The In-Between Days and the Quiet Work of Prayer

This little figurine sits right beneath my computer monitor. I’ve moved desks over the years, changed computers more times than I can count, but she’s always ended up right there.

She’s tiny. Pewter. A little girl kneeling with her hands folded in prayer. You wouldn’t notice her unless you were looking for her, and even then, she doesn’t demand much attention.

Yesterday, in one of those in-between days—the ones after Christmas but before the new year really begins—I caught myself looking at her a little longer than usual. And just like that, I was back in eighth grade, walking through the mall with my mom the day after Christmas.

That day became our thing.

The day after Christmas, just the two of us. We’d head straight to the Hallmark store because that’s when everything Christmas-related was marked down. We’d look for ornaments and little decorations, talking about what we might use the following year. It felt practical and fun at the same time, which was kind of my mom’s specialty.

We’d usually grab lunch at Carl’s Jr. Nothing fancy. Just that grilled chicken with a green chili sandwich and side of their fried zucchini in the food court. Then we’d split up for a bit and each find a small gift for the other. We’d look for something simple and thoughtful, then we’d meet back up usually near the same Carl’s Jr. and exchange them right there.

One year, she gave me this figurine.

At the time, it was simply sweet. A tiny gift that fit easily in my hand. I loved her immediately. It wasn’t like the other porcelain figurines painted and colorful. It was simple. More left to imagine. It felt quiet and so unique. I don’t think I fully understood then why it would matter so much as I grew up.

Now, years later, it sits on my desk and quietly reminds me to pray. It reminds me of my mom, of course, and of the ways she made ordinary moments feel intentional. But more than that, it reminds me of how she kept pointing my sisters and me toward Jesus. Not loudly. Not forcefully. Just faithfully, over time.

That thought stayed with me as I reread a text exchange I had recently with a dear friend. We were catching up after Christmas, talking about our families, our kids, and all the things we’re carrying into a new year. We both found ourselves talking about prayer—about trusting God with our children, about hoping for conversations and opportunities and growth that we can’t manufacture ourselves.

At some point, I realized that we’re doing this together. We’re praying for each other’s kids. We’re checking in. We’re reminding one another to keep trusting God even when the answers feel slow or unclear. It wasn’t anything formal or planned. It just sort of happened naturally, the way these things often do.

I think that’s why these in-between days matter so much to me. Maybe you relate? They’re not busy or dramatic. The celebrations are mostly over, but the year hasn’t fully started yet. It’s a quieter space where you can think, and remember, and pause and notice the small things that usually get lost in the rush.

That little praying girl on my desk feels especially at home in this space. She reminds me that prayer doesn’t have to be impressive to be meaningful. Isn’t faithfulness built in ordinary days, through simple habits and small choices? That entrusting our children to the Lord isn’t a one-time prayer but something we return to again and again.

That thought stayed with me as I reread a recent text exchange with a dear friend. We were checking in after Christmas, talking about our kids, the year ahead, and all the things we find ourselves praying about. Different families, different stories, but the same deep hope running underneath it all—that our children would come to know the Lord, and that God would be doing His work in their lives even when we can’t see much evidence of it yet.

Reflecting on our messages it struck me that we’re sort of doing this together now. We’re praying for each other’s kids. We’re reminding one another to keep trusting God with what we care about most. It wasn’t planned or named or formal in any way. It just happened, the way these things often do.

These in-between days seem to make space for that kind of noticing. The decorations are still around, but things are quieter. The calendar is starting to fill up again, but the year hasn’t really taken off yet. It feels like a small pause, a chance to take stock of what we’re carrying and to place it, once again, back into the Lord’s hands.

That’s part of why this little praying girl means so much to me. She reminds me that faithfulness is usually shaped in ordinary moments, passed along through small traditions, and lived out in prayers that are offered quietly and over time. My mom couldn’t control the paths my sisters and I would walk. She couldn’t guarantee outcomes. But she could pray. She could model what it looked like to keep bringing what mattered most back to the Lord.

Now, I find myself doing the same thing. Praying for my son. Praying for the children my friends love. I had texted my friend that day that I was “praying for wisdom, timing, and the right words at the right moments” for both of us and both our sons. Trusting that God is already at work, even when I can’t see all of it yet.

If you’re in a similar place—holding prayers that feel unfinished, waiting on answers that haven’t come yet—I hope you know you’re not alone. These quiet, in-between seasons are often where God does some of His deepest work, even if it doesn’t feel that way in the moment.

Sometimes it really does start with something as small as a figurine on a desk, quietly reminding you to pray…and I hope you will.

As I write, the new year, 2026 (goodness gracious, how did that even happen?) is only a few days away. I want this to be a year marked by prayer more than any year ever before. Will you join me? Leave a note in the comments below or connect with me here and let’s pray for and with one another this year.