me for the way my prayer life would be challenged and grow that Tuesday morning. Near the start of the class, an email notification popped up on my screen. The student who was supposed to be sitting in one of those desks had died.

I stopped mid-sentence. I froze. 

The lesson plan I had prepared vanished from my mind. I sat down heavily at my desk, put my face in my hands, and tried to hide my tears from the students. I wanted to curl into a ball in the corner of the room. I wanted to throw the lesson plan away, harboring a desperate, irrational wish to only start again if the terminally ill student who died returned to my classroom, where he belonged. 

He had become a fast favorite student of mine. His sense of humor was so similar to my own, his views on the world were identical to mine, and our interests seemed to be cut from the same cloth. His attendance was sporadic at best—he had multiple appointments with doctors—which meant every minute he did spend in class felt like a treasure. We would talk before the bell, and he would linger afterward to swap stories. His submitted work was both insightful and personal. 

I was his teacher for a public speaking course, a class teenagers usually dread, but one that his parents told me later was his absolute favorite. During one of his speeches, he talked about his favorite video game. He described the game, how it made him feel, and how it made him forget that he was dying. His speech not only offered a beautiful perspective of his maturity, it also had the students—and me—laughing. He used humor as a shield and a bridge to process his pain. He had a gift of words. He knew how to tell a story so people would want to listen. He had the unique ability to start with a funny situation and end with a poignant perspective. It was a treasure to witness his giftedness in storytelling. 

        Now, he is gone. 

I told the students in the classroom. All the noise in the room stopped.Through the tears I was trying to hide from the students, I silently scolded myself: Say something! Help the students in their grief! 

I could not muster one word. Not one hope. Not one promise of God. 

This was a student I had prayed for. I prayed for healing. I prayed for his recovery. I prayed to God to protect him from his terminal disease. I thought I knew what God would do. I thought God would listen. My familiar ways of praying felt entirely broken. 

Right then, a student in the room began to pray. She did not make a proclamation or an announcement but sat at her desk and said, “God, this really hurts. We do not understand, and, frankly, we are really upset. This isn’t fair. Amen.” I looked up at the student who shared a prayer that was in my own heart. I nodded in agreement and said, “Amen.”

Her simple honest prayer broke through my disappointment with God, reminding me that God was right there with us in the midst of the painful loss. 

Praying when God Feels Distant

Stories like Ryan’s remind me of how important prayer is, even the ones that are so hard to say out loud. Prayer is staying in communication with God especially when polished, perfect words are hard to find. When we are overwhelmed with disappointment it can leave us wondering how to speak to our loving, attentive God who feels distant. 

Sometimes our faith traditions might suggest that naming out doubts, anger, or disappointment with God in prayer should be a warning sign of our weak faith. I believe the opposite is true. When we cry out to God in the depths of despair, even yelling and screaming out, and bring our unedited prayers to God it is evidence of our deep trusting, and intimate faith. We expect to see God’s goodness, but when we don’t we can ask God about it. We have the courage to cry, scream, and yell out to God because we know he is listening and his love is big enough to handle every bit of it. 

Language of Lament

King David gives us a great example of this honest prayer. The psalms of lament do not hide disappointment; instead, disappointment is the very substance of the prayer, crying out: "How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?" Psalm 13. The question drew him closer to God as the only source of true comfort.  

May you know that you do not have to protect God from your disappointment, he already sees it, he already knows. And just as a loving parent would never push away a hurting child who is crying out in pain, God does not distance himself from your grief. Rather, he is with you in it, holding both you and your pain. May you have the courage to rest your weary heart knowing that his grace is big enough to hold it all. 

A Prayer when you have no words

In closing, I would like to share a prayer from the book God on Mute, by Pastor Peter Greig. Pastor Greig shares the story of how he was processing his wife’s illness and offers Biblical support while navigating the spaces of unanswered prayers. The included 40-day devotional is a guide for those seasons when the disappointment makes it hard to pray. I find this prayer helpful when I have no words. Maybe this prayer can inspire you to craft your own prayer:  

Abba Father I know all the stuff about your love in my head, but my heart gets hard to it and I'm tired. Please do whatever you've got to do, and I mean whatever, to unclench my fists. Pry open my eyes so that I can see your tears, and soften my heart so that it moves me. I don't understand why you don't just answer my prayers, but I do choose to trust that you have heard me, that you care for me, and that you're somewhere out there in my case. Abba father, thank you for all the ways you have blessed me. I honestly don't know what I’d do, where I’d be, or even who I’d be without you. I am going to try to trust you today, Amen. 

May you continue to trust in a God who loves you, even in seasons of disappointment. May you have the courage to hold up heartache and disappointments to a God who is real and who loves you,  listens to you, and has a plan.