INTRODUCTION
When Prayer Becomes Breath
I was driving home from helping my daughter move sheep when the thought hit me. It wasn’t profound at first. Just a whisper. A nudge. One of those quiet moments when the Spirit seems to lean in and say, “Pay attention.”
Missouri has given us many gifts, but being close enough to help our daughter and son-in-law with the sheep might be one of my favorites. Every five or six days, we move them from one paddock to another. It’s simple work. Good work. Work that lets you breathe a little deeper and remember that God made you from dust and intends to keep you grounded. There is something about open fields and slow animals and the smell of earth that resets a man. Something that reminds you that life, at its core, is not complicated. You breathe in. You breathe out. You trust the Shepherd.
On that drive home, Bott Radio was on — another of the joys of living here (Teaching and talk about the Bible 24/7). Dr. Erwin Lutzer was finishing a message, and he said something that arrested my full attention. I’ll paraphrase it:
“Your relationship with Jesus is based
on an unanswered prayer.”
He was talking about Gethsemane. About Jesus praying that the cup might pass. About the Father saying “No.” And then Lutzer said, “Aren’t you glad?”
“Yes! I am! — my spirit chimed in.” If the Father had answered that prayer, you and I would still be in our sins. Still under judgment. Still without hope. Still destined for eternal separation from God. Every breath we draw as forgiven people — every morning we wake with access to the throne — exists because the Father held firm in the garden while His Son sweated drops of blood.
I pulled into the driveway and sat in my truck for a moment, stunned by the mercy of God in unanswered prayer. I have praised God over and over for answered prayer, but this, I think, was the first time I ever praised and thanked God for unanswered prayer.
I thought about my own life.
I once prayed that God would never call me to the pastorate. He said no. And I am glad.
I once prayed that God would let me marry a woman my father warned me about. He said no. And I am glad — because I would have missed the bride who has given me three children and more than forty years of joy.
I once prayed that I could own a minor league baseball team. He said no. And I am glad — because I would have missed the life He had planned for me.
God’s “no” is often His greatest mercy.
And that is why we need a prayer life shaped by Scripture. Not just prayers in our lives, occupying space and time — but a prayer-shaped, prayer-saturated life — formed by the prayers we pray and the answers He gives. Because left to ourselves, we pray small prayers. Selfish prayers. Short-sighted prayers. Prayers that would ruin us if God answered them. Like small children, we hold our breath and demand our way, when what we need is to exhale our agenda and inhale His wisdom.
But when we pray the Scripture — especially the Psalms — something changes. Our desires change. Our language changes. Our hearts change. We begin to breathe differently. Slower. Deeper. With more trust and less panic. And here is another insight that should motivate us to pray the Psalms. Listen to the aged apostle John, in his inspired reflection from 1 John 5:14-15 (NASB):
“This is the confidence which we have before Him,
that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.
And if we know that He hears us in whatever we ask,
we know that we have the requests which we have asked from Him.“
When we pray according to God’s will, we knowthat He hears and we have the requests we have asked of Him. If that isn’t a powerful incentive to pray the word of God and specifically the Psalms, I don’t know what is. The word of God is the will of God. Let’s learn to pray the word of God.
For more than two decades, the Psalms have been the scaffolding of my prayer life. They have given me words when I had none. They have steadied me when I was afraid. They have corrected me when I was angry. They have lifted me when I was weary. They have taught me how to pray when I didn’t know what to say. They have given me direction and hope when I was in both physical and spiritual and even emotional agony. They have helped me to journey better in this sojourn we call life. Again and again, when I have felt the breath going out of me — when ministry has been crushing, and the darkness has felt thick — I have turned to the Psalms and found air. Real air. The kind that fills the lungs and steadies the hands and reminds you that God is still on His throne.
Praying the Scripture is an invitation to join that journey. To learn to pray the Scripture. To learn to pray the Psalms. To learn to commune with God.
To pray with the ancient rhythms of God’s people — morning, midday, and evening. To let the Word of God shape the words you bring to God. To help you see prayer not as a discipline to be managed, but as spiritual breath — the very oxygen of the soul, without which we suffocate slowly and don’t even know it.
I’m told some vocal teachers try to help singers learn how to control their breath by having their students lean back on the
teacher’s chest as the teacher sings. The idea is to help them feel the teacher’s own steady, supported breath — the expansion of the ribs and back, the controlled, slow release of air. The student learns not by reading about breath, but by feeling it. By being held in it.
I am praying that something like that happens as you read this little book. I hope that as you read the chapters of this book, you can lean back onto the chests of the psalmists and feel the breath of their passion being poured out to God, so that you learn to breathe as they did. Not shallow, anxious breaths. But deep, trusting ones. The prayer that comes from leaning into Someone who knows how to breathe — and is patient enough to teach you.
My prayer is simple:
May God use this book to teach you how to breathe like the saints of old.
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