I believe it was Anne Lamott who so deftly identified that, in truth, there really are only two prayers: Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, and Help, Help, Help.
I often pray these very words.
As an adolescent, deep in the throes of (largely self-imposed) legalism and self-flagellation, I wrote detailed prayer journals, outlining all my confessions, deepest thoughts and darkest desires.
But I have found that the older I get, the less words my prayers contain.
More often, my brain silently utters the urgent cries of my soul in simple, minimalistic phrases.
Prayers for others are often visualizations; I conjure a portrait of you in my mind, meditate upon it, and my mind repeats over and over, Lord, please help.
I used to be so wrongfully convinced that in order to be effective, words directed to the Almighty needed to be sculpted into ornate phrases and verbose petitions.
Not even close.
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.
Help, Help, Help.