Portals of Prayer
Presence, Repetition, and Slow Becoming
“There are two ways to wash the dishes. The first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes and the second is to wash the dishes in order to wash the dishes.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness
“All of the works in the Montessori environment build the capacity for prayer.”
— Ms. Maggie, at a parent-teacher meeting seven years ago
I began hand-grinding my coffee because I wanted fresh grounds in the early hours of the morning, and I dared not wake my children. One morning last week, as I turned the handle, it occurred to me that grinding coffee is not unlike spinning a prayer wheel. Memories surfaced from my time in Tibet, watching monks set their wheels in motion. At the time, I couldn’t wrap my mind around how that could be prayer. I get it now. The cadence, the repetition—the round-and-round motion—does something to the one who prays and in the one who prays as they are attending to their work.
In high school, I grasped algebraic integers when I embodied it—walking out equations by way of a chalk-drawn continuum on the sidewalk. Now I see how embodied actions shape a life, not just intellectually, but spiritually, as prayer.
Brother Lawrence loathed his kitchen duties, yet he used them to cultivate an awareness of God’s nearness—a method of prayer as simple intention in the middle of dirty dishes. Carmen Acevado Butcher translates his words in Practice of the Presence this way,
“The most sacred, most ordinary, and most necessary practice in the spiritual life is the presence of God… speaking humbly, looking to them1 lovingly, at every moment.”
Brother Lawrence teaches us that prayer isn’t about words or grand gestures—it’s about presence, attention, and the simple act of turning one’s self toward God in the midst of the ordinary. It is not separate from life but woven into its smallest details. Sometimes, just the intention is enough.
Earlier this year, a friend told me that she gathered all the Christmas cards from last year onto her bedside table so she could spend time praying for each family. She was disheartened that she hadn’t yet done this. I asked, “Can you view the act of placing them on your bedside table as the act of prayer, knowing that God knows your desire? Maybe the intention is enough.”
During a season of rest, I set Thursdays aside from audiobooks and podcasts, training my attention to how God was speaking to me. I became more intentional with my daily tasks. At the time, I didn’t have a dishwasher, so I washed dishes by hand and attended to the washing as prayer. I didn’t think about or pray for the person who last drank from the glass or who would drink from it next. I worked—gently, persistently—to fully engage in the washing. To keep my mind from wandering, I repeated the words, “I am fully present to washing this cup,” marveling at the way the soap bubbles slid down the glass. It was a grounding moment of prayer. In this way, washing dishes became a slow practice of transformation—one that nurtures the spiritual journey itself.
Washing dishes this way is not efficient. Neither is prayer. It is not about the outcome, but—over time—who you become. Transformation is never efficient. The Paul-on-the-road-to-Damascus moments are the exception. Even then, I suspect unseen movements were already stirring beneath the surface, waiting to break through and ripen. For most of us, becoming is slow—frustratingly so. But if I remain present, if I attend to what is in front of me, the unfolding is full of Divine Love, wonder and gratitude—no rushing, no forcing.
These days, I have a dishwasher, and I use it often. Even so this Lent, I’ve again let go of audiobooks and podcasts. The sonic (over)consumption of other’s thoughts, commentary, and fictional worlds had buried my true hunger. Now, the everyday motions of my life are more available invitations again—small portals to prayer.
Maybe you haven’t yet picked up a practice or let go of what masks your hunger. That’s okay. It’s never too late to join Jesus in the wilderness or to walk alongside the Israelites leaving Egypt, shedding old ways of being. There is room for you to wander your inner landscape and notice what your deeper hungers truly are.
Maybe for you, it is choosing a quotidian task to attend to and be your mode of practicing the presence. Or perhaps it’s a contemplative walk, noticing the gifts of the rumbling abundance of spring.
Take heart, beloved. The path unfolds as you walk—step by step, presence as prayer.
Triduum Creative Attention
The next Creative Attention iis on Wednesday, April 16 at 12pm, EST. We will be exploring themes of Sorrow, Desolation, Silence. You can sign up below. If you’re navigating job loss and would like to join, I’d love to offer you a spot—just send me a message.
A Good Read
My reading and podcast listening has slowed since my last post, so I have just one recommendation this time.
I’m finishing Reading Genesis by Marilynne Robinson. The first half is a literary exploration, highlighting the profound humanness of the Abrahamic family through generational patterns of trickery, mistakes and infertility woven through Genesis. It turns out that this view reveals Genesis as a story of profound forgiveness. The book’s structure is unusual. There are no chapters. This can feel disorienting at times, but for those overly familiar with the story, this disruption feels purposeful, inviting a fresh encounter. The second half of the book contains the full text of Genesis in the KJV, which, when read after Robinson’s reflections, enlivens its substance and significance. Highly recommend.
Until Next time,
Lauren Shea Little, TnS
In Practice of the Presence, Carmen Acevedo Butcher’s recent translation of Brother Lawrence, she intentionally uses they/them pronouns for God. This choice reflects both Brother Lawrence’s deeply Trinitarian theology and his use of tout le monde—“for everybody”—a phrase he often used to express the all-encompassing nature of Divine Love. I loved this edition. It is a beautiful translation and full of exquisite language, and loving letters Brother Lawrence wrote to people who were struggling with the practice.