A Prayer for Splintered Time
For those plagued by constant interruptions
Almost every day for the two weeks I’ve been back home in Minnesota, I’ve sat down and tried to write. Every day, I can’t seem to make it more than two minutes without experiencing some sort of interruption. Such is life with a potty training toddler, two neurospicy big kids, one older sister prone to tattling on her siblings for the smallest infractions, and a dog with a habit of eating things he shouldn’t.
The essay I set out to write is clearly not happening right now. So I wrote this for you (and me) instead.1
Examen
Settle yourself. Let your body feel grounded, whether that means sinking into your chair or wiggling your toes into the dirt of your backyard.
Interruptions will come during this time, as they always do—in the form of small children, pets, a delivery person, the dinging of your phone, your own never-ending stream of thoughts.
Let the interruptions happen. Relax where you would usually tense. Ask yourself,
When have I been interrupted today?
How does my body respond to these interruptions? My mind? My heart?
Where is there consolation or desolation?
What is my reaction to these interruptions telling me?
Where is God in these interruptions? What might he be saying or inviting me to?
What might the Holy Spirit be asking me to notice in these moments?
A Prayer for Splintered Time
Dear one, you who are called
here there everywhere
now and then, all the time—
I pray that all your splintered time
adds up
to a life of marvelous beauty.
That every so often, you would get a glimpse
of the art that is your life.
That the Holy Spirit,
in all her mysterious ways,
will flow with you. Together,
the two of you will meet
each obstacle like an adventure.
Boulders will create rapids
where you wished for a lazy river.
But at the end:
you and the Spirit, drenched on the shoreline
breathless with laughter.
Look what you’ve done!
You can hardly believe you made it.
The examen takes you where it takes you . . . and it might not take you anywhere with a bowtied ending and some deep inner understanding about the things God is teaching you in the interruptions. Sometimes they truly are a cross to bear. Sometimes they’re indicators of something in your life that isn’t working.
Either way, the fractured time is evidence that you are showing up. You’re here for the work, whatever that is for you right now.
May you gather up all your splinters and see that they are good. Wishing you as much peace as you can find on this sweet summer day.
For posterity, I tracked the interruptions that came for me while I wrote this: One child screaming for me to fill up his water bottle, one child who pooped in her underwear and needed to be cleaned up, that same child falling down on her already skinned-up knee, a timer reminding me to defrost meat for dinner, a kid who couldn’t get the laundry-room door to open because it swells in the humidity, a text from my husband, a child asking for the third time if they can watch TV (still no), a dog barking at the neighbors, a child offering to cook dinner, a different child asking what we’re eating for dinner.
Thank you.