When I was a little girl, I would wake up in the morning and go find my mother. This was the first thing I did everyday.
Most mornings I found her seated on the floor of her bedroom, wrapped in her blue robe. On the floor next to her was a cup of coffee and in her lap–a great, big Bible.
She would smile at me and pat the floor. I would curl up next to her. She smelled like perfume and coffee.
I knew I was supposed to be quiet. This was her time with Jesus. I would lie there, watching her face and watching the morning light brighten the sky outside her window.
Every few moments, the pages of her Bible would delicately rustle as she turned them. Then, as she settled into a passage of Scripture, she would sip her coffee. Sometimes she would stroke my hair while her eyes were closed in prayer.
When my mother prayed her face was smooth and upturned, like a flower toward the morning sun. She could sit still and unmoving like that for longer than I had patience. I would trace patterns in the carpet with my finger, or bury my face in the hem of her robe and tell myself stories.
I never knew what she was saying to God, but it seemed like she was communing with a dear Friend. I knew better than to interrupt.
When she opened her eyes again she would smile at me. If I had been patient and quiet, sometimes she would let me take the teensiest sip of her coffee. That was an extra special day.
Sometimes in order to fully prepare and appreciate the sacred, we must come away to a quiet place with Christ. This upcoming week is Holy Week. I have kept my Lenten fast and will be preparing myself for the Passion & Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
To that end, I will be posting this week about what I have learned about prayer. It's humbling, really, because what I've learned most is that: I don't know much.
Still, this Lent I wanted to go deeper into a life of prayer and I'm hoping my reflections might be helpful to you.
