Err in your methods or measurements for a loaf of sourdough bread and what went into the oven a promising ball of dough might come out a brick. Ever feel like prayer works the same way? That without precisely 50 grams of humility, 75 grams of submission, 200 grams of faith, 167 grams of gratitude, and a dash–not a pinch, a dash–of boldness, the whole thing will flop? To me, getting through to heaven has often seemed that impossibly temperamental. But effective prayer–prayer that yields results–doesn’t hinge on how well you can follow a recipe. It hinges on God, and on the heart you place in his hands.
I grew my first sourdough starter in 2020. So did lots of other people, apparently, and 2020 is probably all the explanation necessary as to why. Whether counteracting the insanity of being trapped at home or stepping toward self-sufficiency in a tumultuous world climate, it seemed the thing to do.
But like most things, it’s not as easy as proficient people make it look. Even “Sourdough for Beginners”–there’s no shortage of videos and blog posts on that–takes a certain level of skill.
Here’s my first loaf of beginner sourdough. While it was definitely more rustic and artisan than anything I’d ever made before and I was actually kind of proud of it–why do you think I took a picture?–you only have to compare it with the loaf pictured above (which I also made) to call this the YouTube version of a Pinterest fail.
It still tasted good, and I can’t deny the process was as simple as it was claimed to be. But simple doesn’t guarantee your bread won’t be a leaden frisbee.
As time went on, I became increasingly convinced that nothing short of magical powers–or quitting your job–could.
The Life and Demise of Sourdough Starter #1
There are several avocado memes floating around that go something like this. “Not yet…not yet…not yet…EAT ME NOW! Too late.”
Sourdough starter seems a bit like that.
For best results, it should be in its domed, active state when you mix your dough. You want it bubbly and happy, which means you have to feed it several hours beforehand. Not too many hours before because after it reaches its peak, it will fall like a deflated souffle, and with it, your dough’s chances for a good rise. But not too few hours, either, or your dough will have the same problem.
Not ready is bad. Past ready is bad. Like Goldilocks, you want it just right.
Experienced sourdough-ers will probably tell you that “just right” window is more forgiving than an avocado’s, but as a beginner, finding that window at all felt like an exact science. So did everything else, from the way you measured–apparently measuring in grams makes better bread than measuring in cups–to the way you baked–a humid oven seems to be your greatest hope for that delightful oven spring (the sudden and miraculous rise of your bread as it bakes).
Starter, grams, humidity. Time, practice, planning. I couldn’t make them all work in harmony to save my life.
Some of it I chalked up to working full time, and I’m still convinced that to be a truly avid, consistent sourdough user, you have to be home. You do if you’re me, anyway. Even with a little more experience, I find sourdough almost impossible to juggle during the work week. You can make shift, feeding your starter before you leave in the morning and mixing dough on your lunch break (assuming you can go home for lunch). But it’s never all it should be.
There are the weekends, though. That’s where all my biggest failures happened. Can’t blame that on work.
Overall, I think the biggest problem with my sourdough endeavors was that I didn’t understand exactly what I was looking for in an active, bubbly starter or how to plan the process so I had what I was looking for when I needed it.
I was the definition of insanity. Doing the same thing again and again with the same lack of understanding, hoping practice would make perfect instead of trying to figure out what I was doing wrong.
Right practice makes perfect. Wrong practice makes worse, and finally, after peeling the top off a loaf of proofed, too-sticky dough I couldn’t remove from my insufficiently floured banneton basket, I gave up. My starter rotted in the fridge, and that was the end of the mix of flour and water I’d halfheartedly called Juanita.
The Sourdough Ghost Returns
This short-lived sourdough journey wasn’t far behind me when my niece was life flighted to the hospital after battling for several days what appeared to be a very nasty stomach bug. Theories ranged from appendicitis to cancer before E. coli was finally called the culprit. It attacked her kidneys and led to a series of seizures that caused almost a complete loss of cognitive and physical function. She spent the entire summer in the hospital literally coming back to herself, relearning everything from swallowing to speaking, writing to walking.
Heaven probably hadn’t heard such an ongoing influx of prayer from our family since my dad was sick, especially in the beginning with so much emergency and scary unknowns.
Sometimes it seems the more desperate your prayers, the more inadequate they feel. The times you most need them to get past the ceiling are the times they seem to bob against it like a lethargic helium balloon. That’s what mine seemed to do as I prayed for her after her first seizure.
That’s when those failed sourdough attempts came back to me.
I couldn’t line up the ducks for an effective prayer any more than I could line them up for a decent loaf of bread. Both processes seemed to require equal precision. Grams, not cups. Faith, not fear. Humidity is key. Hope is indispensable. Have an active starter. Have a submissive heart. Stretch and fold the dough. Exercise gratitude. Balance it all together in just the right way at just the right time, and you’ll love the results. But miss a step…
Basically, I came face to face with the conviction that years of unanswered prayers had slowly drilled into my head: I didn’t know how to pray. Not so it made a difference.
God’s Will or Our Weakness?
Was it even possible to make a difference? I had hit a point where asking God for anything felt like a colossal waste of time. In all my experience, he did whatever he was going to do no matter what I prayed for or how fervently. It seemed easier and more sensible to just sit back and watch him act or not act as he wished because that’s what he was going to do anyway.
But times come and things happen where, broken trust or not, you know he’s your only hope, and you pray to him in spite of yourself.
That doesn’t mean you know what to say. Mostly it’s just a floundering, rambling jumble of words about how you want to pray for this person’s healing, but you don’t know what words of yours could possibly contribute to such a thing because no words of yours ever seemed to before.
How do you come with effective faith to a God who is going to do what he’s going to do?
That was then, had been for a long time, and often still is the question of my lifetime.
But so is this one.
Is it God, or is it me?
Does he not answer because he’s going to do what he’s going to do, or because he can’t do what he wants to do?
Whether for a sick niece who needed healing or a sick heart that needs filling, my desires have always felt like an elusive fairy I could catch if only I made this little tweak, that small adjustment, said this instead of that, gave the knob one more quarter turn. It’s seemed the answers would flow and dreams would come true if I could just figure out the magic word. Learn the magic life lesson. Develop the magic character trait, utter the magic turn of phrase that makes God say, “Yes! That’s what I’ve been looking for! Now you can have what you want.”
That’s what I said when I grew a new sourdough starter, tried a new method, and took the lid off the Dutch oven to find my loaf had sprung. “Yeah! That’s more like it!”
Oven spring seems to be the epitome of successful sourdough.
Answers–miracles–seem to be the epitome of effective prayer.
So, is effective prayer like a loaf of sourdough?
That may be a question you have to answer for yourself. But here’s how I answer it for me.
Effective Prayer Defined
God does ask certain things of us when we ask things of him. Our faith, our love, our obedience. A broken heart and a contrite spirit. Just as a loaf of sourdough will spring better in a humid oven, our prayers will rise higher from a humble heart. God is quick to listen if we are quick to repent. Not so quick if we aren’t. Effective prayers do in part depend on how we offer them.
But God extends more grace for our weaknesses than flour and water and starter and oven atmosphere extend a loaf of bread. He’s not waiting for magic words or exact measures of faith. He’s not looking for a perfect child who gets it all right all the time. He knows we can’t. Hence, John 3:16.
He just wants a child who wants to get it right. And tries.
That’s as precise as you have to be.
You don’t have to know all the right words to say. In fact, you won’t. That’s why Paul wrote, “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.“
Sometimes the most effective prayers happen in silence.
And sometimes the most effective prayers don’t bring what you prayed for.
Be flexible in what you’re willing to call a result. You may find your prayers have produced much more than you thought.
Healing is a result. Marriage is a result. But so is peace. Acceptance. Humility. Growth.
A relationship with God brings all that and more. Prayer is what builds that relationship.
What God plans to do doesn’t decide whether your prayers make a difference. They can make a difference no matter what he plans to do. Maybe not to the circumstances. But certainly to you.
Our prayers may be awkward. Our attempts may be feeble. But since the power of prayer is in the One who hears it and not in the one who says it, our prayers do make a difference.
Max Lucado
Thank you for reading. I hope these words have offered you something of worth and that you’ll leave a comment and share.
P.S.
If you bake with sourdough or want to and have any interest in trying the recipes I followed…
Don’t let my flop deter you from trying the simple method of The Prairie Homestead. Her bread turned out lovely, and the process is definitely less involved. You can find the recipe and tutorial video here:
https://www.theprairiehomestead.com/2020/04/sourdough-bread-recipe.html
The other method is much more labor intensive, but I can’t deny it’s yielded the prettiest loaves of sourdough I never knew I had it in me to make. If you have the time, this one’s worth spending it on. You can find that recipe and tutorial video here:
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