Before the Game, She Prayed

A girl bows her head on the bench. Her teammates chatter in the background as the game approaches, but she remains still. “Dear Heavenly Father, please give me strength. I have faith, but sometimes the doubt creeps in.” This quiet moment from Pixar’s Win or Lose passes quickly on screen, yet it has stirred something larger. A child’s prayer, gentle and uncertain, has become a flashpoint for cultural discussion.

Not long ago, such a scene might have passed without commentary. Prayer was once a common detail in stories about youth, community, or perseverance. Now, it carries weight beyond the words themselves. A private conversation with God, depicted in a mainstream animated series, is seen by some as bold and by others as calculated.

The moment is striking because of its honesty. Laurie is not confident, not triumphant. She is uncertain, and she says so. Her prayer is not performative. It is not packaged to impress, nor is it meant to convert. It is simply a quiet cry for courage from someone who does not feel brave. That small gesture lands with surprising force.

Prayer, by nature, is personal. It speaks from the vulnerable center of a person, the part that often longs but does not know how to explain why. It rarely answers to logic or approval. It can be clumsy, repetitive, even desperate. What matters is not the elegance of the words but the sincerity of the effort.

There is a growing discomfort with vulnerability in public spaces. The preference is often for clean narratives, strong resolutions, and fixed identities. Prayer interrupts that pattern. It admits uncertainty. It confesses weakness. It hopes without proof. And in doing so, it reminds us of something that many cultural spaces have forgotten: that not every truth needs to be explained or defended.

Laurie’s prayer is not the only story in the series, and the surrounding context complicates how it is received. The decision to remove a transgender storyline before release sparked a separate conversation about inclusion, voice, and visibility. These shifts suggest a delicate balancing act behind the scenes, where creative vision is filtered through public expectation and corporate caution. In such an environment, the inclusion of a simple Christian prayer can be read as symbolic or strategic. But perhaps it is also something else: a gesture that refuses to be boxed in by agenda.

Prayer is not exclusive to any one faith tradition. It takes many forms. It can be whispered in a pew, sung in a temple, scribbled in a journal, or felt wordlessly in moments of awe or despair. What unites all forms of prayer is the attempt to reach beyond the self. That act, quiet though it may be, speaks volumes.

What makes Laurie’s prayer compelling is not that it is new, but that it feels real. It is not trying to teach a lesson or offer a solution. It simply makes space for what she is feeling. That choice, small as it seems, is an act of care. Not every story needs to shout in order to be heard. Sometimes, the most meaningful moments happen when a character closes her eyes, gathers her courage, and speaks into the silence.

This quiet tension between faith and uncertainty recalls a pivotal thread in Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. Margaret Simon, on the brink of adolescence, speaks directly to God in the most unfiltered way possible. She does not pray out of obligation or tradition but out of a personal need to be heard. Her conversations with God are filled with doubt, curiosity, and longing as she navigates questions of identity, puberty, and her place in the world. Margaret is not sure what she believes, or even if she believes at all, yet she continues to reach out. That persistence, shaped by the confusion and wonder of growing up, reveals a deeper truth. Prayer is not always about certainty. Sometimes it is simply the act of asking with honesty, even when you are unsure who, if anyone, is listening.

Whether prayer is seen as a spiritual act, a cultural artifact, or a deeply personal habit, its presence in a story reminds us that some things still defy simplification. Faith, like doubt, is not tidy. But when given room to exist without spectacle, it can remind us of the quiet places inside ourselves that still long to be seen.