Why I Pray

When my life was ebbing away, I remembered you, LORD, and my prayer rose to you, to your holy temple.

—Jonah 2:7

I pray because I need to. Because I need to remind myself that there is something up there and that it is good. I pray to be heard, certainly, but practically speaking, what the act of prayer does in my life is profound in its own right. The act and posture of prayer connects me back to something I lose so often, something that gets snipped like a string. Prayer ties up the string one more time. Prayer says I know you’re up there. I believe you. I can make it. I know you are good. To pray is to say that there is more than I can see, and more than I can do. There is more going on than meets the eye.

Prayer heals all the muscles that I’ve been clenching for a long time, while I’m holding it together, gritting my teeth, waiting for impact. Prayer, like yoga, like singing, brings soft from hard, pliant from brittle, possible from impossible, warm from cold, breath from breathless. And no matter what gets you there, it is better to be there than not.