When Prayer Doesn't Seem to Work, Keep Praying
By Avila Yochanan
Loneliness has hit kind of hard the past couple years.
I think an experience that illustrates how alone I felt was when I turned twenty. A few days prior, some friends who knew my birthday was coming up had invited me out to lunch with them. But that morning, I found out that I had been uninvited. It was as if they hadn’t asked me to join them at all.
I felt stupid for not making other plans; I wasn’t even close to the people who had previously invited me to join them—what had I been thinking? I sat in the chapel and cried for so long. I was far away from my family, many of my friends didn’t even know it was my birthday, and I was too depressed to muster up the energy to do something else to celebrate that day. I spent the rest of that day in a daze, feeling a kind of sadness that I had never known before; it was like all the loneliness and shame I’d experienced the past couple years just hit me, all at once.
Being alone wasn’t new to me. For years, I had struggled to find a solid community. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere, and during my freshman year of college, I often spent Friday nights crying in the chapel, pleading with Jesus to help me find friends. I eventually got better at getting involved and college was much better the following year, but this experience on my birthday was one of the deepest bouts of loneliness I had ever felt, and I couldn’t understand it.
I spent the day after my birthday feeling numb and unable to focus. I didn’t understand why this rejection from this group of people hurt me so deeply. I remember praying for Jesus to just help me to get over it and move on, yet praying brought me no peace. I really believed that Jesus must’ve been so sick of me; I thought He was annoyed by hearing the same, self-pitying prayers over and over again.
Two days later, I went to my weekly holy hour. I felt so drained. I’d been praying for days and I’d gone through a cycle of emotions: frustration, anger, self-pity, sadness, tears, and finally, a sense of exhaustion and emptiness.
I sat in that chapel and I didn’t even want to talk to Jesus. But I felt so spent that I couldn’t even bring myself to physically flip through a spiritual book. So I just prayed. “Jesus, I don’t know why you let this happen. I don’t know why you didn’t help me when I asked you to and I don’t know why you didn’t console me when I cried. I’m sorry for always bothering you with my dumb problems that are mostly all my fault. But please, do something Jesus. I know you can change me. I’m tired of praying when it feels like you’re doing nothing, but I’m still here. So please do something.”
I began attempting to forgive the people I felt hurt by. I was so bitter and resentful and ashamed as I forgave and, honestly, even after I prayed for them I still felt that bitterness and hurt.
But I stayed for the whole hour and waited. And slowly, Jesus did something. I can’t really describe what happened but it was like Jesus set up camp in my emptiness. I finished that holy hour with that peace I had been seeking all along.
Sister, I don’t know what you are going through. I don’t know how long you have been praying: perhaps it has been hours, perhaps it has been days, or perhaps it has been years.
However long it has been, I want you to know this: Jesus is there. No problem is too small for Him and no problem is too big for Him. He loves it when you visit Him, even if all you do is cry and get frustrated with Him.
He is holding you and walking right by your side. Hold on to that, even when it is hard to believe. Keep knocking at His door. If Jesus doesn’t answer your prayers, keep bothering Him. If Jesus does answer your prayers, keep bothering Him. It’s okay, He likes being bothered by you. Read Luke 11:5-13 if you don’t believe me; because, the truth is, you’re not a bother at all.
