Asking & Receiving

Asking & Receiving - Learning Dependence Through Petition

And it happened that while Jesus was praying in a certain place, after He had finished, one of His disciples said to Him, “Lord, teach us to pray just as John also taught his disciples.” And He said to them, “When you pray, say: ‘Father, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Luke 11: 1-2

Prayer Has an Audience

Before Jesus teaches us what to ask for, He teaches us who we are speaking to.

“When you pray,” He says, “say: Our Father in heaven.”

Prayer has an audience. And that audience is not our destiny, or the economy, or the health report, or the atmosphere of the room. It is not even ourselves.

Prayer is directed to God.

This matters more than we might initially realize, because many of us have absorbed prayer models — sometimes subtly, sometimes loudly — that have quietly shifted that audience. Speak to the mountain. Declare your season. Announce your breakthrough. Enforce your promise. In that system, words are tools, intensity is power, and confidence is measured by volume. The person praying becomes the center of gravity. What matters is what you say, how you say it, and whether you say it with enough conviction.

But Jesus does something entirely different. He does not say, “When you pray, declare into your future.” He does not say, “When you pray, speak to your circumstances.” He says, “When you pray, say: Our Father.”

Prayer is not a technique or a force. It is not incantation. It is conversation. And conversation requires a person on the other end.

If prayer is declaration into the air, then the power lies in the speaker. If prayer is conversation with the Father, then the power lies in His character. That is not a minor theological distinction. It changes everything about how we pray, what we expect from prayer, and what we do when prayer feels unanswered.

Jesus begins with relationship because petition rests on relationship. We ask because we belong. We speak because we are heard. We approach because we are adopted.

Romans 8 tells us that we have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” Prayer is not an attempt to persuade God to become Father. Prayer flows from the fact that He already is.

Confidence in asking flows from confidence in belonging. We come to Him not as strangers presenting a case, but as children coming home.

“Your Father Knows” — So Why Ask?

“Therefore, do not be like them; for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him. Matthew 6:8

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”

If He already knows, why speak? If He already sees, why ask?

This is worth sitting with.

Prayer is not about informing God. It is about forming us.

When a child asks his father for food, the father is not learning something new. He already knows the child is hungry. But the asking is still part of the relationship. It is an expression of trust. It is an acknowledgment of dependence.

Asking does three things.

First, asking expresses trust. When we ask, we are saying, “I cannot secure this on my own.” We are acknowledging limitation. We are confessing creatureliness. In a world that rewards self-sufficiency and punishes vulnerability, this is no small act.

Second, asking sustains relationship. Communion requires communication. A child who never speaks to his father — even if the father provides everything — lives at a distance. Silence may feel self-sufficient, but it is also isolating.

Third, asking aligns our desires. When we bring our requests to God, our hearts begin to bend. Prayer is not just a pipeline for receiving things. It is a discipline that forms what we want.

This is why Lent begins here. Before we talk about being led by God — before we talk about direction and guidance — we must first learn dependence. And dependence begins not with dramatic encounters, but with something far more ordinary and far more humbling: asking.

Why We Do Not Ask

Why do we not ask?

Sometimes it is subtle self-sufficiency. We calculate. We prepare. We build backup systems. We secure connections. We diversify resources. And when life feels manageable, prayer begins to feel optional. We do not stop believing in God. We simply stop consulting Him.

Asking feels unnecessary when control feels possible. But when we stop asking, we start managing life without reference to God.

Sometimes we do not ask because we fear disappointment. If we never ask, we never risk hearing no. Silence feels safer than surrender. Not praying can become a way of protecting ourselves from vulnerability.

And sometimes — especially in environments shaped by certain faith cultures — we do not ask because asking sounds weak. If prayer is primarily declaration, then humble petition feels uncertain. If prayer is enforcement, then requesting feels like doubt. If power lies in our speech, then saying “Father, give me…” sounds passive.

But Jesus did not teach us to decree our daily bread. He taught us to say, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Petition is not weakness or doubt. It is humility. It is trust.

And then James adds another layer that is harder to sit with.

You lust and do not have, so you murder. You are envious and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, so that you may spend it on your pleasures. James 4: 2-3

This is uncomfortable. It means the issue is not always silence. It is not always intensity. It is not always faith level.

Sometimes the issue is desire.

The word translated “pleasures” carries the idea of disordered cravings — desires that have become ultimate. Requests centered not on God’s kingdom, but on the enlargement of self.

It is possible to pray frequently and still pray wrongly. It is possible to ask boldly and still ask selfishly. It is possible to use the language of faith while pursuing the idol of control.

Scripture does not condemn desire. Jesus teaches us to ask for bread. The problem is not desire — it is disordered desire.

When prayer becomes a tool for self-exaltation, it stops being petition and becomes manipulation. We begin to treat God not as Father, but as supplier. Not as Lord, but as lever.

Sometimes we do not receive because what we are asking for would deepen our captivity.

A good Father will not fund the growth of your idols.

God is generous. But He is not indulgent.

When our requests are fueled by envy, comparison, pride, or self-glory, God’s “no” is not rejection. It is protection.

The goal of prayer is not to bend God toward our will. It is to bend our will toward His.

And this is where Lent becomes deeply relevant. Fasting exposes desire. It surfaces what we crave. It reveals what feels non-negotiable. James invites us to examine not just whether we ask — but what kind of heart is doing the asking.

When we stop asking, we start asserting. And when we start asserting, we stop walking with God.

What Should We Ask For?

Jesus shapes our petitions.

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

Not lifetime guarantees. Not ten-year plans. Daily bread.

This is uncomfortable for people who prefer clarity and control. We want more certainty than that. We want to know that next year is covered, that the trajectory is secured, that we will not have to come back tomorrow with the same need. But that discomfort is the point. Daily bread trains daily trust. It keeps us dependent. It keeps us returning.

Think of the manna in the wilderness — it could not be stored, it could not be hoarded. God provided it fresh each morning, not because He was being stingy, but because daily provision was also daily relationship. He wanted them coming back. He still does.

“Your kingdom come.”

Prayer expands beyond “fix my situation” into “advance Your reign.” When prayer is relational, it becomes aligned.

But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. James 1:5

James says, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God.” Being led by God begins here — not with mystical experiences, but with humble requests for clarity and obedience.

And Paul shows us what transformed prayer looks like. In Ephesians and Colossians, he prays for strengthened inner beings, rooted love, endurance, and knowledge of Christ.

“Lord, make me patient.”

“Lord, deepen my love.”

“Lord, strengthen my inner being.”

Those are dangerous prayers. But they are dependent prayers.

How God Answers

Too long, please open your Bible Matthew 7:7

He grounds this promise in fatherhood again. God answers generously. But He also answers wisely.

And this is the confidence which we have before Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests which we have asked from Him. 1 John 5: 14-15

God answers generously. But He also answers wisely. And this is where we need to be honest about something many of us have quietly wondered but rarely said aloud. What do we do when we ask — sincerely, repeatedly, faithfully — and the answer is not what we hoped for? What do we do when we have prayed the right things, with the right heart, and the relief does not come?

Too long, please open your Bible 2 Corinthians 12: 7-10

Paul had a thorn in the flesh. He pleaded three times for it to be removed.

God did not remove it.

Instead, He said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

God did not say, “You lacked faith.”

He did not say, “You didn’t ask correctly.”

He did not say, “Try again with more intensity.”

He answered.

The answer was simply not the one Paul expected.

And what Paul received was something deeper than relief. He received sustaining grace. He received revelation about where power actually lives — not in the absence of weakness, but in the presence of Christ within it.

Even a “no” is communion. Even a “wait” is a word from the Father.

The greatest gift in prayer is not always the thing requested. It is God Himself.

Walking With God Begins Here

Walking with God does not begin with knowing where you are going.

It begins with knowing Who you are going to.

Before He leads us, He teaches us to ask. Before He guides our steps, He humbles our hearts.

This is the confession Lent invites us into:

I am not self-sustaining.

I am not self-directing.

I am not self-securing.

I am a child.

And if He is Father, then asking is not weakness. It is worship.

Empty hands are not a failure. They are an invitation.

And they are exactly what the Father fills.