Lately, I’ve been writing a lot of prayers and reflections—offering words of hope, peace, and grounding for others. I love this part of my work. There’s something sacred about holding space for someone else’s questions, needs, or longings. But today, while writing one more prayer to share, I felt a quiet tug.
When was the last time I truly prayed for myself?
I don’t mean the quick breath-prayers I whisper in the car or the sleepy, end-of-day sighs that count as “amen.” I mean the kind of prayer that takes time. That listens. That lingers. That opens me up, even a little.
The truth is—I’ve needed it. I’ve wanted it.
And I haven’t been as faithful to my own prayer life as I’d like to be.
Somehow, I started pouring so much out that I forgot to refill.
I started creating prayers more than praying them.
And that realization wasn’t shameful. It was… kind.
Like God saying, “Hey, I miss you. Let’s talk.”
So today, I took a few minutes to do just that. To pray—not for content, not for others (though there’s always space for that), but just to be with God. With no agenda. With no perfect words.
And it felt like home.
If you’ve been offering everything to everyone else, but haven’t made space for your own soul to rest—you’re not alone. Start small. Start quiet. But start.
Because sometimes, writing a prayer for others is just God’s way of nudging us back to prayer for ourselves.
When the Plan Falters
Today didn’t go the way I hoped.
I had a plan—a good one. Organized, thoughtful, detailed. But somewhere along the way, it hit a wall. A setback at work left me standing there, staring at what felt like a crumbling structure of all my effort, feeling that sinking weight in my chest. You know that feeling? When your stomach knots and your mind runs ahead, fast-forwarding to worst-case scenarios.
I’m nervous. Really nervous.
I’m supposed to find the right people, the right volunteers, to help bring this plan to life. But today, I’m not sure I can. What if no one steps up? What if I can’t hold this together? What if I fail—and not just quietly fail—but let down people I care about, people counting on me?
And then, in the middle of all that noise in my head, I remembered something a friend once told me.
“God will provide.”
Not in a cliché, pat-on-the-back kind of way, but in a desperate, has-to-be-true kind of way. God has to provide—because I can’t do this on my own. I’m tapped out, worn thin, and holding on tight to something that I’m not even sure how to carry anymore.
And maybe, that’s the point.
Maybe I’m not supposed to carry this alone.
Maybe the fear of failure is exactly where grace meets me.
So here I am—still nervous, still unsure—but choosing to believe that God knows what I need, even if I don’t. Choosing to breathe, to pray, to hope that what feels like a failure in the making is really just a place where God is about to show up.
Because if I’m going to get through this, it won’t be because I’m strong. It’ll be because He is.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.