Seasons of Prayer

Early morning prayers of late have been whispered from my pillow.

And the God Who Never Sleeps and I, we talk.

Over the years, I've slipped in and out of rhythms of prayer, rising to spend some waking hours lifting up my children and husband and friends in need, and devoting others to simply praying for the survival of long days of schooling and cooking and cleaning and mentoring, knowing that my home and my spirit are a battleground for the enemy who would see my family and our choices fail.

But lately, I haven't found my way to the lantern on the mantle, and a match has not lit the wick in weeks. My favorite afghan stays folded by my favorite chair, and the teapot has been abandoned for the warmth of my comforter.

Because from my pillow, as I rest a little bit longer, Lord, I haven't been able to find more than a few words to shape eloquent prayers for my children, to speak girding prayers for my husband. I haven't even been able to begin to know what to ask for the day that lies ahead. I try, but it feels weak.

And it hasn't been sitting well with me.

I wonder if it's enough, these conversations with Him that I've had. And even throughout the day, I've only had a word or two to spare. Please.

Oh, Lord.

Help.

But soon, there is another owie to kiss (tenderly) , or a meal to cook (gratefully), or a story to read (gladly!) And the worry and disconnectedness I feel is shoved down a little deeper and I move away from Him. Or so I think.

I pushed open Little Man's door this morning, and squealed out Good morning, buddy! (yes, I squeal). And we wrinkled up our noses at the stinky diaper and waved hello to the mountains and I laid him on his back to change.

Sho, he said.

And my busy hands and busy mind stopped being so ridiculously busy and I sat back on my haunches.

Sho! again, and he clapped his hands and looked meaningfully into my eyes.

I'd forgotten. Ever since I laid my first baby back to change their diaper, or an outfit, or even as they get older and we're just slipping on some socks and shoes, I've begun a conversation this way.

So, I'll say. How did you sleep? Did you have any dreams? Guess what we're doing today? Are you hungry? Want to read a story?

Sho, he'd reminded me. Let's talk!

And honestly, I know it happens a lot with me, but His words were coming through my baby's mouth and shooting straight into my heart.

So, I just want to talk with you. Lay it all on me, princess. I'm here.

That line of communication, it's just a breath away. I don't even need to dial, thank goodness. Just speak a word or two. He's right there.

All day, I've turned that word over in my mind, whispering it softly. So. And I imagine Him saying it gently to me in the early mornings, or at the kitchen sink, or kneeling next to the bathtub getting splashed from head to toe. And I feel such peace.

There are seasons and rhythms throughout all of life, and days that seem endless really aren't, and before I know it I'll be back to my lantern and afghan and favorite chair for morning prayers, but for now? I'm going to snuggle a little deeper into the warmth of my Comforter, and I'm going to be okay with it.

Cause He is.