Think often of God; do so by day and by night, in your business and even during diversions. The Lord is always near you. He is with you. For your part, never leave him alone.

—From The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence.

Exhausted, I overslept my alarm and woke up at 6:30 to a house already buzzing with activity. There would be no quiet time alone with God this morning. I missed him, I thought, sighing with regret. Instead of curling up in peace on the couch with my Bible, I made a quick morning offering, Jesus, I love you. May everything that I think and say and do today be of you and not of me.

Busyness engulfed me—breakfasts prepared, hair braided, socks found, kids packed off to school.

I thought I might get a few minutes to read the Gospel, but my two-year-old climbed up on my lap in the middle of my messy living room and started talking to me between sips of her bottle of milk. (Which, of course, I plan to wean her off of as soon as I get a chance). The mess, the bottle, the missed prayer—it was not even 8:00 am, and already, I was failing. I blinked back tears, thinking of the chaos of some days seeming so hard to keep in check.

Then a thought hits me, clear as a bolt of lightning, I’m here. I know that voice. God is speaking to me. He has found me in my prayer-neglecting sadness and is reminding me of a truth I can’t afford to forget. He is here. 

My two-year-old looks up at me, snuggles into my neck, I love you, Mommy. I let the love wash over me—He is here.

Then it is a rush to load myself and my toddler in the van and head to my doctor’s check-up. I don’t have a sitter, so she comes with me. In the waiting room, her delighted giggles bring the nurse through the door with a big smile. Is that you giggling, beautiful girl? My toddler smiles and laughs some more. Everyone in the room smiles—her joy is contagious. He’s here in this joy.

The doctor is happy to engage in conversation. Remembers my husband’s name. Patient and reassuring, kind to my daughter who infringes on our visit. I feel grateful for his kindness and my good health. God is here.

I have a lunch appointment with a dear, wise friend. She listens, encourages, speaks truth into a burden that has been paining me deeply. Hugs me for a long time, prays with me sincerely and devoutly. He is tangibly, powerfully here.

My weekly Bible study with beautiful immigrant friends turns to the topic of God’s mercy. His mercy, we discuss—that is both gentle and incredibly challenging. I feel it in my bones. He is here.

In my even messier living room after dinner and homework, and some brotherly arguments over Monopoly, we gather our four little ones. My husband leads us in a worship song, “No place I would rather be,” we sing, “than here in Your love.” Here, in your love.

Soon I will tuck my sleep resisting toddler in bed, and I hope to steal away some time to be in his Word in the quiet of my living room as I usually do. I love to be with him in quiet. He loves to be with me, too—in quiet, in chaos, in doctors’ offices and conversations with friends, in giggles, argument mediation, and song. 

I am reminded of Moses’s surprise encounter with God as he tended his flock. God found him in the midst of his labors and told him, The place where you are standing is holy ground (Ex 3:5). God finds us in the midst of our work, too. Motherhood is holy ground. God is here.