He Doesn’t Care About Thy’s and Thou’s

Come sit with me for a little while.

It’s Sunday evening here at the ranch, and I’m sitting on the porch watching the day finally begin to let go.

It has been brutally hot today. August in Florida doesn’t exactly believe in taking it easy. But the sun is starting to settle, the sky is partly cloudy, and there’s finally a little coolness coming through the air.

The birds are still singing.

I can hear the Eastern Towhees in the background, carrying on like they have somewhere important to be.

There’s soft instrumental music playing beside me, and my tea is still warm in my hands.

The pine needles have that earthy smell after a long, hot day. The sweet almond trees around the ranch add their own little sweetness to the air.

The cows are grazing out in the pasture.

The goats are starting to settle down for the night.

And through the windows of the house behind me, I can smell fresh bread.

This is my happy place.

So tonight, I want you to imagine pulling up a rocking chair beside me.

The porch is white, and the rocking chairs have blue and yellow floral cushions. There’s room for you.

You don't have to bring anything with you.

You don't have to have the right answer.

You don't even have to know exactly what you think.

Just sit.

Because I’ve been thinking about prayer.

And I think I’ve made it much harder than Jesus ever intended.

Have you ever noticed how sometimes we make talking to God sound so... formal?

Like we need the right words.

The right tone.

The right posture.

Maybe we even feel like we need to sound a little more spiritual than we actually are.

And I have to laugh at myself a little because I don't think Jesus cares about my thy’s and thou’s.

I think He just wants to talk with me.

And with you.

He wants the relationship.

That's the part I've been thinking about.

Prayer isn't just about asking God for something and waiting to see if He gives us the answer we want.

It's about sitting with Him.

Talking to Him.

Being honest with Him.

And sometimes...

just being quiet with Him.

Now, let me confess something to you.

I am not very good at the quiet part.

I struggle to sit still.

I struggle to be silent.

I can talk to Jesus while I'm driving. I can talk to Him while I'm working. I can talk to Him while I'm doing dishes or walking around the house or trying to remember the twelve things I forgot to do.

But sitting down and simply saying,

“Hello, Lord. I'm here.”

That can be surprisingly difficult for me.

Because then my brain starts talking.

And remembering.

And planning.

And worrying.

And suddenly I've thought about seventeen other things and completely forgotten that I was supposed to be sitting quietly with Jesus.

Maybe you understand that.

So I'm trying something different.

Maybe prayer doesn't always have to begin with a list of things I need God to fix.

Maybe I can just sit down and say,

“Lord, what would You like me to know today?”

And then listen.

Maybe I don't have to fill every quiet moment with words.

Maybe I can let Him have some of the silence.

I'm learning that the same thing happens with my Bible.

I know I need to read it.

I want to read it.

Sometimes I even want to want to read it.

But life gets loud.

And sometimes life feels like it's falling apart around me.

I have a very heavy job. I spend my days listening to people's tragedies, pain, fear, loss, and heartbreak.

And some days, when I finally get home, I don't want to talk.

I want silence.

And you know what?

I'm beginning to wonder if maybe that silence isn't something I need to feel guilty about.

Maybe it can be a gift.

Maybe I can come home, sit on this porch, and simply be quiet with Jesus.

I don't have to perform for Him.

I don't have to come up with beautiful words.

I don't have to pretend I'm okay when I'm not.

I don't have to prove that I'm a good Christian by having a perfect prayer life.

He already knows I'm human.

He knows I'm tired.

He knows I get distracted.

He knows I struggle with discipline.

He knows there are days when my Bible sits closed.

He knows there are days when I don't know what to say.

He knows there are days when I am overwhelmed and don't have the energy to do one more thing.

And He doesn't love me less on those days.

That thought gives me a deep breath.

Because Jesus isn't waiting for me to become perfect before He wants to spend time with me.

He wants me.

The tired me.

The distracted me.

The overwhelmed me.

The me who has questions.

The me who sometimes has nothing to say.

The me who just needs to sit quietly for a little while.

And I think He wants you exactly as you are, too.

So maybe tonight, we don't need to worry about whether we're praying correctly.

Maybe we can just show up.

Maybe prayer can be as simple as:

“Jesus, hello.

I'm here.

I don't really know what to say today.

But I'm listening.”

And then we sit.

We breathe.

We listen.

Maybe the birds keep singing.

Maybe the cows keep grazing.

Maybe the goats settle down for the night.

Maybe the tea gets cold.

And maybe, somewhere in all that quiet, we remember that we are not alone.

I don't know what season you're in right now.

Maybe you're exhausted.

Maybe you're grieving something you haven't told anyone about.

Maybe you're angry.

Maybe you're questioning God.

Maybe you're scared.

Maybe you're carrying something so heavy that you don't even know how to explain it.

Maybe life is actually pretty good right now, and you just needed somewhere peaceful to sit for a few minutes.

Whatever it is, you can bring it here.

This porch isn't a pulpit.

I'm not sitting here because I have everything figured out.

I'm sitting here because I'm figuring it out too.

So I want to ask you something.

What does prayer look like for you right now?

Do you find it easy to sit quietly with Jesus?

Or does silence make you uncomfortable, too?

Do you talk to Him throughout your day?

Do you struggle to open your Bible?

Do you ever feel like you need the “right” words before you can pray?

Or maybe you aren't even sure what talking with Jesus is supposed to feel like.

Tell me.

Really.

I want to hear you.

You don't have to give me the polished answer.

You don't have to say what you think you're supposed to say.

Just tell me where you are.

Because that's what I want this porch to be.

A place where we can talk about Jesus without pretending we've got everything together.

A place where we can ask questions.

A place where we can say, “I'm struggling.”

A place where we can say, “I don't understand.”

A place where we can say, “I think I'm finally beginning to understand.”

A place where we can sit quietly when words aren't there.

And when we're finished talking, there's fresh bread coming out of the kitchen.

Because sometimes that's what I think community is supposed to look like.

You sit down.

You breathe.

You tell the truth.

Someone listens.

And then you break bread together.

So tonight, as the Florida heat finally gives us a little mercy and the sun disappears behind those clouds, I'm remembering something very simple.

“Jesus doesn't need my perfect words.

He wants my presence.”

Maybe yours, too.

Maybe the most beautiful prayer you can pray today isn't complicated at all.

Maybe it's just:

“Hello, Lord.

I'm here.”

So come sit with me.

The porch is waiting.

And I'd really like to hear what is on your heart.