By Shauna Niequist
“I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people—“
—1 Timothy 2:1
Thomas Keller, one of my favorite chefs, has a way of thinking about recipes that I just love. He says the first time you use a recipe, do it exactly as written. Follow every direction, every measurement. That way, you taste what the recipe writer or the chef had in mind exactly. Then the next time, you rewrite the recipe in your own words as simply as possible—you’re moving from their language to your language. Once you’ve rewritten the recipe your way, make the dish according to your new recipe. The third time, make it only from memory, and make at least one change—switch out a vegetable, change a spice—something to make it different from the original. Keller says that after you’ve made it for the third time, the recipe is yours. You’ve internalized it. It’s not a recipe in a cookbook; it’s in you, it’s part of you.
[Read the Bible Gateway Blog post, Choosing Presence Over Perfection]
Several weeks ago, I started thinking about prayer in this way. While I’ve learned and unlearned many aspects of my faith perspective and practice over the years, prayer has remained central. It’s always been a through line of my life as a Christian, but lately prayer has become a lifeline.
Prayer is a way to entrust the people we love to God, especially when things feel out of our control. I’ve felt that out-of-control feeling so acutely this last year—I think all of us have. Prayer is acknowledging that we are not in control—but that someone is. There is a God who holds us, who holds it all, who is trustworthy and powerful, and who is more than strong enough to hold the enormity of our fear and worry.
In the New Testament, Jesus prays for his disciples, the group of people he loves, about four specific things: union, protection, joy, and sanctification. I wanted to pray for the people I love in the same way, so I tried doing it like one of Keller’s recipes.
[Read the Bible Gateway Blog post, Walking the Path of Shalom]
The first couple times I did it, I used the specific form Jesus did—union, protection, joy, and sanctification—and wrote out my prayers so I could be specific and detailed. It was very moving to pray for each of our kids, to entrust them to God’s care. I mean, I pray for my kids in general, but the pattern and the specificity were especially meaningful. I wrote about things that would bring joy to Mac, specific situations in which I want Henry to be protected from any harm. I prayed for Aaron, that he would have a strong sense of connection and support from me and from our community.
The next couple times, I prayed while I was walking in the city—union, protection, joy, sanctification. After that, I started using my own words that get at the same things—instead of union, support; instead of protection, blessing; instead of joy, delight; instead of sanctification, Christlikeness.
[Read the Bible Gateway Blog post, A Blessing For a Bride]
I noticed that I felt more connected throughout the day to those I was praying for. I felt more aware of my kids’ safety instead of taking it for granted. I noticed when Aaron said something about a friendship he appreciated or something that brought him joy in the course of a day. I became more attuned to them, to their lives and spirits and desires and frustrations, and I prayed for those things too. Praying for the people I love was helping me love them in deeper ways—it was cyclical in a way. More prayer yielded more attentiveness to their lives, which inspired me toward more prayer, and so on.
I was making the prayer my own, in my own words and rhythms and practices. I prayed it in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. I prayed it while I was making dinner—as I chopped vegetables, I prayed those four words for the people I love.
After that, instead of praying in words and sentences, I closed my eyes and imagined a snapshot of each thing. For protection, I pictured Mac safe in our home. For joy, I imagined Aaron laughing at something one of our kids says—true delight on his face. For sanctification, I pictured Henry praying at bedtime.
[Read the Bible Gateway Blog post, A Blessing For a Bride]
I found that this way of praying, this pattern, these four words, were starting to feel natural, like something that was a part of me, something I embodied, not something I memorized or performed.
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In addition to praying for my family, I also chose to pray for a particular friend—our friendship has been badly broken, and that brokenness has caused me so much pain. This friend has been a part of my life for a long time, someone I respect, someone I’ve learned so much from. A difficult situation came between us, and it brought out the worst in both of us.
I’ve tried to fix it but can’t. And living with a broken relationship to someone I care about so much bothers me every day. It’s like having a splinter in your heel that you feel with every step. You never forget. You’re always carrying the weight of this broken relationship. And so I began to pray for them. What I love about this pattern of prayer is that it isn’t a free-for-all, and it can’t be turned into a laundry list of what I think is right. Dear God, please help this person to see the error of their ways. Dear God, please open their eyes. Dear God, please give me patience to deal with the mess they’ve made . . .
I didn’t do that. I prayed for union, that my friend will be connected and supported and that at some point I’ll be a part of that with them again. I prayed for protection—that they will be kept safe, body, spirit, heart. That nothing will cause them pain—not even me. I prayed for joy. I asked God to bring joy into their life every day—I thought about some things that they love, experiences or moments that I know would be joyful for them, and even though I won’t be a part of them, I asked God to bring those moments and experiences into their life. And then I prayed for their sanctification—that they will be brave and kind and generous, growing in tenderness and love for others and being willing to stand up for what’s right.
I prayed every day for this person. I wish I could tell you that while I was praying for them, the phone rang and the silence between us was broken. Or that I opened my eyes, pushed away from my desk, and ran to catch a flight to show up on their doorstep. Maybe one of those things is coming. Maybe not. I don’t know.
The more life I live, the more certain I am that movie moments only happen in the movies, but I also know that if things are going to be repaired between my friend and me, it’s only going to happen because we’re both humble and tender enough to drop our defenses, lay down our anger, and connect across the distance we’ve created.
After a couple of weeks of praying for my friend like this every day—with words, with imagination, with love—God has not yet healed the relationship, but he has shifted my heart in a way that makes me believe nearly anything can happen.
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Taken from I Guess I Haven’t Learned That Yet: Discovering New Ways of Living When the Old Ways Stop Working by Shauna Niequist. Click here to learn more about this book.
When everything we’ve been clinging to falls apart, how do we know what to keep and what to let go of? I Guess I Haven’t Learned That Yet is a clear-eyed look at where we go from here—and how we can transform our lives along the way.
Just after her fortieth birthday, New York Times bestselling author Shauna Niequist found herself in a season of chaos, change, and loss unlike anything she’d ever faced. She discovered that many of the beliefs and practices that she usually turned to were no longer serving her.
After trying—and failing—to pull herself back up using the same old strategies and systems, she realized she required new ones: courage, curiosity, and compassion. She discovered the way through was more about questions than answers, more about forgiveness than force, more about tenderness than trying hard.
In I Guess I Haven’t Learned That Yet, Niequist chronicles her journey—from her life-changing move from the Midwest to Manhattan to the power of unlearning what is no longer helpful and accepting the unknowns that come with midlife, heartbreak, and chronic pain.
With her characteristic candor and grace, Niequist writes about her experience learning how to:
- Discover new ways of living when the old ways stop working
- Embrace the challenges and delights of releasing our expectations for how we thought our lives would look
- Trust God’s goodness in a deeper, more profound way
Follow Niequist as she endeavors to understand grief, to reshape her faith, and to practice courage when it feels impossible.
Shauna Niequist is the New York Times bestselling author of Cold Tangerines, Bittersweet, Bread & Wine, Savor, and Present Over Perfect. She is married to Aaron, and they live in New York City with their sons, Henry and Mac.
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