Stop Telling God What To Do

There are phrases that sound almost sacrilegious in a prayer meeting. Not curse words. Just sentences that don’t fit the script Christian culture hands us. And the moment they come out of your mouth, the atmosphere shifts. Forks freeze above plates. Eyes widen. Someone nearly inhales a dinner roll.

I dropped one of those lines once.

It wasn’t profanity. I didn’t renounce the Trinity.

All I said was: “I don’t think I can pray that for you.”

You would’ve thought I just told the group Jesus had retired.

My home group had just finished a meal together. Laughter. Shared dessert. People pulling up chairs and finding the comfortable rhythm that only comes when you’ve known each other long enough to show your mess. Prayer request time came around, which is where most groups transition from nachos to nervousness.

Kris shared her request with trembling frustration.

Her young adult daughter planned to move in with her boyfriend that weekend.

Kris wanted us to pray that God would stop it. Block it. Shut the whole thing down.

Her voice cracked.

Her pain was real.

Her fear was loud.

Most of us have been in Kris’s shoes. We see someone we love sprinting toward a cliff and we beg God to tackle them before they go over the edge.

No one could blame her desire.

The room nodded solemnly.

But something inside me knew that specific request wasn’t…

well…prayable.

So I gently tapped the brakes.

“Look,” I said, “I understand why you want that. We all do. If someone here feels that’s what God wants, you’re welcome to pray that way. But I’m concerned about us asking God to override someone’s ability to make moral choices.”

The table collectively held its breath.

The temperature rose ten degrees.

I pushed a little further:

“Isn’t that dangerously close to witchcraft? Trying to make someone behave how we want instead of surrendering them to God’s love?”

There was a flicker in Kris’s eyes.

Offense. Hurt. Maybe a touch of “I can’t believe this guy.”

I leaned in and softened my tone.

“What if instead of praying for God to change her daughter, we pray for God to walk closely with Kris through whatever comes? That He would reveal Himself to her daughter in love. And that Kris could trust God even if her daughter makes the stupidest mistake of her young life.”

Tears. Silent at first.

Then heartbreak poured out of her like a dam breaking.

“That’s exactly what I need.”

We gathered around her.

And instead of praying for her daughter’s behavior,

we prayed for Kris’s heart.

And a shallow prayer meeting turned into

a holy moment of transformation.

Because that’s what real prayer does.

It changes someone.

And spoiler alert: usually the first someone God changes…is us.

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>> The Genie Prayer Problem

Somewhere along the way, the church started treating prayer like we’re talking to a divine customer service rep. You submit your request. God issues a tracking number. Then you refresh the spiritual shipping page to see if the miracle has left the warehouse.

We act like if we throw enough requests at heaven, one is bound to stick eventually.

In many churches, here’s the weekly ritual:

Collect a list of requests

Speed-pray through them

Hope that covers it

No questions.

No discernment.

No follow-up.

No expectation.

Just a polite spiritual exercise before dessert.

Even kids can smell the disconnect.

One morning my son interrupted our devotional on John 15. We had just read verse 7:

“If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.”

He looked up and said:

“That’s not true.”

Not rebellion.

Not cynicism.

Just observation.

He had noticed that most things we prayed for…never happened.

The dissonance was loud.

And he wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t.

Kids are brilliant like that.

They hold us accountable to the actual outcomes we’re modeling.

If all they witness are unanswered balloons of prayer floating into the void, they conclude either:

A) God doesn’t care

B) God doesn’t listen

C) Prayer is a game adults play to feel better

And with each trivial request—

“Make my sniffles disappear.”

“Keep the rain away from the church picnic.”

—our theology shrinks until prayer becomes a Christian version of a birthday wish.

We would never say this out loud, but the message beneath these prayers is unmistakable:

“God exists to improve our comfort.”

Except He doesn’t.

And when we pray like He does, we are discipling people into disappointment.

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>> Prayers God Never Promised To Answer

Let’s name a few unhelpful patterns:

>> 1) The Trivial

Praying the weather away.

Praying colds to be gone by Tuesday.

Is God too small for these things? No.

But prayer is too big for these things.