God’s Not a Mind Reader
What is prayer, really?
Penned August 2, 2025 by Penny Sue Denim
My fancy coffee machine was eventually going to be craving coffee beans. Especially if I continued seeing this guy with the night-shift lifestyle that, in between the two sets of kids, fit so symbiotically into my life. Night shifts all week and then caffeine-sustained “day shifts” over the weekend with some of the greatest parental presence I’d ever seen. The least I could do was support his caffeine habit when he came yawning to my house in some of his rare moments to himself.
One of the young adults at church was selling freshly roasted coffee beans in a fundraiser to support an upcoming international missions trip. “I’ll take two bags,” I said. (If I’d fully grasped the ways my life—and my company—was about to change, I would have taken ten. And perhaps what I said next would have been softened by increased cash flow.)
“Great!” he said. “Thanks! And here’s my prayer card.” He reached to hand me a leaflet printed with his picture, a short description, and a bulleted list entitled Ways to Pray.
“I’ll leave that for the next person. I’m honoured to support your ministry, but I don’t pray,” I said, and then I offered a final, “Blessings!” as I walked away. To his detriment, I was testing out a new framework for truth-telling, one that went beyond the simplistic approach of defining dishonesty solely as the act of telling intentionally deceptive lies. I was shrugging off layers of people-pleasing and experimenting with a newfound volitional liberty. No more mistruths or distruths. At least, not right now. Speaking my truth felt more like an obligation than a luxury.
This meant that I didn’t just think the thing: If I don’t pray for myself or my kids, I sure as hell am not going to pray for you! I had to also say the thing. But fortunately, I retained some semblance of a filter and modified my thoughts on their way to words, sparing this kid the full extent of my obnoxiousness (“h” word and all). Lucky kid, this impressionable young Bible College student, the son of some of my most heartfelt supporters through the onslaught of my husband’s cancer crisis and recent rapid death. It was enough (wasn’t it?) to mutter the words “I don’t pray” on my journey between the sanctuary and my car. Shocking enough. Taboo enough. Offensive enough. Rude enough. Unfiltered enough.
What kind of devoted Christian doesn’t pray?! My spiritual director doesn’t know. She agrees with me when I tell her that it’s probably not that I don’t pray but that I don’t pray in ways typically recognized and encouraged by the church. “But maybe. Just maybe, my thoughts are prayers,” I say to her.
“You see,” I say, “I was taught the ACTS method, and I’ve stood in a lot of prayer circles and been witness to decades of public prayer. Sometimes it just feels way too forced for me.”
ACTS: Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. In that order.
Well, how can I get to Supplication, the act of asking God to fill my needs, if I don’t Confess? And I don’t confess. Because my mistakes, flaws, deficits, and insecurities have been handled—past, present, and future. I mean, I do a lot of confession, in conversation with people I love, all week long, processing these redeemed infringements. But I don’t make a habit of grovelling and begging God for a forgiveness I already have. I do thank Him regularly for that forgiveness. So, I guess that’s prayer. . . and that checks the “T” box.
But then, I’m also not that interested in checking boxes. Usually, I fall asleep before I get to Supplication.
Where’s the motivation to push through when I know He already knows everything I need even before I request it? I often think, So, what’s the point of even asking?!
And that’s just it. You see, God’s not a mind reader.
No, wait.
That’s my husband who wasn’t a mind reader. It was hard—a relationship where vulnerability became so taboo that we could no longer express our internal worlds outward to each other. And maybe there’s a lesson there—about prayer—in light of a God who is intrinsically relational. Maybe He doesn’t need us to voice our needs. Maybe all He wants is for us to express ourselves.
And that’s also me. Not a mind reader. Sole parent to a grieving, internally processing teenager. Also not a mind reader. Probably can’t grasp the extent of my love and support for her. Unless I tell her.
Well, there’s a valid prayer right there. “Dear God, help me know what she needs. (God, help me read her mind). Help me be vulnerable enough to ensure she feels my love.”
And I suppose that’s a prayer I’ve offered up a thousand times this year—if God is a mind reader.
~ ps denim
With accompaniment from My Unapologetic Playlist:
A little note: If you’re reading my work, I want to connect with you. I love to “follow” those who are interacting with me. I receive a broad reflection of the world through so many perspectives. If you can, drop me a ❤️ here, or just on one of my “notes” somewhere so I can begin to see the world through your eyes.
“Maybe all He wants is for us to express ourselves.” Love that. Appreciate this piece. A lot is stirring in me after reading this, wish I could come over for a cup of that Joe! 🩶
"Maybe all He wants is for us to express ourselves." You nailed it, IMHO. I hope both you and your daughter are healing and feeling lighter. I hope she's open enough for you to read her mind, at least once in a while. May peace be with you. Sending love.