The Spirit-Filled Life · Week 3 · Wednesday

When You Have No Words

It was two in the morning and he had run out of prayers.

One of his kids was in a dark and heavy season, the kind that hollows a parent out from the inside. He had prayed every prayer he knew how to pray. He had claimed the promises, said the right words, begged and bargained and believed, for months on end. And now, sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark while the house slept, he had nothing left. No words. No eloquence. Just a tired ache sitting on his chest and a couple of tears he was too worn down to even wipe away.

He thought the silence meant he was failing.

And on top of the worry, he felt like he was failing even at this. Like a stronger man, a better Christian, would still have the words. Like his empty silence in the dark was the absence of prayer.

The Groan Is the Prayer

Here is what he did not know as he sat there feeling like he had finally run dry.

The Spirit himself intercedes for us. The ache in his chest was not the failure of prayer. It was prayer. The wordless groan in the dark, the very thing he thought proved he had nothing left, was the Spirit he had been anointed with praying through him, gathering up everything he could not put into sentences and carrying it straight to the Father.

You Do Not Have to Pray Well

This is one of the most freeing things in all of Scripture for tired people. You do not have to pray well. You do not have to be eloquent or composed or spiritually impressive. You do not even have to know what to ask for. On the nights the words run out, the Spirit does not leave you to fend for yourself. He takes the groan, the sigh, the tears, the long silence, and turns it into intercession deeper than any language you could manage.

So if all you have tonight is an ache, bring the ache. If all you can do is sit in the dark and breathe, then sit in the dark and breathe. You are not failing at prayer. The anointing is doing its quiet work underneath the silence, and you are not praying alone. You are being carried.

You’re anointed for the room you’re in, even the dark ones at two in the morning.

Tomorrow · For the Common Good