This prayer is an honest confession of spiritual weariness and drifting. It is a prayer of repentance, realignment, and renewed surrender in the middle of disappointment and spiritual fatigue.
Dear Lord, where do I even begin?
In moments like this, when I don’t know what to do or where to turn, I turn to You. When spiritual things have become fillers in my week and my heart isn’t truly in anything I’m doing, I turn to You.
When my prayers feel like they’re hitting the ceiling, and I feel trapped because I have believed the lie that You are not coming for me, still I turn to You.
These days, You are sprinkled into my days only as I choose, not as You have commanded. Prayer has become something I do alongside everything else—laundry and prayer, dishes and prayer, planning and prayer. You told Samuel that man looks at the outward appearance, but You look at the heart. And this heart, Lord… I am ashamed of what You would see in there.
It is a struggle to be here—to push through the pull of what is temporary and reach for what is eternal. My flesh resists drawing near to You, and even my spirit feels tired and worn. You asked whether You would find faith on the earth when You return, and right now, Lord, I struggle to find that faith even within myself.
This weariness began while waiting for You to move in ways You said You would—ways that have not yet happened, even when I prayed with all my heart. Nothing has broken my heart quite like a season where You promised movement, yet the season passed unchanged. I struggle to reconcile a God who does not change with circumstances that have not changed.
You understand what I need before I ask, so why am I still bringing the same prayers before You after so many years?
I’m learning that prayer is less about asking and more about listening—listening for how You want me to pursue what I truly need, and discerning which desires are Yours and which are mine. You told us to ask in Your name, according to Your will. I have done that. Every word You have spoken over me aligns with Your kingdom.
Yet, Lord, I feel a gap. I seek, I wait, I follow, and still, I wonder—where am I missing it? Where does my heart fail to meet Yours, and where am I blind to the ways You are already moving?
I have been thinking about Mary’s words lately: “Let it be unto me according to Your word.” I used to believe she was only agreeing with the beautiful promise spoken over her. But her yes also embraced the trials, the misunderstanding, the sacrifice—everything required for the assignment.
She said, “I am the servant of the Lord.” A servant does not negotiate. A servant obeys. She wasn’t chasing glory; she was embracing purpose.
Now I see that I may have spoken those same words without truly meaning them. I have served You in ways that pleased me—when it was convenient, when it fit my schedule, when I felt ready. I wanted the promise, but not the process.
I fear that others might ask, “You pray all the time but where is the fruit?” But when I turn to You for answers, You may ask me a far deeper question: “You pray all the time but where is your heart?”
I ask You, “How long?” and perhaps You ask me the same. You are ready but I have been set in my own ways, not Yours.
So have mercy on me, Lord. Have mercy on me.
You are a God who loves and reproves, not a God who despises or rejects. That is why, like the prodigal son, I return to my Father—broken, humbled, but confident in Your embrace. You said the Holy Spirit helps our infirmities, our weaknesses. So even when everything in me wants to retreat into the dark, here I am. Shine Your light on my weakness and strengthen me.
Give me the heart posture, the consistency, and the obedience to remain with You—in season and out of season. Help me resist the resistance within me, the part of me that wants to walk away because I placed You on my timeline instead of trusting Your times and Your seasons. Teach me to put You first. Shape my heart to embrace Your good and perfect will. Even in the wilderness, because that is where You produce patience, endurance, and long‑suffering in me.
Teach me that I do not need to feel You to know You are here. Your Word says You are, and so You are. Let the trials You have allowed shape me, refine me, and build me. And for the trials that are not from You, give me discernment to pray with a sincere heart that they be broken. Keep me from growing weary, reminding me that every time I pray, You Yourself intercede with me.
Strengthen me even on the days when You give me glimpses of what is to come and my heart fills with excitement. When I should simply say, “So be it, Lord,” and move with You, I instead cling to what You showed me until it becomes an idol. I begin to seek the promise more than Your presence. It turns into this unspoken demand: if You do not fulfill what You revealed, then You have failed. But I cannot hold You hostage to my expectations. I must trust that the One who revealed it unprompted is faithful to fulfill it, in His way and in His time.
I know each day carries its own troubles, yet You provide daily bread that is sufficient for each one. Teach me to separate the days and not think too far ahead, because there is bread appointed for every burden and grace assigned for every moment.
When I say, “So be it, God,” help me to mean, “So be it all”—Your goodness and Your trials, the clear days and the confusing ones, the seasons of movement and the seasons of waiting, because You are in all the details.
And as MercyMe sang in Even If: “God, when You choose to leave mountains unmovable, give me the strength to be able to say, ‘It is well with my soul.’”
Amen.
