The Shape of Prayer: Learning to Come to God in Every Season

The Shape of Prayer

Week 1: Where Prayer Starts

There are seasons when prayer feels simple, and seasons when it feels impossible — and then there are seasons like this one, when prayer must somehow hold everything at once.

Gratitude and grief.

Strength and sorrow.

Faithfulness and longing.

Over the past weeks, I found myself living in all of those places simultaneously, realizing that while some parts of my life were flourishing and others were breaking, prayer was the only place expansive enough to hold them all without demanding that I choose just one. This series was born out of that realization — not as an answer to prayer, but as a return to it. An honest exploration of how we come to God when life refuses to fit into a single category, and when the only faithful thing left to do is learn, again and again, how to pray.

So, in January, I want to focus on prayer. Not as a resolution or a reset, but as a return. A four-part blog series shaped by the real places we find ourselves living — not just one at a time, but often all at once. We’ll begin by sitting with what prayer actually is and why it matters, grounding ourselves again in Jesus as our model: His posture, His words, His rhythm, His dependence on the Father. From there, we’ll move gently into the different seasons that shape how prayer sounds and feels — praying in a season of grief, a season of waiting, and a season of flourishing. Not to rank one above the other, but to honor that God meets us faithfully in all of them. This series is not about fixing prayer; it’s about learning how to come to God honestly, according to the season we are truly in. I hope you’ll join me every week and share how prayer is shaping you in your current season.

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There are moments when life refuses to stay neatly contained in one emotional category.

This past season revealed to me how many compartments I was inhabiting at once. In some places, life was flourishing — work was strong, purpose felt clear, my family steady and growing. In other places, grief was pressing in — loss rearranging my days, grief pressing in because loss rearranges what love once held. And alongside both, there was waiting — familiar, long-standing, quietly faithful waiting — the kind that has followed me for decades. I found myself sitting with God, not knowing how to pray, asking questions I hadn’t expected to ask together:

How do I come to You when I am both grateful and undone?

How do I thank You sincerely while my heart is breaking?

And how do I ask again for the very thing I have laid before You for twenty-three years — the desire You have not yet given, and have so often seemed to say no to?

It was there, in that unresolvable tension, that prayer stopped feeling theoretical and became necessary again — not because I lacked faith, but because I needed God to teach me how to come to Him honestly when life would not simplify itself.

Prayer did not become real to me in a quiet chair with a journal, a fuzzy blanket, a fabulous cup of coffee, and a candle…

It became real when I had no strength left to manage myself—when my body knew what my mind could not yet articulate: that I was not going to survive on my own. What came out of me then was not eloquent or composed.

It was urgent.

Desperate.

Almost involuntary.

I didn’t choose prayer in that moment.

I reached for God because there was nowhere else to reach.

That was fifteen years ago. Scripture tells me now what my soul sensed then: prayer is not something we do after we are steady—it is how we breathe when we are not.

Prayer Is as Necessary as Breath

For the Christian, prayer is not meant to be exceptional. It is meant to be elemental.

Scripture does not present prayer as a spiritual specialty reserved for the disciplined or the composed. It presents prayer as the ordinary posture of a life lived before God. Like breathing, prayer is meant to be easier to do than not to do—because it is how dependence expresses itself.

This is why Scripture shows people praying everywhere: in worship and waiting, in desperation and decision, in joy and fear, in silence and in groaning.

Prayer is not proof of spiritual maturity.

It is evidence of need.

Why We Pray

We pray because God commands us to—not as a burden, but as an invitation. Scripture teaches prayer as an act of obedience that flows from relationship, not obligation.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." Philippians 4: 6-7

We pray because Jesus prayed.

This alone should settle the question.

The Son of God—fully united with the Father—still withdrew to pray. He rose early to pray. He paused ministry to pray. He prayed before decisions, after miracles, and in the face of suffering (Mark 1:35).

Jesus did not pray because He lacked power.

He prayed because dependence is the proper posture of humanity before God.

If Jesus considered prayer essential, then prayer is not optional for a faithful life. It is not an accessory to belief—it is its expression.

Prayer Is How God Chooses to Work

Scripture also shows us that God, in His wisdom, has chosen prayer as the means through which He accomplishes many of His purposes.

Not because He needs us.

But because He desires relationship.

Jesus teaches His disciples to pray for workers for the harvest (Luke 10:2). He prays before choosing the twelve (Luke 6:12–13). He calls His followers to pray for strength against temptation (Matthew 26:41). The early church prays together—persistently, expectantly—and Scripture shows that God moves in response (Acts 1:14; 2:42; 4:23–31).

Prayer is not about forcing God’s hand.

It is how we participate in His will.

When We Do Not Know How to Pray

And then there are moments—holy and terrifying—when prayer breaks down entirely.

When words fail.

When the ache is too deep.

When the only thing that comes out is breath, or tears, or a sound that doesn’t feel like language at all.

Scripture does not shame us here.

It names this reality—and meets us in it.

Paul writes that “we do not know what we should pray for as we ought” (Romans 8:26). That admission alone is mercy.

And then Scripture tells us something astonishing. That in these broken moments, the Holy Spirit Himself helps us.

Paul teaches that when prayer collapses into groaning, the Spirit intercedes. Scripture does not explain the mechanics. It does not speculate. But it reveals the truth that matters: our weakness does not disqualify prayer. God Himself supplies what we lack.

The Spirit intercedes, and the Father understands—because He knows the mind of the Spirit (Romans 8:26–27).

This means that prayer is not upheld by our ability to articulate.

It is upheld by God’s own faithfulness.

What rises from us as unfinished, unformed, or broken is not discarded. Scripture teaches that it is carried—according to the will of God.

This is not poetic comfort.

It is theological safety.

Prayer Is Not About Getting What We Want

Scripture is careful here, and so must we be.

Prayer is not given to us as a way to bend God’s will toward ours. Jesus Himself teaches otherwise.

In Gethsemane, Jesus prays honestly, naming His desire, and then yields completely:

“Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done.” (Luke 22:42)

Prayer does not remove suffering from His path.

It aligns Him with the Father within it.

This is the heart of prayer: not control, but communion. Not outcome management, but trust.

Scripture teaches that when we ask according to God’s will, He hears us (1 John 5:14–15). And sometimes the greatest gift prayer gives is not the thing requested, but the transformation that happens while we are asking.

Prayer Is Learned by Returning, Not Mastering

Prayer is not learned by perfection.

It is learned by persistence.

Scripture shows people praying again and again—not because they get it right, but because God remains faithful. Jesus teaches persistence not as pressure on God, but as formation in us (Luke 18:1–8).

Unprayed prayers remain unanswered—not because God is withholding, but because relationship has not been entered.

Prayer is not performance.

It is presence.

Before We Talk About Seasons

Before we explore prayer in grief, prayer in waiting, and prayer in flourishing, this must be settled:

Prayer is not shaped first by our season.

It is shaped by Christ Himself.

Jesus is not only our model for prayer.

He is our mediator, our intercessor, our access to the Father (Hebrews 4:15–16).

We come because He has gone before us.

We speak because He listens.

We remain because He stays.

A Final Invitation

Prayer begins the moment we stop standing apart from God and choose, once more, to come near.

Prayer does not begin when we have clarity, composure, or confidence. It begins when we come — honestly, imperfectly, sometimes empty-handed — trusting that God is who He says He is. Scripture teaches that we do not come alone: the Son has gone before us, the Spirit helps us in our weakness, and the Father receives us with full understanding. This is where prayer starts — not with words, but with turning; not with certainty, but with dependence; not with answers, but with God Himself.

And that is enough to begin again.

🌿 Mark Your Calendars

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February 14th, 2026 Camp Aramoni, Tonica IL

10 am - 2 pm

A gathering created for women just like us —women being pruned, healed, stretched, and set aflame by the God who refuses to leave us unchanged. A morning filled with testimonies, worship, learning, laughing, and sharing. If the blog above spoke to something deep in you…then this day is for you. The Holy Spirit is moving, come hear how! Come expecting renewal. Come hungry for Jesus. Come ready for fire. Tickets available at: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/field-feather-fire-conference-tickets-1809826512819?aff=oddtdtcreator

🌾 At Field & Feather, we walk with women through every season of growth — the pruning, the blooming, and the stillness in between. We believe gratitude is more than saying thank you for blessings; it’s becoming thankful for transformation. For the Savior who refuses to leave us unchanged.

Join us at www.fieldandfeatherministries.org or on Facebook.