Shortly after realizing I needed more quiet space in my life, more time to just be with God, I ran into (read: collided with) reality. We’re a family of five living in--let’s call it--a modest space: a two bedroom, one bath apartment of just over 950 sq. ft. On the days when I’m feeling particularly European, it’s really no problem. We’ve found our rhythm and have simply learned to not accumulate stuff. Still when you’re looking for space to be alone and it’s the dead of winter, it can be challenging.
The conventional wisdom would be to simply wake up earlier than anyone else and “have the house to yourself.” The only problem is that no one informed my children of conventional wisdom. Instead they have an eerie sixth sense that tells them the minute I’m awake and there is the definite possibility of either a) extra cuddles or b) early breakfast. Regardless, I’ve never had much success with the getting up early approach.
But one morning soon after I had committed to finding more quiet space, I woke up surprisingly early and well-rested. “Well,” I said to myself, “this must be it. God is leading in this process even before I get started. The children are still asleep, I’m awake, and it’s just likely that I might sneak a few minutes alone with Him.”
But then came the next hurdle. Where to go? The living room is right next to the kid’s bedroom which heightened the possibility of waking them; and if I set myself up in the kitchen, all my projects and work for the day would sit there glaring back at me. Somehow the bathroom just didn’t seem appropriate (regardless of what they say about every bush being a burning bush or all ground being holy ground), and my husband was still asleep in bed.
And then I had an inspiration – the closet!
So, true confession: because I had no other option, I quietly slipped out of bed and ducked into my closet. Now, I’ve heard of "prayer closets" before. Jesus spoke about them in context of praying privately and many heroes of the faith, including Jonathan Edwards and George Mueller, apparently used them. I just never really understood it as literally as I did that morning.
But in that closet, in the darkness, I was cut off from the world. There were no to-do lists, no children, no excuses– nothing that could distract me from what I really needed to do which was simply sit and talk with God. And it turns out that the smallness of a closest is perfect for that. For me at least, the closeness somehow created a feeling of intimacy and the darkness soothed me. It was almost like taking an overactive child into your arms, holding him close, and whispering tenderness into his ear. Instantly my spirit was calm and content.
Of course, it didn’t last long. My “hiding place” was a little too perfect--within 15 minutes I heard my husband pacing back and forth throughout the apartment, turning on lights, and opening doors as if he were looking for something. Turns out, he was looking for me. But it’s a starting place. And it’s a place—despite the shoes and sweaters and clothes draping down—to be alone. A place to be alone with Him.
The conventional wisdom would be to simply wake up earlier than anyone else and “have the house to yourself.” The only problem is that no one informed my children of conventional wisdom. Instead they have an eerie sixth sense that tells them the minute I’m awake and there is the definite possibility of either a) extra cuddles or b) early breakfast. Regardless, I’ve never had much success with the getting up early approach.
But one morning soon after I had committed to finding more quiet space, I woke up surprisingly early and well-rested. “Well,” I said to myself, “this must be it. God is leading in this process even before I get started. The children are still asleep, I’m awake, and it’s just likely that I might sneak a few minutes alone with Him.”
But then came the next hurdle. Where to go? The living room is right next to the kid’s bedroom which heightened the possibility of waking them; and if I set myself up in the kitchen, all my projects and work for the day would sit there glaring back at me. Somehow the bathroom just didn’t seem appropriate (regardless of what they say about every bush being a burning bush or all ground being holy ground), and my husband was still asleep in bed.
And then I had an inspiration – the closet!
So, true confession: because I had no other option, I quietly slipped out of bed and ducked into my closet. Now, I’ve heard of "prayer closets" before. Jesus spoke about them in context of praying privately and many heroes of the faith, including Jonathan Edwards and George Mueller, apparently used them. I just never really understood it as literally as I did that morning.
But in that closet, in the darkness, I was cut off from the world. There were no to-do lists, no children, no excuses– nothing that could distract me from what I really needed to do which was simply sit and talk with God. And it turns out that the smallness of a closest is perfect for that. For me at least, the closeness somehow created a feeling of intimacy and the darkness soothed me. It was almost like taking an overactive child into your arms, holding him close, and whispering tenderness into his ear. Instantly my spirit was calm and content.
Of course, it didn’t last long. My “hiding place” was a little too perfect--within 15 minutes I heard my husband pacing back and forth throughout the apartment, turning on lights, and opening doors as if he were looking for something. Turns out, he was looking for me. But it’s a starting place. And it’s a place—despite the shoes and sweaters and clothes draping down—to be alone. A place to be alone with Him.
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