Time feels different these days, doesn't it? Days move fast. Weeks disappear. And before we know it, another month has gone by. We live in a culture that applauds busyness—but then we wonder why prayer feels so difficult. I don't think prayer is hard because God is distant. I think prayer is hard because we are rushing. One of the greatest challenges in prayer is not faith—it's slowing down. Somehow, we've attached prayer to words like perseverance and discipline. And while those words matter, they can make prayer feel exhausting before we ever begin. We approach prayer like another item on our to-do list instead of the invitation it truly is.
Days move fast. Weeks disappear. And before we know it, another month has gone by. We live in a culture that applauds busyness—but then we wonder why prayer feels so difficult.
I don’t think prayer is hard because God is distant. I think prayer is hard because we are rushing.
One of the greatest challenges in prayer is not faith—it’s slowing down.
Prayer Was Never Meant to Be a Chore
Somehow, we’ve attached prayer to words like perseverance and discipline. And while those words matter, they can make prayer feel exhausting before we ever begin. We approach prayer like another item on our to-do list instead of the invitation it truly is.
Prayer is not a performance. Prayer is communion. Prayer is simply being with God.
When we pray, we are stepping out of time and into eternity—and that requires us to slow our pace.
What My Daily Walk Has Taught Me About Prayer
Almost every day, I take a three-mile walk through my neighborhood. Walking has become one of my favorite ways to pray—not because I’m saying all the right words, but because I’m giving my soul permission to slow down.
Some days I listen to worship music or a favorite Bible teacher. But a few days each week, I leave the earbuds at home. I listen to the birds. I notice the trees. I talk to the Lord—and I listen.
And I’ve learned something: God speaks most clearly when I stop hurrying Him.
At first, my mind is noisy. I replay conversations. I think about what still needs to be done. But somewhere along the path, my thoughts settle. My spirit quiets. And I remember why I was created—to walk with God, to talk with Him, and to enjoy His presence.
Why Slowing Down Feels So Hard
Many of us are excellent at doing. We can run all day long. But ask us to sit quietly with God, and suddenly our minds race.
If you’ve ever tried to pray only to feel distracted, discouraged, or frustrated, let me reassure you—this doesn’t mean you’re failing at prayer. It means you’re human.
Slowing down is something we learn. Stillness is something we practice.
Often, the most meaningful moments in prayer come after we push past the noise in our own hearts.
Prayer Changes Us—Even When Life Doesn’t Change Yet
Prayer doesn’t always bring instant answers, but it always brings eternal work. As we slow down in God’s presence, He strengthens us, refines us, and fills us with a peace that can’t be manufactured.
Sometimes the miracle we want is a change in our circumstances. But sometimes the miracle God gives is strength, courage, and trust to walk through them.
And that kind of miracle lasts.
An Invitation to Slow Down This Week
If prayer has felt rushed or disappointing, I want to invite you into something simple:
Take five minutes. No phone. No music. No agenda. Just be with God.
Whether it’s on a walk, in a chair, or sitting at the edge of your bed, let your soul slow down long enough to notice His presence.
Because you were never created to live at the speed of the world. You were created to live in communion with your Father.
And when you slow down, you may discover that the joy you’ve been missing has been walking beside you all along.
The prophet Habakkuk lived during a season of moral decline, political unrest, and spiritual confusion. As he looked around at the culture in which he lived, his heart was deeply troubled. Violence was rampant. Justice seemed absent. Evil appeared to be flourishing unchecked. In his anguish, Habakkuk did what every child of God is invited to do—he brought his questions to the Lord. "How long, O Lord, will I call for help, and You will not hear?" (Habakkuk 1:2) Have you ever prayed a similar prayer?
I remember as a little girl spending long summer evenings on a swing set in our backyard. I would pump my legs furiously, leaning back as far as I could, trying to make my toes touch the sky. There was such freedom in those moments. Such delight. I never measured whether I was doing it correctly. I never worried about performance. I was simply enjoying the experience of soaring higher and higher into the warm summer air. Years later, I sensed the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart that prayer was always meant to feel more like that than like another obligation waiting quietly on a checklist.
We can tell so much about a woman's faith by the way she handles pain. Not when life is easy or when everything is going her way, but in those moments when her heart is aching, when disappointment has settled in, and when life feels unfair and unkind. It is in those sacred and stretching seasons that our faith is truly revealed. In 1 Samuel 1, we are introduced to a woman named Hannah. Her story is both tender and deeply relatable. Hannah longed for a child, yet year after year her womb remained empty. This was not a quiet or private sorrow, but one that was magnified by the presence of another in her life who continually provoked her and reminded her of what she did not have.