Writer Sarah Westfall writes about praying through poetry:
“In the thick of 2020, I found it difficult to pray. Words with God did not come easily, stalling and falling short each time I tried to gather them together into sentences. And while I knew God is in the silence, it was as if my soul was searching for something more, something on the other side of the fog that had settled in my brain and body.
That’s when I began to write poems. Early in the morning, I sat in the quiet and let my senses ground me in the moment. I named what I heard, saw, smelled, and felt, letting the cadence of the words rock me as I wrote them down. Unlike my other writing, these words were only for me and God, for us alone, and while I knew very little about poetic form, consonance, or couplets, I sensed a Divine smile every time I found the right rhythm, a gentle hand resting on my shoulder, “Keep going…keep creating.”
When I wrote, peace settled in my body and broke open into beauty.
The specificity of a single dew drop or the whoop-whoop-whooping of the bird outside my window greeted me like an invitation. Despite the heaviness of the world, it was as if I had found a way to anchor my soul to a goodness that had always lingered just beneath the surface.
The poems became prayers—sacred words exchanged in an act of both desperation and defiance. Pages seen only by God and myself became a place for me to cling to his nearness while also participating in his ever-moving flow toward redemption and beauty. They were a movement toward hope.
For over a year, writing poetry was the only way I could pray, and God met me there. He transformed my “inexpressible groans” into goodness (Rom. 8:25-27) and breathed life into corners where a thick layer of dust had settled. Sun poked through the clouds, and a sweetness danced on my tongue like freedom.
I was reminded that God is not bound to ritual, but rather, finds ways to speak a language our souls can hear.
He wants to keep the conversation going, and that mystical exchange between us and the Creator is less about a prescribed method and more about posture.
Prayer is not a formula but about being formed into a people of kingdom come, bending toward a life “on earth as it is in heaven” (Mt. 6:9-13). Whether through poems, breathing, song, or silence, prayer invites us into the space between the earthly and the eternal, where we linger with God and reorient ourselves in his presence. Where we attempt to wrap words (even small ones) around what is inside us and gift it to him, again and again. Amen and amen.
Perhaps all prayers are poems in their own way.
And I hope we will find them. I hope we will trust our knees to know how to sink down into the dirt, deep enough to feel the undercurrent of goodness that is alive and well beneath us. And I hope our hearts will follow as we lean further into the eternal and find ways to speak with God, in any and every way we can.”