Connecting with God When All You Have Is a Moment

Once upon a time, I was an adventurer. I was fearless. I lived each day to the fullest. Carpe diem and all that. I climbed mountains and flew across oceans. My passion to share Jesus was a fire burning, and I wanted to spread it across the world. I prayed aloud all the time, whether in the arms of my dearest friends or with complete strangers at the next gas pump.

As time passed, though, that fire died down until it seemed only embers remained. I think I got lost in the haze of day-to-day life. Over the last decade, my adventures have consisted mostly of navigating Walmart with three kids without causing a major public incident. The only mountains I’ve climbed have been the lofty peaks of laundry I step on to get to the dryer.

When I became a mother, I think I hit a pause button on being me. I think this self-imposed hiatus is something to which all caregivers can relate. It’s in our nature to give and give and give to our families. That’s part of what makes being a wife and mom so fiercely beautiful. This system we’ve set up seems to work–until the time inevitably comes when we have nothing left of ourselves to give.

That’s where I was just a short time ago. Drained. Short-tempered. Exhausted. Spiritually parched. Easily frustrated. One day, I suddenly realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d prayed aloud. There were the bedtime prayers and meal blessings with the kids, but other than that, it just didn’t happen anymore. I’m not sure why. With church and small group and Bible study and MOPS meetings, there were plenty of opportunities. I would just sit there, though, with the weight of the pause pressing on my shoulders and the heat of the moment burning my cheeks. It’s not like I thought my friends or church family would jump to their feet, laughing and pointing at me. Why was I so self-conscious? I realized it was because I was out of practice.

I was disconnected. In my frantic need to take care of everyone else, I wasn’t making time to connect with God, and that disconnect was spilling over into all the other parts of my life. My identity is found in him. I wish I could end this story with a happily-ever-after and give you Five Steps to a Great Quiet Time. But truthfully, I still struggle with this. I long for a guaranteed daily time set aside for just me and my Bible, but most days it looks more like this: I’m in the kitchen cooking supper and trying not to burn the sauce. The big kids are struggling to focus on homework, and the baby is beginning to get fussy. I slip out the back door to the patio, turn to my right, and let the very last rays of the day wash across my face. I steal ninety seconds to be with the One who knows me best.

I close my eyes, shut out the noise of the day, and thank him for all the things. Some days, the list comes easy and long and I’m able to express gratitude for the very things that were just driving me crazy.

Thank you for the food to cook (despite wanting take-out), the house to clean (even though I dream of having a maid), the kids to love (I’m sure the Sharpie will come off their faces at some point), a job that pays the bills (I miss my husband as he works overnight shifts).

Other days, I feel broken and my prayer sounds more like, Thank you for this breath. And this one. And this one.

My time on the patio is over in the blink of an eye. That minute and a half is so quick but oh-so-precious. I’m able to walk back into the chaos feeling just a bit more refreshed. I’m reminded I’m not alone. He is with me always, and I am his.

Ashley Doyle Pooser is a wife and a mom of three. She recently moved to Atlanta, where she’s trying her best to be a responsible adult but feels like she’s mostly flying by the seat of her pants. She blogs at ashleydoylepooser.com.