A Gentle Lent
You don’t need to censor what you feel here—God already knows. Today, let honesty be the doorway into prayer.
I’m hurting, Lord—will you forget me forever?
How much longer, Lord? Will you look the other way when I’m in need?
How much longer must I cling to this constant grief? I’ve endured this shaking of my soul…
Psalm 13:1–2 (TPT)
Growing up, I was a tomboy. I had no interest in Barbies, dress-up, cheerleading, or anything that could be labeled “girlie.” I preferred matchbox cars, creek-walking, motorcycles, go-carts, football, and dirt. I hated dresses and didn’t wear makeup until adulthood.
I never fit the stereotypes assigned to girls. I valued independence. I had a voice and used it freely. And somewhere along the way, I learned that being “weak” or “emotional” was something to avoid.
It doesn’t take a therapist to recognize how unhealthy that combination can be.
Emotions weren’t exactly welcomed in my house. We were more of a stuff-it-down-and-keep-moving kind of family. And when emotions are shoved down long enough, they don’t disappear—they wait.
Eventually, there’s no more room.
Cue the explosion.
After nearly four decades of stored-up emotion, my life took a very different turn—emotionally, relationally, and spiritually. Thank God. But it wasn’t only my relationships with people that needed healing. My relationship with God did too.
I wasn’t taught how to bring emotion into prayer. I didn’t know how to talk to God about grief, anger, fear, disappointment. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed the belief that emotional honesty meant ungratefulness—or worse, a lack of faith.
But healthy relationships require honesty. Not just about circumstances—about feelings. And intimacy with God is no different.
What reshaped my understanding was reading the Psalms slowly, without rushing to explain them away. David’s prayers are raw. Unfiltered. Emotional. And deeply relational. He doesn’t speak to God like a distant authority figure. He cries out like someone who trusts they will be heard.
Psalm 13 doesn’t open with praise. It opens with pain. With questions. With the ache of waiting and the fear of being forgotten.
And somehow, that honesty doesn’t push God away.
It draws Him closer.
When I read David’s words, they feel almost too intimate—like overhearing a private conversation. They’re deeply personal. Completely genuine. And full of trust even when clarity is missing.
That raises a hard question for me: when was the last time my prayers sounded like this?
Not polished.
Not guarded.
Not spiritually “appropriate.”
Just honest.
If something feels stuck between you and God today—if there’s grief you’ve minimized, anger you’ve avoided, or fear you’ve tried to pray away—this is your invitation to stop hiding.
God is not afraid of what you feel.
Reflection Questions
On a scale of 1–10, how emotionally honest are you with God right now?
What emotions feel hardest to bring into prayer—and why?
Where have you been trying to “pray away” a feeling instead of naming it?
What would it sound like to tell God the truth without qualifying it?