Holy Routines: Commuting Prayers

A few years ago, a girlfriend convinced me to join a morning prayer group. This group of women rose early and checked in online to keep each other accountable as they prayed and set their day off in a good direction.

It started off well. I popped up from my bed, singing “Howdy do!” and “Mornin’ glories!” on Monday at five o'clock. I pulled out my Bible study and books with wild abandon, spending time in prayer, focusing on love and Jesus so that when my children arose, I’d be centered and full of forgiveness.

This was the best idea I’d come up with all year. I thought I was a spiritual genius.

Until around Wednesday.

Morning Prayer Fail

Surely, I thought, God didn’t care if I started my mediation at 5:15 (who are we kidding, 5:45). That’s freaking early. I was up late. My daughter had a project. But here I am, signing in. First coffee and a wheat bagel, and then God.

I read about Joseph, his strength of character, and the patience it took for him to endure prison. Which reminded me of that television show Prison Break, which reminded me of that handsome actor that shaved his head—man, he was hot—which reminded me that my son needs a haircut. Soon, I realized, he’ll be playing soccer. I wondered at what age he needed to be in soccer. Should that be a thing I should just know? I’m sure I missed that window, and all the other kids were going to outrun him and I’d be a total mom fail.

Fast forward to Friday. I didn’t sleep well, and there was no coffee, so I rushed upstairs and logged on late, like “I’m here but I’m not really that thrilled about it.” The following Monday, I politely bowed out of the group. Hence the ending of my holy ritual.

Then one morning as I pulled from the driveway to haul one kid here and the other there, the sun broke through the sky like a firecracker, spraying light onto a muddled blue canvas in bursts of yellow and purple.

“Oh, hello,” I said. There you are.

How can you not thank your creator when he displays love across the whole sky for you like Michelangelo and you can scarcely take in all his glorious magnitude? How can you not say anything? Sunrises are like postcards from God.

“Hello, back,” God said. “I’m glad you came.”

Commuting Prayers

So began what I call “commuting prayers,” after the kids and after Starbucks (in that order, because honestly). I’d start talking. I’d talk to God about why the world has so much pain or why my heart hurt and why kids had to suffer. I’d ask him why he felt a need to create us anyway, and whether dogs had souls. And when I felt lost, unsure about whether to turn right or left, I’d ask for directions. Other times, I’d just cry and shake my head, like “I’m not real happy with you, Mister.” I figured he knew it all anyway, and he wanted to hear it directly from my heart.

I suppose these have become my holy moments, filled with light and speckled with taillights in front of me. I feel the spirit around me on those days, welcoming me, regardless of the fact that I’m just driving to work and I didn’t get up until five thirty (who are we kidding, six).

Find your own commute. Talk to him.

He listens.

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Holy Routines

We have asked some members of our community to share their holy routines. At first glance, these routines may not seem holy at all. However, in this series, Holy Routines, our writers extend an invitation to you to walk beside them in the actions and interactions and spaces that often seem ordinary but also usher them into the presence of God. We hope that spending a few moments in the holy routines of a few friends will inspire you to see and meet God in daily moments you may be tempted to rush through, or where you feel tempted to overlook the presence of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps this series will give you permission to savor the sacred in the ordinary moments of your day.

Featured image by Patricia Hunter. Used with Permission. Source via Flickr.

Sunrise image by Darlene (Country Girl). Designed by Jennifer Dukes Lee