When Words Aren’t Enough: Returning to the Center
There are moments when words fail.
You sit in silence, and your usual prayers feel flat. The verses you once leaned on feel distant. The rituals that used to bring meaning now feel mechanical.
You’re not alone.
This spiritual dryness—the sense that you’re going through the motions while your soul feels untouched—is not a sign of failure. It’s a call to go deeper.
Not through more effort, more study, more striving—
But through surrender.
The Gift of Coming Home to Silence
When life is noisy and our inner world is cluttered, we often assume what we need is more guidance, more content, more answers.
But what if what we really need… is less?
Less striving.
Less doing.
Less talking at God, and more resting with God.
That’s what contemplative practice—especially the kind rooted in centering—is all about.
It’s not about fixing yourself.
It’s about letting yourself be held.
When the Soul Feels Parched
If you’re reading this and nodding, chances are your soul is thirsty.
You may still show up to church. You may still pray. You may still believe. But something underneath it all feels dry—like a well that once overflowed and now only drips.
This dryness can show up as:
Going through spiritual motions without meaning
Feeling distant from God, even while trying harder to connect
Experiencing a kind of inner fatigue that isn’t solved by rest or routine
Here’s the good news:
You don’t need to manufacture your way back to spiritual depth.
You don’t need a perfect theology or profound insight to reconnect.
You just need space.
And willingness.
And stillness.
What It Means to Be Centered
To be centered doesn’t mean to be calm all the time. It doesn’t mean to have the answers. It doesn’t mean to have your life together.
To be centered means to return.
Again and again.
To that quiet place in you that remains, even when everything else is shifting.
It’s the part of you that isn’t defined by performance.
It’s the space within that still recognizes the Divine, even when your mind is filled with questions.
It’s the soul's anchor when the surface is stormy.
How to Begin When You Don’t Know How to Pray
There’s a sacred kind of prayer that doesn’t rely on words.
No eloquence.
No requests.
No spiritual resume.
Just a posture of openness. A willingness to sit and be with God—even when it feels like nothing is happening.
You can begin like this:
1. Find a quiet space.
Set a timer for 10 or 20 minutes. Let that be your sacred boundary.
2. Choose a sacred word or phrase.
Something simple—“peace,” “love,” “here,” “Abba,” “be still.” This isn’t a mantra to repeat, but a way to return when your thoughts drift.
3. Sit with intention.
Let your body relax. Let your breath deepen. Let yourself be present.
4. When thoughts arise (and they will), gently return.
Return to your sacred word. Return to your breath. Return to the center.
This isn’t about emptying your mind. It’s about not clinging to every thought that passes. It’s about learning to be where you are—and trusting that God meets you there.
Why This Matters in a Spiritually Dry Season
Centering prayer doesn’t “work” in the way most things do.
You won’t always leave feeling inspired.
You might not get a divine insight or wave of peace.
You may sit in silence and feel… nothing.
But over time, something deeper shifts.
You’ll begin to notice:
A softer way of being with yourself
A quieter inner life
More compassion for the world around you
A deeper sense of being held, even when you feel uncertain
You’ll start to live from a center, not in search of one.
A Story from the Edges
I once met a woman who had stopped praying because “it didn’t work anymore.”
She had faced loss. She had sat with questions no sermon could answer. Her faith felt like an echo of something she once knew intimately.
We sat together in silence. Nothing forced. Nothing explained.
And after a while she whispered, “I think I just needed permission to stop performing.”
That’s what contemplation does. It unhooks us from performance. It reminds us that God is not waiting for perfect prayers—only an honest presence.
If You Feel Empty, You’re Already Close
Ironically, it’s often in our emptiness that we are closest to God.
Not because we feel it.
But because we’re finally no longer distracted by our own attempts to prove ourselves.
Stillness is the place where we remember:
You are not your performance.
You are not your confusion.
You are not your dryness.
You are beloved.
You are seen.
You are already held.
A Quiet Invitation
If you’ve been running, striving, searching—
If you’re exhausted by trying to feel spiritual—
If prayer has felt more like a burden than a comfort—
You don’t need to push harder.
You just need to return.
To the chair.
To the stillness.
To the center.
Not to achieve anything, but to remember who you are and where God already is.
Shareable Thought:
"Sometimes the most honest prayer isn’t something you say. It’s the space you create to let God find you where you are."
If this reflection spoke to your heart, follow along for weekly guidance on rediscovering your soul’s clarity, purpose, and peace. For free resources and contemplative tools, visit genequiocho.com.
