Dear Little Girl, You Don’t Have to Perform for God
What if your time with God was never something you had to perform perfectly? Some mornings bring pages of prayers; others offer only five hurried minutes. But He isn’t measuring the length of the conversation. He simply wants you—and sometimes, “Hi God. Come with me” is enough.
There are mornings when the chair feels sacred.
Coffee gets cold beside you. Your Bible is open. The house is quiet. You write and pray and somehow an hour disappears because you have so much to say to God—and somehow, in the saying, you begin to hear Him too.
And then there are mornings like today.
The alarm has already gone off too many times. Your body is tired. The calendar is full. There are people who need you, work that isn't finished, texts waiting for answers, and approximately seventeen things running through your head before your feet even hit the floor.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, you can accidentally turn time with God into one more thing you're failing at.
I didn't pray long enough.
I barely read my Bible.
I didn't journal enough.
I didn't have some profound revelation.
I was distracted the entire time.
And suddenly, even quiet time has become a performance metric.
Dear Little Girl, I don't think that's what He wants.
I don't think God is sitting across from you with a stopwatch.
I don't think He's counting pages.
I don't think He's measuring the length of your prayers or grading the depth of what you wrote in your journal.
The Journal that changed my life….
I think He wants you.
That's it.
The you who sometimes has hours.
And the you who sometimes has five minutes.
The you who arrives peaceful and expectant.
And the you who drops into the chair already overwhelmed and says,
“Hi God. Crazy day. Love you. Come with me.”
Maybe that's the whole prayer.
And maybe that's enough.
Because relationship isn't measured by the length of the conversation.
Think about the people you love most. Some days you sit across the table and talk for hours. You tell stories. You cry. You laugh. You work through the hard things.
Other days it's a kiss on the cheek as someone runs out the door.
Love you. Be safe. Call me.
The brevity doesn't make the relationship less real.
Love was already there.
I think sometimes we forget that with God.
We can turn prayer into something we accomplish instead of Someone we walk with.
Jesus certainly withdrew to quiet places to pray. He showed us the importance of getting away, becoming still, and being with the Father.
But He didn't leave the Father behind when He left the quiet place.
He carried that relationship into the crowds.
Into meals.
Into interruptions.
Into long walks.
Into healing.
Into work.
Into exhaustion.
Maybe that's what I'm learning in these chairs.
The chair isn't the relationship.
The chair is where I remember the relationship.
And then I get up.
I teach the class.
These precious Girl Scouts earned their dance and friendship badge!
I answer the phone.
I drive the kid.
I make the dinner.
I tend to the body God gave me.
I do the next thing in front of me.
And God comes too.
There will be mornings when I have pages and pages to give Him.
There will be mornings when I have tears.
There will be mornings when I have questions.
And there will apparently be mornings when all I've got is:
Hi. I'm here. I love You. Help.
Maybe spiritual maturity isn't becoming better at performing quiet time.
Maybe it's becoming better at returning.
Returning when you're distracted.
Returning when you're tired.
Returning when you don't have anything profound to say.
Returning when yesterday wasn't your finest.
Returning even when all you have is a few minutes and a cup of coffee.
Because He was never asking for a performance.
He was asking for your presence.
And Dear Little Girl, you don't have to earn the presence of a God who has already promised you His.
So if today is one of those days, close the Bible when you need to.
Finish the coffee.
Get up from the chair.
And say:
“Come with me.”
Because He will.
And sometimes, that may be the most honest prayer you pray all day.
Love,
Worthy
The Chair Where He Keeps Waiting
Last week I shared the chair that shaped my mother's faith. This week, I'd love to show you mine. Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and let's talk about the quiet place where I've discovered that God has been waiting for me all along.
Worthy Heart Reflection
Last Sunday, I shared a picture of my mom's chair.
The chair where she prayed.
The chair where she watched children walk home from school.
The chair where she faithfully met with God for years.
As I wrote those words, I realized something.
I have a chair too.
Every morning, before the notifications, before the calendar, before the demands of the day begin, I carry my coffee to the same place.
Two chairs sit there.
One for me.
And one for God.
No, I don't believe He physically sits in the other chair.
But making room for Him changed the way I meet with Him.
Years ago, I read a little book called Two Chairs. The idea was beautifully simple: if you want to cultivate a friendship with God, create space that says, You're welcome here.
So I did.
At first, it felt intentional.
Then it became a habit.
Somewhere along the way...
it became holy.
Some mornings I laugh.
Some mornings I cry.
Some mornings I don't have many words at all.
I simply sit.
I listen.
I read.
I pray.
And somehow, every single time, I leave different than I arrived.
Not because all my problems disappear.
They don't.
My marriage still has places that need grace.
The people I love still face battles I cannot fight for them.
My own fears still try to find their way back into my heart.
Life doesn't pause because I spent time with God.
But something inside of me changes.
Peace has a way of speaking louder than fear.
Truth becomes easier to hear than worry.
Love becomes stronger than control.
I'll also confess something.
There are mornings I don't show up.
I'm busy.
I'm distracted.
I convince myself I'll do it later.
And almost without fail, I can tell the difference.
Little frustrations feel bigger.
My patience grows thinner.
My thoughts become noisier.
Not because God has moved.
Because I have.
A few mornings ago, while I sat in those two chairs, a thought quietly crossed my mind.
I wonder if He's waiting for me on the mornings I don't come.
Not waiting with disappointment.
Not keeping score.
Simply waiting like someone who treasures the conversation.
That thought didn't fill me with guilt.
It filled me with gratitude.
What kind of God longs to spend time with us?
The kind who met a woman at a well.
Who walked with discouraged disciples.
Who lingered at dinner tables.
Who still whispers, "Come spend time with Me."
Not because He needs us.
Because He loves us.
People sometimes ask me about my morning routine.
Truthfully, it isn't the coffee.
It isn't the chair.
It isn't even the routine.
It's the relationship.
The chair is simply where I remember who I am.
Before I'm Amy.
Before I'm Mom.
Before I'm wife.
Before I'm Miss Mermaid.
Before I'm "Worthy."
I'm simply His.
And that changes everything.
So if you're reading this today, can I offer you one gentle invitation?
Find your chair.
Maybe it isn't a chair at all.
Maybe it's the driver's seat before you walk into work.
A porch swing.
A park bench.
A quiet corner of your bedroom.
God has never been looking for perfect conditions.
He's always been looking for willing hearts.
There isn't anything magical about my chair.
But there is something beautiful about returning, day after day, to the God who never stopped waiting.
Maybe...He's waiting for you, too.
Dear Little Girl, You Don't Need a Formula to Be Loved by God: Why real faith isn’t built on quiet time culture — it’s built on relationship.
You don’t need a perfect routine to be close to God. You need a real relationship. This Dear Little Girl is a reminder that faith isn’t built on formulas — it’s built on showing up as yourself.