This is a guest post by Michelle Francl-Donnay for Week Two of An Ignatian Prayer Adventure.
I have been traveling this week, eating and sleeping—and praying—in strange places. I spent the last few days at an exuberant and delightfully chaotic science conference. People struggled to capture what was happening, scribbling notes like mad in pocket notebooks, snapping photos, and recording videos. The strands of conversations wove back and forth, but there was no time to stand back to see the emerging pattern.
On the last day I took a shortcut through an empty auditorium. I found myself wanting to sit down, take out my notes, project the conference Twitter stream up on the giant screen, and in the silence try to make some sense of it all.
Tonight, as I pulled my prayer journal from my travel bag, and settled once again into the quiet stillness of my attic study to pray, I felt that same desire. It’s just over a week since I embarked on this adventure with God. Can I step back and see where I’ve been, look for patterns that might be emerging?
I sipped my tea and skimmed through the notes I had jotted after each time of prayer, asking God to look over my shoulder with me, and help me pull out the strands that we felt were important. I made a few notes: the couple of words that came up again and again, the point of reflection that I struggled with all week.
Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how disconcerting I found all the shifting around I was doing. I prayed in airport waiting areas (twice!), at midnight on the 14th floor of a hotel—in the middle of a tornado watch, glass windows shivering in the wind—and at home, awash in an afternoon’s sunlight. I wanted these weeks of prayer to have a comfortable rhythm to them, a steady discipline of time and place, and yet I couldn’t seem to find it.
God was not dismayed, gently pointing out that the shifts in retreat were making me more aware of who he was for me. My rock, my stronghold, that voice that I hasten to hear. Not just in my prayer space, not just at nine in the evening, but, as Psalm 121 sings so clearly, at every moment: “The LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
Notice, God says, how you are learning to set down roots of prayer no matter where—or when—you find yourself. Notice that I am here. Always.
Michelle Francl-Donnay is the mother of two teenage boys, a professor of chemistry, and a regular contributor to Philadelphia Archdiocese’s CatholicPhilly.com, where she writes about the joys and struggles of trying to live a contemplative life in the midst of everyday chaos. Michelle gives the occasional retreat and blogs about life, laundry, prayer, and God at Quantum Theology.
Sign up for dotMagis updates in an RSS reader
Sign up for dotMagis updates by e-mail
{ 15 comments… read them below or add one }
The spring is coming here in north Florida, even as we are having one of our coldest snaps yet. And the tender roots, gentles greening, remind me of what you are talking about with your “roots of prayer” …. what may seem tender, and new and even fragile to my eye is just the beginning of a fruitful presence to God.
My rock, my stronghold.
I had not thought about the fragility of that early growth, and how those roots are a source of nourishment and safety for all that will bloom.
Time to take a walk in my actual garden and see what might be sprouting – it could be another spot to pray.
Michelle, this is a beautiful teaching – God meets us wherever and whenever but we are the ones who like the routine of our own special place and time. I need to be open to snatching moments with God whenever there is the opportunity. Thank you for sharing this.
There is a terrific cartoon about this from Coffee with Jesus (http://radiofreebabylon.com/Comics/CoffeeWithJesus.php – you have to scroll down to nearly the bottom of the list and click on “Distracted”)!
Great cartoon! How similar to my prayers some days and I’m so thankful for the patience of our Lord.
‘Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’ I imagine Jesus felt a bit like you at times, Michelle: praying in the strange places and situations he encountered and perhaps struggling to make space to connect deeply with his Father without the support of a comforting ‘nest’. I have sometimes found, when despite my best efforts, I’ve had no time to pray in the morning, that the Lord will show His face to me in some beautiful way – almost as if to remind me ‘this is my free gift to you, you haven’t had to earn it, I appreciate your efforts when you make them but all is free gift’.
What a gift, and what a gift to be able to recognize it as such!
And yes, there is something about returning to our “nests” or perhaps “under God’s pinions” that certainly grounds our prayer (sorry, that’s a pretty mixed metaphor!)…
This is so amazing. I just now read you post immediately after sending in my next guest post for People for Others about my experience this past weekend praying in a strange place.
I certainly understand the feelings about which you speak. I also like the comment from Cathy about the tender roots and their fragility. The roots of your Lenten journey are still tiny and tender and fragile but I can tell by your words that they will be deeply rooted over time. Enjoy the journey!
Cathy, Where in North Florida are you?
Now I can’t wait to read your piece, Linda. The Holy Spirit at work in the world, no doubt?!
Sorry, not Cathy- Cindy!
Thank you for this very beautiful post, Michelle. So inspiring.
I have a long way to go. Thank you to show me the way
Thanks for being on the journey with me!
Thank you Michelle. As one who struggles with time and place and feeling very distracted at times, I found this to be very healing for me. I am following along on my own path, trying to get where I want to go. I am not sure where yet, but moving along.
m.
Distractions find us all, I think! When I was writing this, I thought of the cartoon from Coffee with Jesus I linked to above and imagined Jesus saying, I’m here, even in the chaos….
Such a beautiful reflection!