From my 2009 Journal

The word pray sounds so formal: knees bent, head down, petitioning the King for a boon or a favor. Sometimes prayer is like that. But pray simply means to talk to God.

Sometimes it’s chatting with your best Friend around the dinner table. Or snuggling up in your Papa’s lap and telling Him how much you love Him and appreciate Him. And sometimes prayer is begging for mercy for having disobeyed Him and He’s holding the chastening rod.

Sometimes my prayers are shallow, without thought, childish, and me-centered. But the Father knows, and Jesus understands that we’re frail and immature and ignorant. He doesn’t mind our childish babble—when we’re children.

When my kids asked for candy, I knew it wasn’t always best for them and often said no—because of my love for them. But sometimes I said yes because it was fun to give them a treat.  Candy before dinner on an empty stomach? Not a good choice. But if they insisted and persisted and perhaps secretly ate some anyway, hopefully they soon learned from experience that a headache from crashing from a sugar high didn’t feel so good.

And so I can relax with my prayers. I can ask whatever I want, but trust God to run interference for me if I run my mouth off the wrong way.