It's 4:23 AM and I'm sitting in my car in the church parking lot because apparently I needed to physically return to the scene of my theological crime to process what I did wrong today.
Also I stress-cleaned my entire apartment at 2 AM and ran out of things to scrub so here we are.
Today's lesson was supposed to be simple. Prayer. How to talk to God. Basic stuff that shouldn't require advanced theological training to explain to seven-year-olds.
But somehow I managed to turn prayer into this complicated formula with specific rules and magic phrases that God apparently requires or He won't listen to you.
How did I mess up something so fundamental that literally every human can do?
The Moment I Turned Prayer Into a Performance
So we're sitting in our circle and I'm feeling all pastoral and wise, explaining how prayer is just talking to God like talking to your best friend. Simple. Sweet. Age-appropriate.
Then I demonstrate by praying out loud and I use this super formal "Dear Heavenly Father, we come before You today, we ask that You would bless us and guide us, in Jesus' name we pray, Amen" voice.
You know the voice. The special church voice that sounds nothing like how any human actually talks.
Immediately Lily raises her hand. "Miss Rachel, do you have to say 'Dear Heavenly Father' or God won't know you're talking to Him?"
And instead of saying "No, you can just say 'Hey God' if you want," I said, "Well, it's good to be respectful when we pray."
Which she heard as "Yes, you must use formal address or God will ignore you."
Marcus chimes in: "My mom just says 'God' when she prays. Is she doing it wrong?"
And I'm trapped because I don't want to criticize his mom but I also just implied there's a right way and wrong way to start prayers.
"Well, there are different ways to pray..." I mumbled, which helped exactly no one.
The List of Prayer Rules I Accidentally Created
It gets worse. Because now they're all worried about doing prayer "correctly" so they start asking for specific instructions:
"Do you have to close your eyes or God can't hear you?" "What if you forget to say 'in Jesus' name'? Does the prayer not count?" "Do you have to fold your hands like this or can you just put them down?" "What if you say 'um' in the middle? Do you have to start over?"
And instead of saying "God doesn't care about any of that stuff, He just wants to hear from you," I started creating this elaborate prayer protocol:
"Well, closing your eyes helps you focus..." "It's important to remember to pray in Jesus' name because that's how we know God hears us..." "Folding your hands shows respect..."
I turned prayer into some kind of spiritual etiquette class where God is apparently a super picky critic judging our technique.
The Kid Who Broke My Heart
Then quiet little Sophie raises her hand and whispers, "Miss Rachel, what if you don't know the right words? What if you're not smart enough to pray good?"
And my heart just shattered because this precious child now thinks prayer requires advanced vocabulary and perfect grammar or God won't be interested.
I said something like "God understands all our words" but the damage was already done. She looked terrified that she might accidentally pray wrong and disappoint God.
This is the opposite of everything I wanted to teach about prayer.
The Follow-Up Questions That Made Me Want to Cry
"Can you pray in your regular voice or do you have to use the church voice?" "What if you forget what you were going to say in the middle?" "Do you have to use big words like the pastor does?" "What if you ask for something and then change your mind? Can you take it back?" "If you pray for your goldfish to get better and it dies anyway, did you pray wrong?"
Every question made it more obvious that I'd accidentally taught them prayer is some complicated religious performance instead of just... talking to someone who loves them.
The Text I Sent My Mom at Midnight
"Mom, I think I accidentally taught Sunday school kids that prayer is like ordering from a restaurant where you have to say everything exactly right or God won't take your order. How badly did I mess up?"
She called me immediately. "Rachel, honey, when you were little you used to pray 'Hey God, it's me again' and tell Him about your day like He was your invisible friend. That's exactly what prayer should be."
"But shouldn't kids learn proper reverence and respect?"
"Baby, reverence comes from the heart, not from using fancy words. God isn't a cranky teacher grading their prayer performance."
She's right and I feel terrible.
The Prayer That Haunts Me
At the end of class I asked if anyone wanted to pray out loud. Sweet little Ethan raises his hand and says:
"Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for this day. Please help my dog feel better and help my mom not be sad. And please help me remember all the right words when I pray so You don't get mad at me. In Jesus' name, Amen."
HELP HIM REMEMBER THE RIGHT WORDS SO GOD DOESN'T GET MAD.
I created anxiety about prayer in a six-year-old. I made him think God is sitting up there with a clipboard checking off whether he used proper prayer format.
This is the worst thing I've ever done in ministry.
What I Should Have Said But My Brain Failed Me
When Lily asked about saying "Dear Heavenly Father," I should have said:
"You can talk to God however feels natural to you! Some people say 'Dear God,' some people just say 'God,' some people say 'Hey God!' He's more interested in what's in your heart than how fancy your words are."
When they asked about closing eyes and folding hands:
"Those things can help some people focus, but God can hear you whether your eyes are open or closed, whether your hands are folded or not. You can pray while you're walking, playing, or even taking a bath!"
When Sophie worried about knowing the right words:
"God loves hearing from you no matter what words you use. You can tell Him about your day, ask Him questions, say thank you, or even complain about things that make you sad. He wants to hear YOUR voice, not perfect church words."
But instead I created this performance-based prayer system that makes talking to God feel scary and complicated.
The Other Times I've Ruined Prayer for Kids
This isn't my first prayer disaster. Two months ago I taught about persistent prayer using the story of the widow and the judge, and somehow gave kids the impression that they need to bug God constantly or He won't listen.
Cue kids praying the same thing over and over and over during prayer time because I accidentally taught them that repetition equals effectiveness.
Last month I was trying to teach about praying for others and said we should "lift up" people in prayer. Now half my class thinks prayer involves physically lifting things up toward the ceiling.
I keep taking beautiful, simple concepts and making them weird and complicated.
What Good Prayer Teaching Actually Looks Like
My friend Jessica teaches preschoolers and when they pray together she just says, "Okay, let's tell God about our day!" And kids chime in with stuff like:
"God, I had mac and cheese for lunch and it was really good!" "God, my brother was mean to me today and it made me sad." "God, thank You for my mom reading me stories." "God, please help my grandma's knee stop hurting."
No formulas. No required phrases. No performance anxiety. Just kids talking to someone they trust.
That's what I should be aiming for instead of turning prayer into theological boot camp.
My New Plan (That I Hope Doesn't Backfire)
Next week I'm going to fix this mess by:
- Apologizing for making prayer sound complicated
- Explaining that God loves hearing from them however they want to talk to Him
- Showing them that prayer can be "Thanks God for pizza" or "God, I'm scared about the dark" or "Hey God, want to hear about my hamster?"
- Praying together in normal voices about normal things
- Emphasizing that God cares about their hearts, not their vocabulary
Will this work? I hope so. Will I accidentally create new prayer problems? Probably, knowing my track record.
But at least I know now that teaching kids to pray shouldn't make them afraid of talking to God.
Prayer is supposed to be the easiest thing in the world - just talking to someone who loves you more than anyone else ever could.
I need to remember that before I turn it into another theological obstacle course.
Sitting Here at 5:07 AM Having Realizations
The irony is that right now, sitting in this empty parking lot at dawn, stressed out of my mind about how badly I taught prayer, I'm actually praying.
"God, I really messed up today. I made those kids think You're some kind of cosmic critic instead of their loving Father. I'm sorry. Please help me fix this. And please don't let them stop talking to You because of my terrible teaching."
See? No fancy words. No formal structure. Just me being honest about my failures and asking for help.
That's exactly what I should have taught them prayer looks like.
Maybe I should start there next week.
