The Prayer Porch

Author: The Prayer Porch

  • Homemade Sourdough Pasta Recipe

    Homemade Sourdough Pasta Recipe

    Sometimes the most comforting things come from the simplest ingredients. Flour, eggs, a little salt, a splash of olive oil, and a spoonful of sourdough starter that’s been faithfully waiting in the fridge. There’s something grounding about making pasta by hand -slowly, gently, without rushing. It invites us to pause, to press into the rhythm of kneading and rolling, and to remember that nourishment doesn’t always begin in the kitchen but often in the quiet places of the heart.

    Homemade sourdough pasta has a way of reminding us that even scraps, the “discard” we might have thrown away can become something beautiful and satisfying. God does this with us too. Nothing is wasted in His hands.

    So if your days have felt hurried or heavy, let this be an invitation to step into a slower moment. Tie on an apron. Dust the counter with flour. Let your hands remember the ancient work of turning simple ingredients into something warm and sustaining.

    Here is a pared-down, easy version of sourdough pasta you can make on any cozy afternoon.

    Simple Sourdough Pasta

    Ingredients

    3 cups all-purpose or whole wheat flour (or a mix)
    ⅓ cup sourdough starter discard (unfed sourdough starter)
    2 large eggs
    1 tablespoon olive oil
    1 teaspoon sea salt
    1–2 tablespoons water

    Instructions

    1. Mix the dough
      Place the flour in a mixing bowl. In a smaller bowl, stir together the sourdough discard, eggs, olive oil, and salt. Pour the wet mixture into the flour and stir with a fork until clumps form. Add water a teaspoon at a time until the dough comes together. It should feel firm, not sticky.
    2. Knead
      Turn the dough onto a clean counter and knead for 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. Shape into a ball and wrap tightly, let it rest for an hour or two on the counter.
    3. Roll it out
      Divide the dough into 2 pieces, keeping each wrapped until needed. Roll out one piece at a time using a rolling pin. Dust with flour as needed to prevent sticking.
    4. Cut your pasta
      Slice into noodles or your desired shape using a knife, pizza cutter, or pasta cutter. Lay the pieces on a board or drying rack for about 30 minutes before cooking.
    5. Cook and enjoy
      Boil in salted water until tender, usually just a few minutes. Serve with butter, olive oil, or your favorite sauce.

    As you roll out each piece of dough, may it be a small reminder that God is always shaping and stretching us – not to overwhelm us, but to make us more tender, more open, more able to receive His goodness. Even simple things like flour and eggs can become a gift. And so can quiet moments in our kitchens.

  • The Gift of Hunkering Down

    The Gift of Hunkering Down

    There is something sacred about the first real cold snap of winter.
    The kind that makes you pull your sweater a little tighter.
    The kind that sends you searching for that favorite blanket.
    The kind that whispers, slow down now.

    Winter never apologizes for asking us to hunker down. It simply arrives, quiet and insistent, and extends an invitation we didn’t even know we needed: to turn inward, to rest, to be still.

    The Quiet Permission of Winter

    Our world rarely gives us room to withdraw, to cocoon, or to let the rhythm of our days match the shorter light and longer nights. Yet winter offers this permission freely if we choose to receive it.

    When the cold settles in and the world outside grows hushed, something in us remembers an older rhythm. A rhythm that knows rest is not laziness. A rhythm that understands that some of the most important work happens in the quiet.

    What Fills the Soul in Winter

    So what do we do with these cold, cozy days? What truly nourishes us when we hunker down?

    We light candles and watch the flame dance. There is something nearly prayerful about it – how the steady glow pushes back the darkness.

    We wrap our hands around warm mugs. Coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon, cocoa in the evening. Each one a small ceremony of comfort, steam rising like our unspoken prayers.

    We finally pull out the books we’ve been meaning to read. We get lost in stories, or found in the words of poets and wise guides.

    We cook slow meals that warm the whole home. Soup simmering all afternoon. Bread rising on the counter. Food that quietly says you are loved, you are cared for, you are home.

    We create with our hands. Knitting, drawing, writing, building – whatever allows the soul to speak without words.

    We sit in the silence and simply breathe. We hear the wind at the windows. We watch the snowfall if we are blessed with it. We let ourselves be still, without agenda or achievement.

    The Deeper Invitation

    But winter isn’t only inviting us to cozy moments. It is calling us deeper.

    It reminds us that we too are part of creation’s rhythms. That we need seasons of dormancy and rest. That sometimes growth happens underground, in the dark, where no one can see.

    Winter asks gentle questions.
    What needs to fall away?
    What needs to rest?
    What is God nurturing in you that is not yet ready to bloom?

    These cold months give permission to let some things lie fallow. To stop striving. To trust that spring will return, but for now, this stillness is exactly where you are meant to be.

    A Prayer for the Cold Days

    For the shortened days and lengthened nights,
    For the cold that sends us seeking warmth,
    For the quiet that settles over everything,
    Thank You.

    Teach us to hunker down without guilt.
    To rest without apology.
    To find You in the stillness,
    In the candle’s glow,
    In the steam rising from our cups,
    In the peace of simply being held.
    Amen.

    As the cold weather settles in around you, I hope you’ll accept winter’s invitation. Pull on your coziest socks. Light a candle. Make a slow, comforting meal. Open a good book. And remember that in the hunkering down, your soul is being tended.

    You are exactly where you need to be.

    What will you do this winter to fill your soul?

    Soul-Warming Chicken Soup

    Speaking of slow meals, here is a simple, forgiving chicken soup that fills the house with warmth. It tastes like comfort and makes the whole home smell like a hug.

    Ingredients:

    2–3 lbs bone-in chicken pieces (thighs and breasts work beautifully)- a rotisserie chicken works well too
    8 cups organic chicken broth
    3 carrots, peeled and sliced
    3 celery stalks, chopped
    1 large onion, diced
    3–4 cloves garlic, minced
    2 bay leaves
    1 teaspoon dried thyme (or a few fresh sprigs)
    1 teaspoon dried parsley
    Salt and pepper to taste
    1 ½ cups egg noodles or your favorite pasta
    Fresh lemon juice (optional, but lovely)
    Fresh dill or parsley for serving

    Instructions:

    1. In a large pot, add the chicken, broth, bay leaves, and a generous pinch of salt. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer 45–60 minutes, until the chicken is tender.
    2. Remove the chicken and set aside to cool. Leave the broth simmering.
    3. Add the carrots, celery, onion, garlic, thyme, and parsley. Simmer about 20 minutes, until everything is tender.
    4. Shred the cooled chicken, removing skin and bones. Add the meat back to the pot. If you are using a rotisserie chicken, it’s a much easier process as it is already cooked and will just need shredding!
    5. Add the noodles and cook according to package directions.
    6. Taste and adjust seasoning. Add lemon juice if you like a bright finish.
    7. Serve warm with fresh herbs and crusty bread or in a bread bowl. My favorite bread bowls are from the Healing Slice website.

    A little note: it tastes even better the next day. 📖☕

    “Winter is the season when warmth comes from within.” 🕯️

    With love, from the porch,
    Laura

  • Light in the Darkness: Advent’s Message of Compassion

    Light in the Darkness: Advent’s Message of Compassion

    Advent always begins softly, arriving like a gentle breath after a long season. As we step into this time of reflection, I’ve been spending time with Howard Thurman’s book Jesus and the Disinherited. His reminder is clear and powerful: Jesus came for those with their backs against the wall. For the overlooked, the weary, the misunderstood, and the ones pushed quietly to the edges of society.

    Surprisingly, this same theme appears in the story of Wicked. Beneath the music and color is a tender message about judgment, fear and the way a person can be labeled without ever being truly known. Elphaba isn’t wicked. She is wounded and misunderstood, living in a world that never paused long enough to see her heart. She represents anyone who has carried the weight of being misread or marginalized.

    Thurman points us toward the same truth. Jesus’ life and ministry were not centered around the powerful. They were rooted in compassion for the vulnerable, the rejected and the unseen. Advent becomes a season of remembering that God chose to enter the world through humility and vulnerability. Born into a family without status, without safety and without a place to stay, Jesus came in solidarity with those who know what it feels like to have no room.

    If this season feels complicated for you, you are not alone. Many people enter December carrying grief, uncertainty, loneliness or a deep sense of not fitting into the rhythms of celebration around them. Advent speaks directly to that experience. It tells us that hope comes especially to those who feel out of place. It tells us that God draws close to the misunderstood. It tells us that the love of Christ shines gently on every heart that feels pressed against the margins.

    The stories of the disinherited and of Elphaba remind us of something important. What the world overlooks, God holds close. What the world labels, God understands. What the world wounds, God longs to heal.

    As we light the first Advent candle, may this small flame remind us that hope often begins quietly. It arrives for the weary, the searching, and the ones longing for a place to rest.

    Where in your life do you feel unseen, misunderstood or pushed to the margins?

    How might God be drawing close to you in that very place?

    Who around you might need a little extra compassion this season?

    Lord, as the season of Advent begins, meet us in the tender spaces of our lives.
    Shine Your gentle light on every place that feels misunderstood or overlooked.
    Teach us to see the quiet stories unfolding in the hearts of those around us.
    Help us offer compassion, patience and understanding in Your name.
    May this season draw us closer to Your heart and closer to one another.
    Amen.

  • Thanksgiving Reflection 🍂

    Thanksgiving Reflection 🍂

    Thanksgiving has a way of stirring up so many layers in us.
    For some, it’s a day wrapped in warmth, familiar recipes, and the comfort of gathering.
    For others, it’s a day that carries an ache – the empty chairs, the strained relationships, the quiet griefs, the memories that sit just beneath the surface.

    If this holiday feels complicated for you in any way, you are not doing it wrong.
    You are simply human.
    And your heart is welcome here.

    Today on the porch, we make room for both:
    the gratitude and the heaviness,
    the abundance and the longing,
    the laughter and the quiet tears that come when no one is looking.

    Whatever this day feels like for you – joyful, heavy, peaceful, or somewhere in between – may you know that your feelings deserve gentleness, not judgment.

    Sometimes gratitude doesn’t sound like a long list.
    Sometimes it’s just a single breath:
    “Thank You, God, for getting me through today.”
    And that is enough.

    Sometimes grace looks like stepping away from loud rooms to regroup.
    Sometimes it looks like saying no.
    Sometimes it’s choosing the smallest, kindest next step.

    Wherever you are, I pray this for you:

    God, gather us gently today.
    Hold the ones who celebrate with joy,
    and hold the ones who feel the weight of this season.

    For those who are missing someone,
    wrap them in a peace that softens the sting of absence.

    For those walking through family tension,
    give them courage, calm, and the freedom to protect their heart.

    For those who feel lonely or overlooked,
    remind them they are seen, valued, and deeply loved.

    For the ones overwhelmed, grieving, tired, or unsure,
    shine light into the places that feel dim.
    Give them rest, and show them the small mercies tucked into the day.

    And for all of us —
    teach us to slow down, breathe deep,
    and receive Your goodness in whatever way we’re able today.

    Amen.

  • 3-Day Gluten-Free Garlic-Parmesan Sourdough

    3-Day Gluten-Free Garlic-Parmesan Sourdough

    There is something sacred about creating a gluten-free sourdough loaf – especially one crafted slowly over three gentle days. This recipe brings together nourishing grains, simple ingredients, and the quiet joy of tending something that rises in its own time.

    This loaf is soft, fragrant, and filled with a beautiful garlic-parmesan-spinach swirl. It feels like comfort and I hope it blesses your kitchen the way it did mine.

    🍞 Day 1 — Levain

    Levain Ingredients

    • 25g active gluten-free sourdough starter
    • 50g warm water
    • 50g oat flour

    Stir together until smooth.
    Cover with cloth or loosely fitted lid and let the levain ferment for 8 hours or overnight, until puffy and aromatic.

    🌤️ Day 2 — Dough

    Dough Ingredients

    • 60g white rice flour
    • 70g tapioca starch
    • 65g sorghum flour
    • 70g oat flour
    • 7g salt
    • 1 egg
    • 50g warmed milk
    • 40g honey
    • 175g warm water
    • 25g psyllium husk
    • 10g ground flaxseed
    • 2g finely chopped fresh dill
    • Levain from Day 1

    Instructions

    1. In a large bowl, mix all ingredients including the levain until a cohesive dough forms.
    2. Let the dough ferment in a warm place for 2 hours (in the oven with the light on works wonderfully).
    3. Cover the bowl and place it in the refrigerator overnight for the bulk fermentation.

    This slow, cool rise helps deepen the flavor and strengthens the dough.

    🌱 Day 3 — Filling, Shaping & Baking

    Filling

    • 20g melted unsalted butter
    • 2 cloves garlic, minced
    • 40g fresh parmesan cheese, grated
    • 20g spinach, chopped
    • 4g salt

    Prepare the Dough

    1. Remove the dough from the refrigerator and let it rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.
    2. Place the dough on a piece of parchment paper and gently roll or stretch it into a 12 × 10-inch rectangle. You will want to leave plenty of space to lift the parchment to transfer the dough to the Dutch oven.
    3. Spread the filling evenly over the dough.
    4. Roll it up carefully, then bring the ends together to form a circle. Pinch to seal. You could put a small glass in the center to hold the shape while proofing. Be sure to take the glass out before baking!

    Proof

    Let the shaped dough rise in a warm spot for 4–6 hours, or until it has nearly doubled in height.

    Bake

    1. Preheat the oven to 425°F.
    2. Place the dough (on its parchment) into a covered Dutch oven.
    3. Bake 22 minutes covered.
    4. Lower oven temperature to 375°F and bake 20 minutes uncovered.
    5. Cool completely before slicing – gluten-free sourdough sets as it cools.

    Your kitchen will smell heavenly.

    Bread has always been a symbol of care – a quiet reminder that nourishing others begins with nourishing ourselves. This gluten-free loaf invites us to slow down, to trust the process, and to honor the small moments of rising and resting in our own lives.

    May this recipe bring warmth to your home and beauty to your table.

  • Easy Guide to Gluten-Free Sourdough Starter

    Easy Guide to Gluten-Free Sourdough Starter

    There’s something so grounding about creating a sourdough starter from scratch – especially one that’s gluten-free and filled with the goodness of simple, wholesome grains. It’s one of those quiet kitchen rituals that reminds us how patient, slow work brings life and nourishment.

    If you’ve been wanting to bake gluten-free sourdough at home, this little guide will walk you through those first seven days with ease and encouragement. The ingredients are humble, the process is simple, and by the end of the week you’ll have a lively, bubbly starter ready to bless your baking.

    🌱 Ingredients

    Choose one flour or mix a blend you enjoy:

    • Oat flour
    • Buckwheat flour
    • Brown or white rice flour
    • Sorghum flour

    And:

    • Filtered water (this is important—chlorine can hinder wild yeast growth)

    🥣 Day-by-Day Instructions

    Day 1: Mix Flour & Water

    • Combine ¼ cup gluten-free flour with ¼ cup filtered water.
    • Stir vigorously, scraping down the sides.
    • Cover with a clean tea towel and let rest for 24 hours.

    Day 2: Discard & Feed

    • Discard half of your starter.
    • Add ¼ cup flour + ¼ cup water.
    • Stir well and cover.
    • Rest for 24 hours.

    Days 3, 4 & 5: Repeat the Daily Rhythm

    • Each day, discard half.
    • Feed with ¼ cup flour + ¼ cup water.
    • Cover and let rest another 24 hours.

    Days 6 & 7: Increase Feeding to Every 12 Hours

    • Continue the same discard + feed routine, but now do it twice per day.
    • By Day 7, your gluten-free starter should be lively, bubbly, and ready to bake with.

    📝 Notes & Helpful Tips

    • Gluten-free starters can take a little longer to get bubbly -especially if using buckwheat. Don’t lose heart! Consistency is key.
    • I personally like using oat flour and sorghum flour -they create a mild, pleasant starter.
    • Filtered water is best. Tap water with chlorine can slow or prevent the natural fermentation process.
    • Keep your starter somewhere warm (around 70–75°F if possible).

    🍞 Helpful Tools for Gluten-Free Sourdough

    Below are some tools I use and love. They make the sourdough process easier, cleaner, and more enjoyable.

    ✨ A Gentle Thought for the Journey

    There’s such a tender reminder in sourdough: growth happens quietly, steadily, and often unseen. All we’re asked to do is show up with consistency and care, trusting something beautiful is forming beneath the surface.

    May this little starter bring warmth to your kitchen and joy to your home.

    Affiliate Disclosure

    As an Amazon Associate, I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases at no extra cost to you. Thank you for supporting The Prayer Porch and the work that goes into each post 🌿

  • God’s Promise: Life from the Valley of Dry Bones

    God’s Promise: Life from the Valley of Dry Bones

    There’s a moment in the book of Ezekiel that feels as honest as any human experience: the valley of dry bones. God leads Ezekiel into a place filled with what once had been alive – scattered remains, brittle and silent. Then God asks him, “Son of man, can these bones live?”

    Ezekiel answers the only way he can: “Lord, You alone know.”
    It’s a whisper of faith from someone staring at something that looks completely hopeless.

    We all have seasons like that.
    Times when our hearts feel tired and our purpose feels distant.
    Our prayers feel like they echo in an empty valley.

    There are days we wake up and feel hollowed out by stress, disappointment, grief, or sheer exhaustion. Moments where we feel spiritually thin – like the “us” we used to be has slipped away.

    And just like those dry bones, we wonder if anything can live again.

    But God speaks into that emptiness. He tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones, to call them to hear the word of the Lord. And as Ezekiel speaks, something miraculous happens:

    Bone begins to find bone.
    Sinews and flesh form.
    And finally, God breathes His Spirit – the holy breath – into them.
    And where death once lay, a living army rises.

    This story is more than an ancient vision; it’s a promise.

    🌬️ God still breathes life into the dry places.

    Into the places we’ve abandoned.
    Into the wounds we’ve tried to hide.
    Into the dreams we let go of because we were too tired to keep hoping.

    What does this look like in daily life?

    Sometimes it’s the moment you feel a spark of purpose after weeks of numbness.
    Sometimes it’s a gentle conviction “Call that person – try again – pray one more time.”
    Sometimes it’s the strength to get out of bed with a fresh sense of “maybe today.”
    Sometimes it’s tears that finally fall, clearing the ground for healing.
    Sometimes it’s a reminder that God isn’t finished with your story.

    Life returning doesn’t always come as a thunderclap.
    Most of the time, it comes as a quiet stirring.
    A small breath.
    A whisper that says, “I am with you.”

    As the world around us settles into rest, maybe we can sit on the porch with this gentle truth:

    God never leaves us in the valley.
    He meets us there.
    He speaks to the bones.
    And He breathes new life into what we thought was over.

    Lord, breathe life into the dry places within me.
    Restore what has grown weary.
    Reconnect what has been scattered.
    Revive what feels lost or forgotten.
    Help me trust that no valley is too empty for Your Spirit to fill.
    May Your breath bring strength, hope, and a fresh beginning today.
    Amen.

  • Homemade Porch Tarts

    Homemade Porch Tarts

    There’s something lovely about making a treat that slows you down. These little hand pies are buttery, jam-filled, and made with simple ingredients. They are sweet reminders that joy often comes from the quiet work of our hands.

    Ingredients:

    Crust:

    • 3 cups all-purpose flour
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • 1 cup cold butter, grated
    • ½ cup sourdough discard along with a few tablespoons of ice water (a little more if needed)or ½ cup ice water if you are not using any sourdough discard
    • 1 egg, beaten with a splash of water

    Filling:

    • 1 cup strawberry jam or preserves

    Icing:

    • 1 cup powdered sugar
    • 1–2 tablespoons milk
    • Sprinkles (optional)

    Directions

    1. Make the dough:
      In a large bowl, mix the flour and salt. Cut in the cold butter with a fork until it looks crumbly. Add the sourdough discard and/or ice water and mix until the dough just comes together.
      Split into two balls, flatten slightly, wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
    2. Shape and fill:
      Preheat your oven to 350°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
      Roll one dough ball out on a floured surface into a thin rectangle (about ⅛ inch thick). Cut into small rectangles.
      Spoon a little jam onto half of the rectangles, leaving space around the edges. Place the remaining rectangles on top, and press the edges with a fork to seal.
    3. Bake:
      Brush the tops lightly with the beaten egg mixture and bake for 22–30 minutes, until golden. Let them cool on the pan.
    4. Finish with icing:
      Stir together powdered sugar and milk, then drizzle over the cooled tarts. Add sprinkles if you’d like.

    Porch Reflection 🍂

    Lord, thank You for the sweetness of small things. Thank You for time to rest and to create. We remember that joy often rises from humble, handmade moments. Amen.

  • The Art of Letting Go

    The Art of Letting Go

    November settles in like a deep breath – soft light, thinning trees, the quiet hum of endings. The earth, dressed in copper and gold, begins her slow surrender. Each leaf that drifts to the ground feels like a gentle sermon on mortality. It is a reminder that even what falls can be beautiful.

    We often think of falling as failure, yet nature shows us something different. The leaves don’t resist; they release. They let go not because they’ve lost their worth, but because the season calls for rest. Their falling makes way for new life hidden beneath the soil — unseen but certain.

    This rhythm has always inspired artists – those who understand that creation and loss are often entwined. I think of Vincent van Gogh. He found holiness in the simplest things: a field, a tree, a flicker of light at dusk. His brush turned ordinary decay into something sacred, golden. “There is peace even in the storm,” he once wrote. He saw what November teaches us – that life’s beauty is brief, but never wasted.

    Maybe that’s what this month is for. It is for learning to release what no longer serves us. It is to hold our loved ones tenderly. We should trust that God’s grace carries us through each changing season. We are part of this same sacred rhythm – blooming, releasing, resting, returning.

    So, as you sit on your porch or look out at the swirling leaves, let them speak to your spirit. Let them remind you that endings are not empty, but full of God’s quiet promise.

    🍂 A Prayer for November

    Lord of every season,
    Teach us to let go with grace.
    When life changes shape or color,
    help us trust the beauty of Your design.
    May we see, in every falling leaf, a reminder
    that all things return to You — whole, holy, and loved.
    Amen.

  • Light in the Dark: A Prayerful Halloween Tribute

    Light in the Dark: A Prayerful Halloween Tribute

    As autumn deepens and the days grow shorter, we find ourselves surrounded by symbols of both mystery and play. Glowing pumpkins and rustling leaves abound. Children in costumes and flickers of candlelight dance in the dark. Halloween, often seen as a night of fright or fun, carries roots that reach deep into faith and remembrance.

    Long before modern celebrations, people referred to the night of October 31st as All Hallows’ Eve. It was the vigil before All Saints’ Day on November 1st. The Church set aside these days to honor the saints who have gone before us. It serves as a reminder that life, even in its ending, bends toward resurrection. In older traditions, families lit candles in windows to guide souls. They wanted to remind the living that death is not an end. Instead, it’s a doorway into God’s eternal light.

    The ancient Celts marked this season as Samhain. It was a threshold between summer’s end and winter’s rest. During this time, the veil between the physical and spiritual felt thin. When Christianity took root, this instinct to remember and honor those who came before was baptized with hope. Death transformed not into something to fear. Instead, it became a mystery wrapped in God’s mercy.

    Today, our culture still holds traces of that longing. Behind the costumes and candy is a whisper of truth. Light still shines in darkness. Remembrance is sacred. Even the spookiest symbols cannot overshadow the victory of life in Christ.

    So this evening, as the trick-or-treaters pass by, pause for a quiet moment on your porch. Candles flicker in carved pumpkins. Offer a prayer for those who have gone before you. Remember your parents, children, and grandparents. Honor the saints and souls in need of rest. Thank God for the gift of laughter, creativity, and community. And whisper gratitude for a faith that teaches us to walk unafraid, even when the night grows long.

    🕯️ A Simple Prayer

    Lord of light and life,
    As shadows lengthen and the world grows still,
    Let Your presence be our lantern.
    Bless the children who laugh tonight,
    The saints who watch over us,
    And the souls who rest in Your peace.
    May we carry kindness into every dark place,
    And remember that Your love conquers fear.

    Amen.