I Treated Prayer Like a Spare Tire

For a season, prayer lived in the trunk. I knew it was back there, and I was glad it was back there.

But I didn't think about it until something blew out—a crisis, a bill I couldn't cover, a kid I couldn't reach. Then I'd pull over, dig it out, and use it to limp to the next exit.

That's not a prayer life. That's roadside assistance.

The Man Who Prayed on Empty

I was a minister. Let that sit for a second.

I could pray out loud for a room full of people and mean every word. I could carry someone else's burden to God with real fire. But for a stretch, my own tank ran low—and I'd learned to coast on what I'd already built.

I told myself I was busy. I told myself God understood. And He did—but understanding my excuse wasn't the same as me living the life He was offering.

I was leaning on prayer in public and coasting on it in private. The spare tire was for emergencies. It never occurred to me to actually drive on it.

What Finally Changed

It didn't last long—but it lasted long enough to scare me. It wasn't a lightning bolt. It was a slow, quiet realization that I was leading men toward something I'd let slip in my own week.

I'd been treating prayer as the backup—the thing you grab when the real plan fails.

But prayer was never meant to be the backup. It's the engine.

It's not what you reach for when your strength runs out; it's where the strength comes from in the first place.

So I stopped saving it for the breakdowns. I built it back into the ordinary—four lines before the day started, a word at the threshold of my own front door, a habit small enough to keep on the worst Monday.

Nothing about my circumstances got easier. But I stopped driving on empty.

Why I'm Telling You This

Because I've sat with men who do the same—more than I can count. Good men. Praying men—technically.

Men who know prayer is back there in the trunk and pull it out when the wheels come off, then bolt it back down and forget about it till the next blowout.

If that's you, I'm not here to shame you. I slipped into it myself—and I was a pastor.

I'm here to tell you there's a different way to drive. Not prayer as the spare. Prayer as the engine. The strength you were already carrying, finally put to work.

You're stronger than you think. Sometimes the strength is there—it's just the fuel that needs to change.

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Ron Maxson, Jr. | The Dads Prayer Coach