Hey Dad
My sons are grown now, one of them out of the house, stationed on a US Military Base here in the states. And every once in a while for no particular reason, not because something’s wrong, not because he needs anything, I get a call.
Just: “Hey Dad.”
And then he just starts talking. Random things. Things that happened at work. Something he heard on a podcast. A story about his weekend that doesn’t have a real point. Something cool about his gear or a training op they just finished. If you know anything about military speak, there are tons of letters that really don’t always make sense to me.
But I love every single second of it.
Not because I needed the information. But because he called. Because he wanted to share his day with me. Because I’m still the person he thinks of when something happens that he wants to talk about.
I think that’s what Jesus had in mind when he walked us into John 17.
What God Actually Wants From Your Prayers
Most of us have learned that prayer is a thing we do. It’s a spiritual discipline, a religious practice, something you check off the list to indicate that you are a reasonably serious follower of Jesus.
And so we approach it like a form. We find the right words. We organize our requests into categories. We start with worship and end with intercession because that’s the template we were given. Or we skip the whole thing because, honestly, it’s starting to feel hollow like leaving a voicemail for someone who you’re not sure is actually listening.
Either way, performance mode or checked-out mode, we’ve turned prayer into something it was never supposed to be.
Because in John 17, Jesus doesn’t perform. He doesn’t pretend. On the night before the cross just hours before his arrest, before the trial, before everything, he lifts his eyes to heaven and just… talks to his Father. About his day. About his work. About the people he loves. About what he wants.
No formula. No performance. Just a Son talking to his Father.
The Three Ways We’ve Gotten Prayer Wrong
Before we can hear what John 17 is actually saying, we have to name what most of us have inherited instead.
The Performance Problem. Somewhere along the way we decided there was a “good prayer.” One that’ eloquent, theological, organized. And a “bad prayer” that is short, stumbling, repetitive. So we benchmark ourselves against the person in the room who sounds most like a seminary professor when they pray out loud. And if we don’t measure up, we go quiet. We stop. We wait for someone else to carry it.
The irony is that Jesus was never impressed by eloquence. The most religious, most publicly polished prayers of his day drew his sharpest criticism. What drew him was honesty.
The Vending Machine Problem. Or we treat prayer like a transaction. Insert request, await result. And when the result doesn’t come the way we expected, or doesn’t come at all, we assume the machine is broken, or we did something wrong. We try harder, pray longer, get more specific, try a different posture. Anything to get the “right” outcome.
But when your peace depends on the outcome, you’re one unanswered prayer away from despair. If God’s job is to deliver what you asked for, and he doesn’t…then what’s left?
The Silence Problem. Or we just drift. Life gets full. The habit breaks. And then so much time passes that re-entering the conversation feels awkward. Like a relationship you let go too long. You know you should call, but where do you even start?
All three of these problems share the same root: we’ve made prayer about the form instead of the relationship.
A Son Talking to His Father
The thing that stands out to me about John 17 is that Jesus doesn’t teach the disciples about prayer here. He just prays. And they listen in. We’re not being given a lecture. We’re being invited into his actual conversation with the Father.
And what you find there is nothing like what we’ve turned prayer into.
He’s honest about the moment. “Father, the hour has come.” No softening. No packaging. Just: here’s where I am. The most significant moment in human history and he just says it. To his Father. Exactly as it is. Hey Dad…
He tells his Father about his day. “I glorified you on earth, having accomplished the work you gave me to do.” A simple debrief. This is a Son catching his Father up. Not because the Father didn’t already know. God knows everything before you say a word. But that’s not what this kind of conversation is for. When someone who loves you asks “how was your day?” they don’t need the information. They want to be with you in it. The knowing isn’t the point. The together is.
He asks for what he actually wants. He prays for his people. To keep them, protect them, sanctify them, send them. Specific. Heartfelt. He doesn’t hedge. He doesn’t even add “if it be your will” as a cover. He just says what he wants to his Father. Because when the relationship is right, the requests already align with the Father’s heart.
He prays with confidence, not desperation. No anxiety in this prayer. No groveling. No working himself up to earn a hearing. He walks in and starts talking because he knows his Father hears him. Because they are in relationship.
“Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you.”
John 17:1 (ESV)
You Have Permission to Tell God About Your Day
You have permission to tell God about your day.
Not as a report he needs. Not to earn his attention. Not to perform it correctly. But because he is your Father and he wants to hear from you. Not the polished version, not the King James version, not the version you assembled because you thought that’s what he wanted. The actual version. Where you actually are. What is actually happening. In your very own fumbling, unorganized words.
Honest prayers sound like this:
“Hey Dad, I’m exhausted and I don’t know how to do this.”
“Hey Dad. I’m grateful for this… I know it came from you.”
“Hey Dad. I’m angry about what happened and I don’t understand it.”
“Hey Dad. This is what I actually want. I’m asking you for it.”
Those aren’t irreverent prayers. Those are the prayers Jesus modeled. Walk in, lift your eyes, and say what’s actually happening. That’s John 17. That’s a conversation. That’s a relationship.
The Lord’s Prayer is a gift, but remember what Jesus actually said when he gave it. He didn’t say “pray these words.” In Matthew 6:9, he said: pray like this. The Greek word means “in this manner.” The manner matters more than the formula. And John 17 is what “like this” actually looks like when Jesus does it himself.
Eyes Up. Say: Father. Tell Him.
On the night before everything fell apart, the night before the arrest, the trial, the cross, Jesus lifted his eyes to heaven and said, “Father.” And then he just talked. About his work. About his people. About what he wanted.
And that relationship, that ordinary, honest, life-sharing conversation with the Father, was what sustained him through the hardest moment in history.
You have access to that same Father. He gave his Son so that you would. And that Father is not waiting for you to get your words right. He’s not waiting for you to clean up first. He’s waiting for you to look up and start talking.
So here’s the challenge I want to leave you with.
Instead of the Lord’s Prayer as your go-to try talking to God the way Jesus talked to his Father. Tell him where you are. Tell him what you’re working on. Tell him what you’re afraid of. Tell him what you want.
Eyes up. Say, Hey Dad.
I’ll let you take it from here.
Such a good lesson on how to sincerely pray to our Father.