Someone Was Praying for Me When I Couldn’t Do It Myself
by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar
Did you know that some seeds stay dormant in the soil for years, waiting for the right moment to grow? Life has a way of planting us in dark, unseen places, and sometimes it feels like we’ll never break through. But here’s the thing just because you can’t see the sun doesn’t mean someone isn’t watering the soil above you, nurturing your growth even when you can’t feel it.
That’s what prayers are like. They’re the invisible streams that sustain us, flowing from hearts full of faith when our own wells have run dry. I know this because I’ve lived it. There were times when I was too tired to hope, let alone pray. Times when life knocked the wind out of me so thoroughly that words wouldn’t come. And yet, I was carried through.
I think back to my mother. She prayed for me with the kind of determination that could move mountains or at least, it moved the ones I couldn’t climb. Her prayers weren’t fancy or rehearsed; they were raw and full of love, like someone throwing a lifeline into the deep, trusting that it would reach me.
Then there were the prayers of my grandparents, steady as the ticking of a clock. They prayed with an old-school kind of faith the kind that doesn’t flinch no matter how rough the storm gets. Their words were less about asking and more about trusting, like planting seeds and knowing the harvest will come, even if they wouldn’t be the ones to see it.
And what about the ones who prayed for me without my knowing? The strangers, the mentors, the spiritual stars who saw a need and took it straight to the Creator. These people didn’t need to know my story; they simply felt a nudge, an unshakable urge to send their prayers into the universe. Their faith was like light breaking through the cracks, reaching places I thought were beyond repair.
I’ve learned something humbling about those moments when we feel utterly alone: we’re not. Someone, somewhere, is lifting your name. Maybe it’s an elder with wisdom carved into their soul. Maybe it’s a friend who hasn’t seen you in years but woke up thinking of you. Or maybe it’s the whisper of an ancestor, their love echoing across time.
Prayers have a way of bridging distances we can’t see. When I was drowning in doubt, those prayers became my life raft. When I was lost in my own darkness, they lit the way. And when I was too broken to speak, they spoke for me.
The beauty of all this is how interconnected it makes us. We’re not just individuals walking through life; we’re threads in a much larger tapestry. When one thread frays, others tighten around it, holding it in place until it can be restored.
Even now, I feel the weight of prayers I didn’t even know were being said. The ones spoken in quiet rooms, whispered under breath, or sent up in the stillness of a moment. They’ve shaped me, sustained me, and reminded me that no one gets through life alone.
If you’ve ever felt peace when you should have been overwhelmed, strength when you thought you had none, or hope when it seemed impossible, know this: someone was praying for you. Their words were like gentle rains, nourishing the soil of your soul when you couldn’t do it yourself.
And if you’re in a place where you can pray, don’t hold back. Your prayers might be the rain that someone else is waiting for. You might be the reason they find their way back to the light.
To every mother, grandparent, spiritual guide, and ancestor who has ever prayed for me: thank you. Your faith has been my shelter, your love my compass. And to anyone reading this who feels too lost to pray: take heart. Someone is already standing in the gap for you, holding you up with words of hope and love. You’re never alone.
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