An Awkward Question

How’s your quiet time?

That’s probably not a question you get asked very often. Not exactly a question you would ask at a dinner party, or even among close friends. But believe it or not, I remember a brief time it was actually sort of cool.

In high school, I participated in a Christian organization called Young Life. I had a huge crush on this guy from another school. Seth was the first guy I knew that wore the old-school Birkenstocks. And in the winter, he would wear them with bright, colorful socks. He was dreamy.

You can imagine my thrill when he noticed me, said my name, and popped the question every high school crush is dying to hear, “Hey Kimberly, how’s your quiet time?”

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly the question I wanted to hear, but I loved that he normalized talking about prayer, even made it seem hip.

Now, as an adult, I get why it can be awkward, or difficult to talk about prayer. Like just about everything in religion and spirituality, we can mean very different things when we talk about prayer. And it’s so very personal, intimate even, that it can feel vulnerable.

I don’t expect prayer will ever trend in public discourse, but I’m grateful I get to work in a field that normalizes talking about it. I know this may make me very peculiar, but there is almost nothing I’d love to talk about more than how we connect, commune, converse with God in ways that feel authentic and life-giving.

I give thanks that part of my upbringing in the church and in organizations like Young Life was an emphasis on having a “quiet time.” In case this phrase is completely foreign to you, this meant that you had a designated time each day for prayer. You might read your Bible or a daily devotional. And you would spend some time talking with God about whatever was on your heart and mind - your own struggles, people you loved, painful situations or pressing decisions. What was most important was that you showed up regularly for this time with God.

This was not only taught by the leaders in my church, but was also modeled for me. I remember seeing my granddad Theo (for whom my eldest is named) in his big recliner reading his Bible. I saw my mom do the same, with her quiet time resources on her bedside table.

I will say that having a regular quiet time was part of a package of things you did as a “good Christian.” And I was all about trying to be a good Christian, because the alternative was literally hellacious. I did, at the time, hold a view of God that was very much about reward and punishment, so I was in it for the eternal rewards, and frankly out of fear. Which admittedly created some cognitive dissonance around prayer; I was invited to spend time daily cozying up to God and sharing my deepest needs, while simultaneously fearing that if I didn’t show up regularly, this “loving” God might just send me to hell. I later heard a writer describe similar tensions as “religious schizophrenia,” which seemed fitting. At the time, I felt both drawn to and scared of God.

I was also a bit of an organizational geek, so I felt right at home in a denomination that literally took its name from having a “method” for almost everything religious. So I was delighted when I found a three-ring Quiet Times binder in the local Christian Family Bookstore. It had color-coded tabs and acronyms telling me exactly how to pray. I was religious about it, writing my ACTS . . words of Adoration, then Confessions, then Thanksgiving, and finally Supplications.

There was another voice in me that frequently noted that going through these motions didn’t always feel authentic, invited me to wonder if I was perhaps missing the whole point of prayer. My supplications were rarely “answered” in the ways I hoped. That made it difficult to really mean all my words of Adoration. And even if I could stop some of the behaviors I Confessed, I had a growing awareness of a holy host of thoughts and feelings that were not exactly loving. In short, it didn’t seem like my prayer was “working”-- not changing God, and not changing me either. What was the point?

I remember this particular afternoon in college, when my formulaic prayer practice broke open into Something Else. I had gone to an awards ceremony, and was disappointed when I didn’t receive the highest honor for the Religion Department. If I’m completely honest, I was shocked, because I thought I would receive it. And when someone else's name was called, I was flooded with shame, questioning, Who did I think I was expecting that reward? How absolutely arrogant and contemptuous, and flat out mean and jealous about the girl who did receive it? I had a full-on, full-body blow of conflicting thoughts and feelings.

I took my mess of a self, got in my car and drove into the nearby mountains. I rolled down the windows. I ugly cried. I choked up this big hairball of things I was feeling. I yelled. I told God all about the pressure I felt, the disappointment, the guilt and shame. I let it all rip. I listened to music and sang loudly.

And then, something completely new washed over me. It was this sense that I was seen and heard and loved in that very moment, exactly as I was, not how I often pretended to be. I felt, perhaps for the very first time, what I had been talking and singing about all these years . . amazing grace.

That began to change my whole orientation to God and to prayer. It’s been evolving ever since. If we’re living in a dynamic relationship with God, it only makes sense that the ways we think about, talk to and experience God change as well. What’s important, I think, is that we continue to find ways to connect that feel authentic and life-giving, and that match the season of life in which we find ourselves.

In recent years, since having two little boys, it’s been more challenging to carve out a daily “quiet time,” so I have loved finding new ways to be prayerful in the thick of the daily rounds. But since my youngest settled into a consistent all-night sleep rhythm, and then when the pandemic arrived and we were not rushing to get out of the house in the morning, I found myself longing for that consistent quiet time again. In recent months, I’ve been able to get up before my household and enjoy that time set apart for prayer, reflection, and meditation. It feels revolutionary, like I am so much more clear-headed, peaceful, and patient after I've started my day that way.

I’m curious, how’s your quiet time? How has your own prayer life evolved over the years? What do you find yourself drawn to or longing for these days?

If we’ve lost a rhythm of prayer in our busy lives, it can be difficult to find our way again. When and how should we pray? What should we do? What should we read? There are a dizzying array of prayer practices and books of prayers and meditations out there. How do we choose? We can get overwhelmed before we even start. For all our resistance to being told what to do, when it comes to prayer, perhaps it would be nice for someone to just tell us what to do?

I thought you’d never ask! :) If you feel that longing, that nudge, I would love to offer you a way back into or to continue your prayer. Not in a heavy-handed way, but in a personal, invitational way. I think Lent and other sacred seasons are the perfect time to try on a new or different practice. We choose and commit to a prayer rhythm for forty days, and then we try it on, see what fits and what needs adjusting, and we grow from there.

If you are interested in finding your way back to prayer, or finding a new prayer rhythm, or journeying with others seeking the same, I invite you to check out the Lenten small group and the Lenten retreat detailed below. I’d love nothing more than to help you (re)connect or deepen your prayer, to discover the gifts of having a regular quiet time.

Grace and peace,

Kimberly