My Little Monk

There is a little Brother Lawrence in my midst. Since becoming a mom I have often thought that the dear old monk’s experiment in Practicing His Presence would be something to attempt, but it seems as though the real lesson in prayer has come from my 18-month old daughter. We have begun praying with Elli before meals, each of us holding one tiny hand, trying not to giggle as she peeks at us through squinted eyes and adds an enthusiastic “Amen!” at the end. It was sweet when she began asking to “Amen” or more recently to “Pway” as soon as we sat down, extending those pudgy palms expectantly.

However, in the past week she has really taken it up a notch. In the bath the other night she stood up, held out her hands and asked to pray. So we prayed, her naked little body dripping into the tub. Another morning she stopped, mid-nurse, and asked to pray again (Jesus, I pray that this child will soon be weaned…). Then, in a move that shocked me, she looked up from playing with her dolls, said, “D-dad?” (her name for Great Granddad who she had just met a few days before), ‘Pway?”, “Boo-boo, arm?” Sure enough, Granddad had a large bandage on his arm when we had seen him and Elli wanted to pray about it. So we did. Then she wanted to pray for her Nana and Papa. How did she learn this? More importantly, why haven’t I learned this, this desperate desire to pray in the midst of my every day actions?

“…and a little child will lead them.” Isaiah 11:6

Kristin