Photo: Mary van Balen
Thirty minutes of sitting quietly in God’s Presence doesn’t sound difficult, but when I am out of spiritual shape, I can’t do it. Signs of spiritual laxity have been evident for a while: lack of energy and focus, interior turmoil, and dwindling hope. Yesterday I decided to do something about it.
First, I decided to let myself sleep until I was rested, a simple thing I have consistently neglected. After a wonderful Father’s Day lunch with Dad, my sisters, brothers, spouses, a nephew and his fiance, I drove home to a quiet house. Resisting the list of “to-dos” that shouted at me, I lay down on the couch and slept for a couple of hours. When I woke up I managed to fix an egg salad sandwich for dinner and take out the trash for pick-up on Monday.
“Catch up on laundry! Run the sweeper! Straighten your office!”
I turned the TV to news, thinking I should listen to updates on the Gulf clean up. My brother-in-law and I had had a spirited discussion about the $20 billion fund required of BP and the way Obama secured it. I had made a mental note to do a little research on precedents and options, but after ten minutes of trying to focus on news, I gave up, changed the channel to a crime solving drama, and fell back to sleep. At 11pm I woke up, climbed the steps to the second floor, and crawled into bed.
By 8:30 this morning I was up and ready to go. I had a mental list: quiet prayer, Lectio, bake the overripe banana into bread, post a blog, finish laundry, buy groceries, and attend a scientific conference to hear my daughter deliver her first academic presentation on her research.
Quiet prayer sounded easy. First, I had to decide where to sit. Before moving into Dad’s house, I had a regular prayer place at home; just moving into it signaled my brain to slow down. So far, I haven’t found one here.
I settled on the living room and a blue chair that was not soft enough to lull me to sleep (a problem with trying quiet prayer when I am exhausted) but was still comfortable. I looked at the clock: 9am. Take slow deep breaths. Relax neck and shoulder muscles that are usually tight. Empty my mind of thoughts…
Try as I might, I could not banish the cacophony. More deep breaths. A glance at the clock: Only 9:05? OK. Close my eyes and try again. And again. And again.
Once, at 9:15, I realized that I was actually gripping the arms of the chair and leaning forward, like I was poised at the starting line for a race, waiting for the gun to go off…or in this case, for the big hand to land on the “6.”
I smiled. My life has become a race of sorts lately but if quiet prayer was any indication, I was not going to finish well.
Thirty minutes never seemed to pass so slowly, and when the half hour was up, I had managed but a moment or two of quiet inside my head. I trust God was pleased with the fact that each time I was ready to move on to something else, I forced myself to sit down and try again.
© 2010 Mary van Balen
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