Morning Prayer, Interrupted

I’ve fed the babies oatmeal and applesauce, and I’ve eaten my own. Doug and the older kids sit across from me at the table, finishing their eggs and oatmeal. The babies are quiet in their high chairs for the moment, so I open the prayer book.

“Oh Lord, open my lips,” I say, making the sign of the cross over my mouth.

Jack, Jane, and Doug chorus back, “And my mouth shall proclaim your praise.”

Together, we cross ourselves. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

I start to read the psalm for the day—one hundred forty-eight, one of my favorites. “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise the Lord in the heights.”

Doug reads the next verse. “Praise the Lord all you holy angels; praise—”

Suddenly Jane shrieks. “Luke’s pooping! Look! Look! He’s making his poop face!”

I look. Sure enough, Luke’s face is red, his lips pursed. Jack and Jane howl with laughter. Doug and I exchange a bemused glance as I take Luke out of his high chair. “Would you have Jack read my part?”

From the bathroom, I can hear Doug and Jack reading. “Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps; fire and hail, snow and fog…” It seems either Doug or I spend a lot of time listening to morning prayer from the bathroom.

By the time I get Luke cleaned up and diapered, they’ve finished the psalm. I pop Luke on the floor with a book and a set of stacking rings. Then I sit back down and pick up the Bible. We’re reading through the book of Mark, and today we’re finishing chapter ten, the story of blind Bartimaeus.

As I read, Ben starts fussing. I give him a spoon. He throws it on the floor and starts to cry. Loudly. I hand the Bible to Doug. “We’re on verse 49,” I say as I get Ben out of his high chair. I hold him on my hip, and bounce him as Doug reads. Ben calms down—and yet I’m having trouble concentrating. Maybe it’s all the jiggling I’m doing to keep him quiet.

“And immediately,” Doug reads, “he recovered his sight and followed Jesus on the way.” He pauses a moment. “The Word of the Lord.”

Jack, Jane, and I say, “Thanks be to God.”

“Thank you, God,” I pray, “for your word. Thank you for healthy babies and healthy children. Thank you for sunshine. Thank you for Doug’s good job.”

Doug says, “Thank you for good music and nice weather for biking. Thank you for delicious biscuits. Thank you for my children.” Luke squawks loudly, excited about getting a ring on the stick.

“Good job, Luke!” Jane says. “You did it! Mama, did you see? Luke put the ring on the stick!”

“Way to go, Luke!” Jack starts clapping.

Doug smiles. “All right. Let’s keep praying. Jane, what are you thankful for this morning?”

Jane says, “I’m thankful for a floor so we aren’t walking on dirt. And I’m thankful for electricity so we can see at night. And I’m thankful for our roof so we don’t get rained on and our beds so we don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

Ben starts babbling in my arms. “Dadadadada,” he says. “Dadada. Dadadada.” His voice gets louder the longer he talks.

Jack says, “That’s not your dada, Ben. That’s your mama.”

“Jack,” I say, “what are you thankful for?”

“Dadadada,” Ben says.

“You want your dada, Ben?” Jack says. “He’s right here.”

“Jack,” I say again, “what are you thankful for?”

“I’m thankful for the babies, that they’re cute, and funny, and that they have lots of nicknames.” He looks at Ben and singsongs, “Don’t you have lots of nicknames, Temp? Yes, you ickle do.”

“Jack!”

“Sorry, Mama. I’m thankful that the babies have lots of nicknames and that they’re well-loved like babies should be.”

“Okay, God,” I pray, “I know it’s a little chaotic around here—” Ben starts squirming in my arms “—but I also know you can hear us in spite of the chaos.”  Ben squirms harder. I pop him onto the floor. “So we pray for the people we love—”

Ben crawls happily over to Luke and promptly steals the stacking ring out of his hand. Luke starts to cry.

“—the people we love who need your healing, helping touch on their lives.” I scoop Luke up and hand him to Doug.

Jane prays for her godfather’s father and her best friend, both of whom have cancer. Jack prays for our sponsored child in Guatemala. Luke and Ben punctuate our prayers with babbles and squawks and shrieks.

After we pray the Lord’s Prayer and say amen, I take a deep breath. Doug half-laughs. We exchange a wide-eyed look that says, Why do we insist on doing this again?

Sometimes I do wonder about this crazy ritual of Scripture reading and prayer. It’s not restful. A lot of days, like today, it doesn’t even feel prayerful.

But even on such days, if we pay attention, we glimpse the holy: Jane’s prayers of thankfulness, Jack’s affirmation that the babies are well-loved, both children’s faithful prayers for healing and provision for people we love.

If we didn’t keep praying together day in and day out, we’d miss these moments of grace and goodness. And so we keep at it, despite the diaper changes and the thrown spoons and the shrieking babies and the distracted children.

We keep praying because it is the only way we can learn to pray, the only way we can teach our children to pray, and because we want our family to be shaped day by day through the Word of God.

We keep praying because we trust that God will work in spite of—maybe even through—the interruptions.

Originally posted on September 19, 2011