Prayer – How Does It Change With Age?
I Don’t Pray the Way I Used To
“Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.” — Rumi
Some mornings, I sit with my hands wrapped around a mug of tea and realize I haven’t spoken a single word. Not to another soul. Not even in prayer. But then, I don’t pray the way I used to.
Years ago, this would have troubled me. Prayer, I thought, was something you did. Something you said out loud or at least in your head—with structure, focus, intention.
But these days, prayer arrives differently. It slips in through the cracks—quiet, unscheduled, and nearly always wordless. And I’m learning to let it.
Back When Prayer Had Words
I used to think prayer needed form. A beginning, a middle, an amen.
I wrote prayers in journals. I recited them aloud. I kept mental checklists of who needed healing, who needed strength, who needed clarity—and I made sure to include myself in there, too, though usually last.
There was comfort in the familiarity of words, in the rhythm of gratitude and request. It made me feel connected, anchored, useful. It felt like something I could offer.
And I still believe that kind of prayer matters. I still whisper thank-yous when I see the sunrise, and I still lift names I love into the air like fragile balloons.
But something has shifted.
Something Quiet Took The Place of Prayer with words
It didn’t happen all at once. I can’t point to a single day and say, “This is when the words fell away.”
But over time, I found myself sitting longer in silence, less inclined to fill the space with requests or rehearsed phrases.
Maybe it was age. Maybe it was illness. Maybe it was wisdom catching up with me, finally.
At first, the silence felt awkward. Like I’d come to a meeting and forgotten what I was supposed to say.
I would sit, waiting for something—anything—to surface. And sometimes nothing did. Just breath. Just stillness.
Eventually, I realized that the silence wasn’t empty. It was waiting. And not for me to perform—but simply to be present.
Noticing Instead of Naming
Nowadays, my prayers look more like pauses.
I walk slowly down the driveway to get the mail and feel the wind tugging at my sleeve. Prayer.
I notice the hummingbird returning to the feeder. Prayer
I pause before responding to someone’s sorrow and breathe in with them, quietly. Prayer.
There are no scripts. No polished lines. Just attention. And a deep kind of listening.
Prayer used to be something I directed outward. Now it’s something I inhabit. Less like a speech, more like a posture. Less like asking, more like attending.
Prayer as Companion, Not Cure
This shift hasn’t made life easier. Aging still comes with its aches and losses. Grief still visits. Uncertainty still shows up uninvited.
But I no longer expect prayer to be a solution. I don’t ask it to fix things the way I used to.
These days, I think of prayer as a kind of companionship—a sacred sitting-with. It’s not always comforting. Sometimes it just makes space for what is. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed.
I used to rush in with words when someone was hurting. Now I sit beside them quietly, hand resting on their arm, or a single cookie placed on the table.
That, too, is a form of prayer.
I remember once being told that silence is the first language of the divine. All the rest is translation. I didn’t understand it then. I think I do now.
Still Praying
Let me be clear: I haven’t stopped praying. I just pray differently.
Sometimes the words still come, especially when I’m writing. But more often, prayer lives in the space between things.
It lives in the way I notice shadows on the wall just before dusk.
It lives in the ache I feel when I miss someone.
It lives in the kindness of strangers who hold doors and offer smiles that linger.
I don’t pray the way I used to. But something in me is still reaching. Still listening. And maybe that’s enough.
Your Turn: A Quiet Invitation
What about you?
Has your way of praying changed with age, or with experience? Has silence taught you something that words could not?
If your prayers are quieter these days, you’re not alone. There’s room in our spiritual life for stillness, for presence, for simply being here.
So go ahead. Sit with your tea. Listen to the birds. Let the quiet rise around you like morning mist.
You don’t have to say a word.
IF you want to read more about prayer check this out “When Saying “No” is Prayer”
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