prayer—
it isn’t always loud.
sometimes, it’s breath.
barely a whisper in the chest.
a name said slowly.
a silence that waits.
it is water poured
into a faraway bucket—
you don’t see it,
but you hear the sound.
some days,
i do not feel holy.
do not speak in tongues.
do not weep at altars.
i sit.
i breathe.
i try again.
the thing about prayer is—
it is returning.
again.
and again.
and again.
Hi my love,
Ahan, you're angry? Why? Because I didn't send the letter yesterday? But I'm sending it now na? Oya, sorry. No vex. I’ll stop my promise and fail behavior, I promise.
You still dey vex? No? Ehn, oya smile. Ehn ehn, good!
How are you doing, my love? How was last week for you? Did anything special happen for you? I really hope you had a beautiful week. The test I told you about went quite well, I guess. Although, at a point, I started asking myself if I was writing a test or an exam. To my lecturer—God sees all, sir.
Saturday's choir rehearsal lingered with me. We had a teaching on prayer, and the conversation was honest—raw.Someone talked about how sometimes, prayer feels boring. And honestly, it does. But that’s the thing about prayer: it demands consistency. You have to keep showing up—even when it feels dry, even when you don’t “feel” anything.
My choir leader said something that really struck me. She said prayer is like filling a bucket with water from a distance. You can't see the water pouring in, but you can hear the sound. Then suddenly, you look and the bucket is full. That’s how prayer works. Sometimes, you won’t feel like you’re growing. You won’t see immediate changes. But over time, you'll realize—something has changed. You have changed.
See, I’m someone who’s very in tune with how things make me feel. That used to be my gauge. If it didn’t make me feel good, I didn’t want it. That was one of my biggest struggles with prayer—because it didn’t always make me feel anything. It felt empty sometimes. Dry. And I couldn’t understand why.
But I’ve come to realize: communion with God transcends emotions. Yes, emotions matter—we're human. But our walk with God isn’t based on feelings. Sometimes you’ll feel everything all at once, and it’ll overwhelm you. I mean, that's why people fall in church. But guess what? Other times, you’ll feel nothing at all—and still, God is working. He’s moving. He’s present.
There was a time in my life when prayer felt like a checklist. A place to pour out my desires and hope that God would meet every single one, down to the punctuation. I didn’t just want answers. I wanted full answers. Specific. Neatly wrapped. No delays. No confusion. And when that didn’t happen, when silence met me instead of a voice, I pulled back.
I stopped sharing things with God. Not in anger, not even in bitterness—just this quiet ache, like what’s the point? If I’m not getting responses, if heaven feels closed off, what am I even doing?
And yet... even when I stopped talking, something in me kept reaching. In the smallest ways. A sigh. A thought. A name whispered. That, too, was prayer—I just didn’t know it then. I remember one day, sitting quietly, and in the stillness I prayed. Not loudly, not with fire—but with softness. I didn’t expect anything grand. I just wanted peace. And I got it. Unexplained, unexpected peace.
That was when I realized: prayer isn’t just about getting what you ask for. It’s not always about answers in the way you want them. Sometimes it’s just about being heard. About presence. About returning. About knowing that even when all you say is “God, I don’t know,” He’s still listening.
So, I’m learning to redefine what it means to pray. Not a performance. Not a transaction. Just communion. Just presence.
There’s something else I’ve been learning: prayer gives you confidence in God. And in turn, it gives you confidence in who you are because of God. When you stay in prayer, you begin to understand that you’re not just tolerated—you’re loved. You begin to realize that the devil isn’t meant to intimidate you. You’re a child of God. You're meant to bully that hell fire fraud. You have every right to stand boldly. You carry His Spirit.
And if we’re going to pray, we have to return to the child-likeness we once had. When I was little, I used to thank God for everything—food, water, my dad, my mum, my teacher, my slippers. Nothing was too small. And somewhere along the line, I lost that softness. Adulthood asked for seriousness. But lately, I’ve been walking back into those small thank-yous, the “God, you’re amazing” when I see a flower. Or “thank You for this moment” when I’m with my friends. That’s prayer too. The little sighs, the whispered "God, help me"... it all counts. Prayer should be that safe space. The way I run to call my parents when I feel anxious at school—that’s the way I should run to God first. When I feel confused, tired, unsure. That safety, that voice, that anchor—I want God to be my first call.
My love, prayer is not just about speaking. It’s about listening. Learning. Leaning in. Yes, structure is important—very. Because on days when you don’t feel like praying, structure holds you. It gives you something to fall back on. But also, worship can be prayer. Tears can be prayer.Silence can be prayer. If all you can say is “God, help me”… that’s prayer. And even when all you have strength for is to open your Bible and sit quietly—that counts too. Because prayer is not about doing it perfectly. It’s about coming honestly.
So my love, keep coming. Even when it feels dry. Even when it feels boring. Even when all you have are three tired words.
Keep showing up. The bucket is filling. And even if you can’t hear it just yet, the sound is there.
Always.❤️