Dr. Ralph D. Nichols of the University of Minnesota once told of a moment every public speaker dreads. He was addressing a high-school commencement when suddenly a child began to cry. Then another joined in. A small boy galloped up and down the aisle chased by another. With sinking heart, Dr. Nichols realized he had lost his audience.
He tried everything — speaking louder, telling a funny story, pacing the stage, fixing his eyes on the source of the noise. Nothing worked. Finally, he tried one last desperate trick: he found one good listener. An elderly gentleman in the front row was smiling, nodding, and looking up attentively. Nichols focused every word toward that one man. Slowly, the chaos settled and he salvaged his speech.
Afterward, at the reception, he told the principal, “Please introduce me to that wonderful man on the front row.”
The principal smiled awkwardly. “I can, but it might be tricky,” he said. “The poor old fellow is stone deaf.”
All that energy — all that sincerity — directed toward a man who couldn’t hear a word.
And maybe that’s how some of us feel about prayer. We talk, we plead, we pour our hearts out… and it seems like heaven is silent. Is God listening?
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The Circle of Renewal
Dwight L. Moody once said if you want revival, go home, lock yourself in your room, draw a circle on the floor, kneel down inside it, and ask God to start the revival inside that circle. When He answers that prayer, revival has begun.
That’s where renewal always starts — not in a conference, not in a campaign, not even in a church board meeting. It starts in one heart that refuses to stop praying.
Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “We give thanks to God always for you, constantly mentioning you in our prayers.” The first-century church had no cathedrals, no budgets, no live streams, and no social media strategy. They had something better — they prayed. And somehow, a praying people turned the world upside down.
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Against All Odds
Their odds were impossible. Within a few years of Pentecost, believers were being hunted, jailed, or scattered. Yet the fire spread. Someone was praying.
Today, persecution hasn’t disappeared. It’s just changed addresses. In parts of North Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, underground churches still whisper hymns so softly that guards won’t hear. In China, entire congregations rotate meeting places weekly so they can keep gathering. And somehow, faith keeps growing in the very places it’s most dangerous to believe.
Prayer doesn’t make the world safer — it makes believers stronger.
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Signs of Revival Today
Every generation has its “Upper Room,” and sometimes God surprises us with fresh wind from heaven.
Two years ago, thousands of young people gathered spontaneously for days of worship and repentance at Asbury University in Kentucky. The revival spread to other campuses. Nobody organized it; nobody marketed it. Students simply stayed to pray — and heaven listened.
Then this summer, reports came from Hope Rally 2025 in St. Louis — hundreds baptized, dozens more surrendering their lives to Christ, and churches across the city joining hands in nightly prayer. In August, the PDX Crusade filled the Moda Center in Portland — one of America’s least-churched cities — with worship and testimony.
Across the Atlantic, headlines from the Guardian and Bible Society UK talk of a surprising resurgence of faith among British youth. And in Africa, church membership keeps climbing faster than population growth.
Some say, “Revival is coming.” I believe it’s already peeking through the cracks. Somebody’s been praying again.
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A World on Edge
The world feels fragile — one global jolt away from unraveling. Wars rage in Ukraine and the Middle East. Wildfires and floods erase entire towns. Screens shout bad news faster than our hearts can process it. Young people scroll through oceans of despair and call it normal.
The old “Doomsday Clock” once measured humanity’s proximity to nuclear annihilation; today, it might measure emotional exhaustion. But here’s the truth: God’s church has lived on the edge before — and prayer was always her lifeline.
We can run, but we can’t hide. Somebody has to pray.
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What Prayer Really Is
Maybe part of the problem is that we’ve forgotten what prayer is.
In one of those old Family Circus cartoons, the boy says, “My football’s flat. I don’t know if I should pray, write Santa, or call Grandma.” That’s how some of us treat God — as one more name on our contact list for when we need something.
Prayer is not a heavenly vending machine where we press the right buttons and hope for the right outcome. Prayer is relationship. It’s being present before the Presence.
When Abraham Lincoln was President, his little boy once burst into the White House, his face streaked with tears after a playground fight. A guard asked, “Do you want to see the President of the United States?” The boy sobbed, “No, I want to see my father.”
That’s prayer. Not “Mr. President,” but “Abba, Father.” When Jesus taught us to pray, He began with that word — intimate, tender, close.
Prayer is not convincing God to care; it’s reminding our hearts that He already does.
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When We Pray Like That
When we pray like that, we begin to change. We yield ourselves, and God reshapes us. He gives peace that defies logic and power that defies weakness. He makes us patient without making us passive, passionate without making us proud.
Prayer bends the knees, but it also straightens the spine.
Churches that pray this way don’t fade; they flourish. They don’t merely host programs; they host God’s presence. They become places where addictions break, relationships mend, and hope breathes again.
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The Modern Miracle of Faith
Look around the globe: revival in campuses, conversions in cities, baptisms in stadiums — and yes, struggles too. But under it all, prayer.
When the Asbury revival spread, there were no celebrity pastors, no fog machines, no ticket sales. Just students kneeling in a chapel saying, “Lord, we’re listening.”
When the Hope Rally swept St. Louis, volunteers reported that it wasn’t the preaching that drew people — it was the prayer tents before and after. People wanted to be heard, to be healed, to be seen by God.
And in Portland — one of the most secular cities in America — tens of thousands sang “How Great Thou Art.” No one predicted that. But someone prayed for it.
God is not deaf. Heaven’s microphone is still on.
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Learning to Listen Back
If it feels like your prayers bounce off the ceiling, maybe it’s not God who’s hard of hearing. Maybe it’s us who’ve gone tone-deaf to His voice.
Our days are loud. The average phone user touches their screen more than 2,500 times a day. Yet God still whispers. He spoke to Elijah not in the earthquake or the fire, but in a gentle breeze.
If you’ve ever stood in the middle of a crowd and still felt lonely, you know why prayer matters. It’s not escaping noise; it’s entering communion.
Sometimes the most powerful prayer is not “Lord, give me…” but “Lord, I’m listening.”
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A Song That Silenced Hatred
In 1924, an African-American tenor named Roland Hayes was scheduled to sing in Berlin. The city was seething with racial resentment. German nationalists wrote letters protesting the idea of a Black man performing Schubert in Beethoven Hall. The American consul warned him not to go.
Hayes went anyway.
When he stepped on stage that night, the packed audience hissed in unison. Hatred filled the air. Hayes stood silently, hands clasped, praying: Lord, let them hear You instead of me.
For ten endless minutes the hissing continued. Then it stopped. He turned to his accompanist and quietly requested Schubert’s “Thou Art My Peace.” As the melody floated through the hall, the Spirit did what words could not. By the final note, the crowd was standing — not to protest, but to applaud.
That wasn’t performance; it was prayer. That’s what happens when heaven listens — and when we listen back.
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Is God Listening?
Yes. More than you know.
When your child breaks your heart and you whisper her name in the dark — He’s listening.
When the test results come back and you can’t even form the words — He’s listening.
When you’re weary from headlines and heartache and still kneel beside the bed — He’s listening.
The real question is not Is God listening?
The question is — are we still praying?
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A Church That Listens and Lives
If revival begins anywhere, it begins here — in prayer rooms, living rooms, classrooms. God moves when His people bend their knees and open their hearts.
Maybe revival won’t look like crowds; maybe it’ll look like quiet courage, like forgiveness in a family, like hope in a hospital corridor. But make no mistake — every movement of God begins with someone who prayed.
Dr. Nichols preached to a deaf man, and it still changed the room. Imagine what happens when the One listening can actually hear.
Heaven is not deaf. The church must not be silent.
Somebody needs to pray.
Somebody is praying.
Let it start with me.
