I originally published this article on Risen Motherhood in January 2021, and I’m happy to share it with you here since that ministry has ended. This was the first article I published with Risen Motherhood, and reading it now, I’m reminded how much God was shaping me as a writer, mother, and disciple during those early parenting years. I’ve experienced so much growth as I’ve continued to draw near to God through his Word—sometimes by sitting quietly in a comfy chair, but more often by opening my Bible amid the chaos of my home.
When we first moved into our new home two years ago, one of my favorite rooms was the office upstairs—it seemed like the perfect place to escape. The office held my husband’s and my desks, along with overflowing bookcases. The corner I loved most contained a comfy chair and a side table filled with notebooks, Sharpie pens, and my worn Bible.
As I set up this sacred section of my home, I knew this was where I would have my quiet time. It helped me feel settled into our new house to know I would meet with God in this perfectly arranged nook.
At least that’s what I thought.
With my Bible and study materials upstairs behind a closed door, it seemed like I had to take a great journey to mount the tower and reach my blessed corner each day. A baby waking through the night made early-morning appointments almost impossible. Since the office was not babyproof, bringing my daughter upstairs didn’t seem feasible either. While I might hurry to my corner as soon as she went down for a nap, I often found myself dozing off too.
My seemingly perfect quiet-time corner appeared far off, and so did God. I dearly wanted those precious, peaceful minutes alone with him that I had before motherhood. But it felt like God was upstairs, while my real life was downstairs—cleaning oatmeal off the floors, changing dirty diapers, and kissing booboos.
The Holy Spirit began to convict my heart, and I realized that in my pursuit of God, I had idolized my vision of quiet time over God himself. I wanted long, uninterrupted hours of prayer and Bible study, but I was unwilling to offer him the small interruptions scattered throughout my day.
God was not upstairs.
My chair may have been. My Bible may have been. My abundance of pens and highlighters may have been. But God was not confined to a place or a time.
In the Old Testament, God’s presence was represented by the Ark of the Covenant, hidden in the Most Holy Place within the Jewish temple. Only one man—the high priest—could come before God in that place, and only once a year. The fullness of God’s presence was restricted to a limited time, place, and person. Yet God promised that one day, “My dwelling place shall be with them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Ezek. 37:27). He would accomplish this through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
When Jesus took his last breath on the cross, the veil separating the Most Holy Place from the rest of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom, symbolizing that God’s presence was no longer separated from his people. “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Eph. 2:13).
God is not only with his people but also in them through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. We no longer have to wait for a high priest to enter God’s presence on our behalf. We have Christ, our Great High Priest, and God’s very presence dwells within us, making us a royal priesthood (Heb. 4:14; 1 Pet. 2:9).
Through this new and better covenant, we have union with Christ and the assurance of the Holy Spirit, enabling us to live continually in the presence of God. Yet when I separated God from my everyday life—dividing the sacred from the secular—I was placing barriers between myself and God that were never meant to exist. I always have access to God’s presence, whether I’m cooking, vacuuming, or rocking a baby.
While I eventually moved my Bible and favorite chair downstairs, a more important shift occurred in my heart and mind. God’s presence was no longer limited to an hour of isolation and silence. He was present amid the noisy chaos of little children.
Morning quiet times are still a precious gift, but my communion with God does not end when the first cry comes through the baby monitor. A prayer begun in the quiet of the morning continues throughout the day. A briefly studied verse is meditated upon while doing laundry and dishes. The presence of God is experienced not only when I am alone with him, but also when my daughter is cuddled in my lap reading a book.
And God is near to you as well.
Through the sacrifice of Christ, we can have confidence to “draw near to the throne of grace” and “find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16). He doesn’t want to be present with you only when you are sitting alone with a Bible in your lap. He invites you to call out to him when you are losing patience with your child, when you face conflict with a coworker, or when you are pursuing a passion he has placed on your heart.
He cares about every moment of your life, not just the peaceful, idyllic ones.
While we should not neglect quiet times with God, let’s remember that our time with him does not always have to be quiet. We can bring him our loud moments, our sad and happy moments, and our sinful and holy moments. Through the blood of Christ, in every moment, we have access to the Father.
He is not upstairs, though we may have relegated him to the corners of our lives. Today, draw near to him. Through Christ, the door is always open, and there’s always a place for you in his presence.
What a lovely essay, and as I was reading it in my head, I was saying “amen!”
Sometimes I get this idea in my head of what a good Christian does or what a perfect quiet time looks like. Thank you for writing about this..