If I Were Arrested For Prayer

If you were arrested for prayer, would there be enough evidence to convict you?

I wish I could say that question inspired me immediately. But if I’m being honest… it didn’t inspire me at first. It exposed me. I did immediately remember it and think “I need to write about that” but then my brain was blank. Usually, right away, I know what a blog post should say. Not this time. It was “I should write” but then “…what do I write?” It sat heavy in my chest in that quiet, uncomfortable way truth does when it doesn’t come wrapped in encouragement. When it doesn’t say, “you’re doing great.” When it simply asks, are you?

But the answer I keep coming back to is…
I don’t know.

Not because I don’t believe in God. Not because I don’t love Him. But because along the way, my life got loud.. and my prayers got quiet. Or rushed. Or skipped. Or replaced with “I’ll pray later,” which – if I’m honest- usually means I won’t. And that realization doesn’t feel like shame. It feels like distance. Which is not at all where I ever meant to end up with God.

And maybe what makes it hit even harder is where I heard it. After so many years of searching – trying to find somewhere that felt right, somewhere I didn’t feel out of place or disconnected – I walked into a church where for the first time in a long time… I felt like I could breathe. Like maybe I had finally found somewhere I belonged. It was my first visit. A guest speaker. Nothing I could have planned or expected.

I prayed before I walked in that church. “God, please help me let go of all expectations. Please don’t let me feel something that isn’t there. I am so lonely and so lost when it comes to a church home so please don’t let me put pressure on myself to force this one to be the one.” I drive by this church all the time and ignore it. It’s not in my town. So, I just didn’t think to give it a chance. But then it popped into my head to give it a chance. And I am so happy I did. Because I felt I belonged. People were happy to see me and my husband. We got more hugs in that church than we had at all other the churches we’d visited combined in that past year. There’s something to be said for God’s family not ignoring each other. Church should be a happy place. Not a lonely one.

All that to say that first sermon I heard that is the one that rocked me. And that matters to me more than I can fully explain. Because it felt like God wasn’t just speaking in general… it felt personal.

I think about Daniel. Not in a distant, Bible-story kind of way – but in a real, human way. I grew up learning about Daniel. The Sunday School version. The lions’ den. The praying in the lions’ den. I had no idea how complex he actually is. How many layers his story has and how relevant he is. Especially now. This isn’t a political blog, so I won’t turn it into one. But I will state that no matter what country you live in, Daniel is worth studying in depth to simply get through living in the world we are right now. And I didn’t realize that until about six months ago. But that’s a different kind of post for a different kind of blog. (My husband should write about that.)

My point is… Daniel had responsibilities. Pressure. Expectations. A life that didn’t exactly make space for quiet, uninterrupted moments with God. And still… he prayed. Not occasionally. Not when it was convenient. Not only when things went wrong. He prayed in a way that was noticeable. Consistent enough that it became part of his identity. Obvious enough that people could point to it and say, there it is-that’s who he is. And that’s the part that gets me. Because no one would have to search for evidence in Daniel’s life.

But in mine? Would they find it in the middle of a workday? In the quiet moments between scrolling and distraction? In the way that I respond when I’m overwhelmed, frustrated, or tired? Or would my faith look like something I carry internally… instead of something I actually practice?

The truth is, I don’t think this question is meant to condemn us. It’s meant to wake something up. Not fear. Not guilt. But awareness. Because the goal isn’t to perform prayer like it’s something to be seen. it’s to return to a relationship that was never meant to feel distant in the first place. And if I’m honest? I miss it. I miss the version of me that talked to God without overthinking it. When I didn’t wait for the “right mood” or the “perfect moment.”

I miss when I would just show up.
Not polished.
Not eloquent.
Not the version of me that I have somehow build up in my head that I have to be to even talk to God.
Just present.

Praying like a kid is so important to me. I think back to when I was a child and I would talk to God in the middle of playing. Dirty face, hands and knees. Eating without praying first seemed strange. Going to sleep without praying was also strange. Somewhere along the way, I lost that. I can’t pinpoint when. But I have. As an adult, I have it in my head that I can only pray during quiet times. And that is simply not true.

So, would I be convicted? Maybe I wouldn’t be convicted right now. But I don’t want that to stay true. Not because I am trying to prove anything or because I think God is keeping score. But because I want there to be evidence again. Evidence of trust. Evidence of dependence. Evidence of a relationship that isn’t something I believe in… but something I actually live inside of.

So maybe that’s the real question. Not: Would I be convicted? But: What would it look like to quietly and consistently rebuild a life where the evidence is undeniable again.

Not all at once. Not perfectly.

Just one prayer at a time.

Listen to the song that goes with this post.