The Beginning of Devotion

Lauren Grace

There is a particular feel to Saturday mornings in our house that distinguishes them from any other day of the week. All the energy that was kept under control during school seems to come spilling out the moment our older children get up. Within a half hour of waking I might find myself helping construct a cardboard box car in the middle of the kitchen floor while simultaneously checking on the oatmeal and trying not to trip on a roll of duct tape. Someone asks if Jupiter is bigger than Mars while the baby starts to fuss to be fed. So much of the my time is spent constantly thinking one step ahead: if I get this child to put his shoes on while the other is brushing her hair then I'll be able to put the baby in the car seat while that child packs up her lunch. It is equally astounding and discouraging to realize the amount of thought that goes into the mundane minutiae of functioning as a

family.

One of my favorite poets, the recently deceased Mary Oliver, wrote, "Attention is the beginning of devotion". "I don't know exactly what a prayer is/I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down/into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass/how to be idle and blessed". Oliver wasn't at all religious but I find this particular sentiment to be inspirational as I struggle (and likely fail) each day to understand my relationship with God amid the hard work of being a mother. I think it means that we don't have to (nor should we) wait for a perfect and serene moment to reach out for God. At dinner each night we tell our children to close their eyes when we pray but perhaps they know better than we do--that prayer begins as a deep taking in.

I want to pay attention this Lenten season. I may not be able to practice perfect religious devotion but I can pay attention to the bright sunlight through the big window by the couch when I nurse Louisa in the afternoon. I can see Neva take her little sisters' hand as they walk into school together. I can hear the wren's loud winding song from where he sits on top of the wood pile outside the kitchen window, where I'm preparing lunches in the dark early morning. I can see my little baby's big wide eyes, stretching open in utter astonishment at every color and sound and face. Maybe someday the eyes of my own heart will be so wide and it can finally be called devotion.

March 2019