Elon Musk: The Simple Prayer That Guided Every Major Decision

When people think of me, they see rockets, electric cars, and big, impossible dreams. But what they don’t see is the quiet foundation beneath everything I do—a simple prayer, taught to me by my grandmother when I was just seven years old. It’s a prayer that I once dismissed as a child’s superstition, only to rediscover it at the darkest point in my life, and find that it contained all the wisdom I ever needed.

Let me take you back to 1978, to a small house in Pretoria. My grandmother, Grandma Kora, was already in her seventies. She was a woman who had survived wars, economic collapses, and personal tragedies that would have broken most people. Yet, when I remember her, I don’t remember sadness or bitterness. I remember peace.

Every evening, after the dishes were done, she’d sit in her old wooden chair by the window and pray. These weren’t loud, dramatic prayers. They were quiet conversations with what she called “the Almighty.” Curious as always, I once asked her what she was saying in those moments. She looked at me with more authority than any CEO I’ve ever met and said, “I’m asking for guidance, child. I’m asking to be shown the right path.”

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“But what if God doesn’t answer?” I asked, with the blunt honesty only a child can muster.

She smiled—not to dismiss my question, but to invite it. “Oh, He always answers, Elon. Sometimes we’re just too busy talking to listen.”

That night, she taught me a prayer that would become the most important thing anyone ever gave me. She said, “Dear God, help me to see what you see, to love what you love, and to do what you would have me do. Give me the courage to follow where you lead even when I can’t see the whole path. And help me to trust that your plan is better than mine. Amen.”

I repeated those 26 words after her. For years, they were just something nice to say before bed. I didn’t know then that those words would one day save me.

Decades passed. I grew up, went to university, started companies, made money, achieved what everyone called “success.” But no matter how high I climbed, something always felt… missing. A sense of direction deeper than quarterly targets or market opportunities.

Then came December 2008. Tesla was weeks from bankruptcy. SpaceX had failed three launches in a row. I’d spent my entire PayPal fortune, and everything I’d worked for seemed about to collapse. One night, alone in my office at 2 a.m., surrounded by spreadsheets that all pointed to disaster, I heard my grandmother’s voice as clearly as if she were sitting next to me: “Help me to see what you see.”

Something shifted. My circumstances didn’t change—Tesla was still nearly bankrupt, SpaceX was still failing. But my perspective did. I stopped seeing just the crisis and started to see a bigger pattern. What if this wasn’t about saving companies, but about proving that sustainable transport and private space exploration could work? What if I was being asked to take one more step, even if I couldn’t see the whole path?

So, the next morning, instead of trying to solve everything at once, I focused on the next right step. For Tesla, it was one more attempt at emergency funding. For SpaceX, it was one final launch, using everything we’d learned from our failures.

Six months later, both companies had turned around—not because I had figured everything out, but because I learned to combine intense effort with a kind of surrender to something bigger than myself.

That prayer became my daily practice. Not just in crisis, but every time I faced a big decision. When people ask how I decide which projects to pursue or which risks to take, they expect market analysis or technical feasibility. But the truth is, I start with Grandma Kora’s prayer: “Help me to see what you see.”

It’s not about mystical visions. It’s about getting my ego out of the way long enough to perceive what’s really needed—not just what’s profitable or impressive. When I look at the climate crisis, I see the need for sustainable transport. When I look at humanity’s future, I see the need for multiplanetary life. When I look at AI, I see the need for technology that keeps humans relevant.

“To love what you love.” That line reminds me to align my passions with what serves life, not just my own ego. I’ve learned to love problems that matter, not just ones I can easily solve. I’ve learned to love challenges that push boundaries, not just those that guarantee success. When you love what serves life, work stops feeling like work.

“And to do what you would have me do.” Not every good idea is mine to pursue. Not every problem is mine to solve. That prayer helps me distinguish between what I’m capable of and what I’m called to do.

“Give me the courage to follow where you lead, even when I can’t see the whole path.” Every achievement requires you to take steps before you can see the staircase. The prayer doesn’t ask for certainty—it asks for courage to take the next step.

“And help me to trust that your plan is better than mine.” That’s the hardest part. I wanted Tesla to be profitable in two years; it took nearly a decade. I wanted SpaceX to reach orbit quickly; it took failure after failure. But the results were better than anything I could have planned—because I learned to trust the process, even when I couldn’t see where it was leading.

This prayer has helped me far beyond business. When my personal life fell apart, when relationships failed, when I felt lost, it brought me back to center. It reminded me that I’m not alone, that guidance is always available to those humble enough to ask for it.

My grandmother never saw Tesla or SpaceX. She died when I was twelve—too young to appreciate what she gave me. But in a very real sense, she made all of it possible. Not by funding me or teaching technical skills, but by teaching me how to listen for guidance deeper than my own understanding. How to trust a process, even when I couldn’t see the destination.

Those 26 words contain everything I’ve learned about leadership, risk, and meaning. You don’t have to believe in my grandmother’s God to benefit from her wisdom. You don’t even have to pray the same words. But I hope you’ll consider that there might be guidance available to you, beyond your own analysis and experience. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is ask to be shown a way that’s better than the one you’d choose for yourself.

The guidance is there. The only question is whether you’re humble enough to ask for it—and brave enough to follow where it leads.