For me, prayer has always been like breathing, a thought in, a prayer out. My inner dialogue is so intertwined with a constant heart-cry to God that it feels inseparable from who I am.
But what happens when prayer, like breathing, becomes painful? When every cry feels like a gasp that doesn’t fill your lungs or a weight in your chest that makes it hard to whisper? How do you pray when it feels like you’re reaching into a dark void for help, uncertain whether the God who sees will grasp your hand and fill your lungs again with His unfailing breath?
I have been there. Maybe you have too. There have been seasons when sorrow pressed so heavily that prayer felt less like breathing and more like suffocating, times when I longed to speak but couldn’t spare the words. Moments when all I could manage were broken, desperate cries: “Help me, Lord.” “Where are You?” “Please, God.” Yet those were the very prayers God answered, not because they were eloquent or carefully formed, but because He is faithful. He heard my heartbroken pleas, and those cries moved the heart of a Father who loves us so dearly.
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I was raised in a heritage of prayer. My grandparents were my greatest prayer warriors, their steady intercession covering me daily. My grandmother’s prayers, in particular, shifted storms and altered circumstances, not because of her words but because of the power of the God she called upon. My parents prayed faithfully, too, as did many saints God wove into my life over the years. I stand here today not because of my strength, but because God, in His mercy, answered the prayers of those who carried me to Him. Time and again, He rescued me, not because of who prayed but because He is the God who hears.
I know my story isn’t everyone’s story. Perhaps prayer has never come naturally to you. Maybe you weren’t raised in a home where people prayed, and talking to God feels awkward or intimidating. Or maybe you’ve tried to pray but felt like your words disappeared into silence. Maybe you’re not even sure you want to talk to God at all because the pain you’ve walked through has left you wary, angry, or deeply disappointed.
You’re not alone. Even a desperate cry like “God, help” is heard in Heaven, because God “bends down to listen” (Psalm 116:2, NLT).
Scripture makes this clear:
“Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath.”
Psalm 116:2 (NLT)
The power of prayer has never been in our eloquence but in the One who hears.
This is why the Rescue Prayers series was born: to give voice to the cries we sometimes can not form when grief, anxiety, illness, or loss overwhelms us. Those prayers were written to help people lament honestly before God, to bring raw pain into His presence, and to discover how He works in power according to the unchanging nature of His character. This book, Prayers Answered, is about what comes after: learning to keep praying when life is still painful and discovering what it means to pray with bold confidence, daring to believe God is already at work. This is not a loud, showy boldness but the quiet confidence of children who know their Father welcomes them.
Courageous prayer doesn’t bypass pain. It doesn’t minimize it. True, faith-filled prayer rises from within the struggle, declaring, “Even here, God is greater.” Bold prayer declares, “I can’t, but You can.” It lifts our eyes from the weight of the problem to the greatness of the One who silences storms with a word and breathes life into what was dying.
The veil has been torn. Through Jesus’ finished work on the cross, we have direct access to God Himself.
“Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus…”
Hebrews 10:19 (ESV)
And because His Spirit dwells within us, we do not pray from our own weakness but from His strength. This is what gives us courage. This is what gives us hope.
Your pain does not disqualify you from praying with confidence. In fact, it may be the very place where God’s presence meets you with the deepest power. Pain drives us to pursue the One who is able, and prayer places every burden into the Father’s capable hands. Bring your lament, your questions, your desperation, and your longings into His presence. He already knows. He already cares. And He will meet you there.
My hope is that these pages will help you breathe again, not with shallow fragments of fear but with steady confidence that God is near. May you discover that even your weakest prayers can become bold when they rest in who God is, not in how you feel. May you find freedom to approach Him without hesitation, trusting that the same God who answered the prayers of generations past will answer yours today. He is faithful and able, and He will be glorified in the way He answers.
All the glory belongs to Him, always.
With audacious hope,
Christen M. Jeschke
Dear God,
Thank You that You are near to us in our pain and that not a single cry escapes Your notice. Thank You that even when words fail, You understand the ache of our hearts. As we begin this journey, teach us to pray with courage, not because we are strong but because You are.
Replace fear with unwavering faith, weakness with Your strength, and despair with the certainty of Your unfailing love. Let every reader sense the presence of the Holy Spirit and know beyond doubt that You hear and will answer.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
