"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God." Psalm 51:17 (NLT)
Perhaps most people's prayers begin with "Dear God." It only makes sense, doesn't it? That's how most of us are taught to pray. We're told to write cards and send emails with this same format. "Dear ______." "Hi ______." I'm pretty sure that's how most of my prayers once started, especially as a child, most certainly as a little girl who grew up in a legalistic church, where there was a right and wrong way to do everything... including praying.
These days, though, my prayers start with much less formality, much less of a script, and plunge straight in with a feeble, anxious, sometimes angry, "I can't."
There's usually a long sigh after this simple admittance. I find somewhere to sit, if I haven't already collapsed into a recliner, and relocate my ten-month-old son, ensuring my two-second shot at praying hasn't given him ample time to eat a bug or bust his lip on a bookshelf. (He's quick like that.)
That's about as intricate, poetic, and religious as my prayer life is these days. It's nothing but huffs of exhaustion and puffs of remorse for however many times my patience ran too thin.
"I can't."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't know."
"Why?"
"Help."
It's snippets of thoughts I toss to God, hoping He will resolve my heat-of-the-moment crisis somewhere along the way. (And restore my sanity, if He so sees fit.)
I often wonder if this counts as prayer. After all, the recovering legalist in me has a checklist of requirements, including minimum word count, a silent background, and a few other markers for acceptable prayers. But there's a softer side of my spirit that leans towards a bit more grace and begs to differ. A piece of me believes God is far more interested in a genuine heart—a broken, contrite spirit that divulges its worst—than some forced fan mail.
Psalm 51 was composed by David not long after his affair with Bathsheba, after he had her husband Uriah murdered. The weight of David's sins has set in, crushing his spirit beyond mere mortal repair. Verse eight showcases this misery when he cries out: "Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones you have crushed rejoice."
Of course, most of us aren't in a situation nearly as grave as David's, but nonetheless, something has us feeling as though our bones are crushed. And sometimes, like David, we tell God He's the one who crushed them.
Maybe David misplaced the blame for his sunken spirit and crushed bones. Obviously, it wasn't God who placed him in the situation he was in, but there are many days I can say I'm no different than David and point fingers at Him.
I'm exhausted and want to blame God for not providing any relief. Yet, when I have a chance to nap, I overextend myself with extra house chores.
I'm angry and want to blame God for giving me this husband who's not perfect, but am I a perfect wife?
And other times, life truly gives us something we didn't deserve. We didn't do anything wrong, but here we are—body, mind, and soul quite miserable.
All of the above situations render us helpless and anxious, so it's easy for our prayers to come out a little short, breathless, and less-than-artistic.
But I think God is okay with that—even when these prayers are the results of big, bad decisions we've made. That's not to say He ignores our sins. He cares too much for our souls to do that. However, I want to encourage you—no matter what kind of situation you find yourself in today—to keep praying those simple prayers. God's grace doesn't require that we bring prayers doused in perfect poetry to win His ear. His grace simply requires a broken and contrite heart. Those two things are what Scripture promises God will not reject.
What an honor to know we are safest when we are most broken.
Let's pray: God, thank you that you don't count out the small prayers, the ones we bring to you when we are completely broken and weighed down by sin. Thank you that your mercy and grace don't require any prerequisites outside a broken and contrite spirit. We bring you our brokenness, our exhaustion, our anger, our mistakes, our everything, and pray that you will restore our joy and gladness. We love you for being our Healer. Amen.
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Related Resource: Jesus Calling - Stories of Faith
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Originally published Monday, 22 April 2024.
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