How to Pray When You Have No Words

Have you ever sat in silence wanting to pray but couldn’t find the words? You want to speak to God, but all that comes out is… nothing. You start to wonder if you’re doing it wrong—or worse, if God is even listening. I’ve been there. Most of us have.

We’ve learned to think prayer belongs to the polished and eloquent—the ones who can string together poetic sentences or pray like the pastor who seems to touch heaven every Sunday. And if that’s what prayer is supposed to sound like, we might as well stay quiet. But I’ve learned that prayer was never meant to be a performance. It’s a conversation. It’s raw, honest, and sometimes awkward. And maybe that’s the point.

When I look at Jesus, the pressure drops. The biographies of his life show him constantly stepping away from the noise to be alone and pray. No show. No crowd. No microphone. Just quiet conversation with the Father. That simple rhythm tells us something: prayer isn’t about getting God’s attention—it’s about giving him ours.

And it doesn’t have to look one way. There were seasons of my life where my best prayers happened on my commute. I’d turn off the radio and just talk. Sometimes I’d complain. Sometimes I’d cry. Sometimes I’d sit in silence and let my thoughts slow down enough for me to hear something deeper than my own noise. That counts. Maybe that’s the kind of prayer Jesus modeled—intentional, personal, and honest.

Jesus also gave us a framework for prayer in Matthew 6. He said, “When you pray, don’t put on a show. Don’t use empty words thinking that God hears better when you talk longer.” Then he gave us what’s now called the Lord’s Prayer. And if you look closely, the first half of that prayer isn’t about us at all—it’s about God. “Our Father in heaven, may your name be honored. May your kingdom come. May your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

It starts by realigning us. Prayer reorients our hearts to what’s real. Life narrows our focus to the next problem in front of us, but prayer lifts our eyes to something bigger. Then the second half of the prayer reminds us we don’t do this alone. “Give us. Forgive us. Lead us. Deliver us.” Not “me,” but “us.” Jesus teaches us to pray in community, not isolation. Because following him was never about escaping the world—it was about participating in its redemption.

So when you pray, don’t just ask for what you need; ask for eyes to see what the people around you need too. Prayer isn’t just about what God does for you—it’s about what God does through you.

And when you can’t find words at all, borrow some. The Psalms are full of prayers written by people who wrestled with faith, doubt, anger, joy, and despair—all in the same breath. Psalm 130 begins, “From the deep water I cry to you, Lord.” Deep water was a Hebrew metaphor for chaos. It’s where life feels uncertain, unstable, or dark. Maybe that’s where you are right now. That’s okay. Pray from there. The psalmist did. “I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning.” That line always gets me. Because sometimes prayer isn’t about changing your situation—it’s about waiting with hope in the middle of it.

And then there’s the other side of prayer—the part we skip most easily. Listening.

Prayer is a conversation, not a monologue. It’s speaking and listening. And I know silence feels unnatural in our world. We fill every empty space with noise. But silence is where we make room to hear. So try this: however long you spend talking to God, spend the same amount of time in quiet. If you pray for two minutes, sit for two. If you pray for five, sit for five. Breathe. Be still. Listen. Don’t try to make something happen. Just let yourself be aware of God’s presence.

Because sometimes, silence is prayer.

So maybe start small. Pray while you drive, while you cook, while you walk, while you brush your teeth. Prayer isn’t about the perfect moment—it’s about an ongoing conversation. I talk to God all the time. When I’m mowing the lawn, when I’m tired, when I’m proud, when I’m frustrated. It’s not fancy. It’s just honest.

And maybe that’s what God wants most. Not performance. Not polish. Just you.

God meets us in kitchens, in cars, in commutes, in cubicles, and yes, even in silence. He meets us when we stop pretending and tell the truth.