"for this, there is always time"

stop by the little church for me

Photo by Jacob Bentzinger on Unsplash

I was recently reading

Meredith Hinds

’ masterpiece Eucharistic Saints to my eldest, and I was deeply struck by a line from the story she shares of St. Alphonsus Liguori.¹ I won’t relate the entire vignette here, but it concludes with these lines:

Father Villani nodded, and after a moment, said, “I’m going to collect the novices now. Would you care to make a visit [to the Blessed Sacrament] with us, Father? Of course, only if you have time.”

“For this, there is always time,” replied Father Alphonsus.

This last line—”for this, there is always time”—really struck me. Every week, when my daughters and I are leaving our parish after the three-year-old goes to Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, they insist that I take them to “go see Jesus in the little church”. We are blessed to have a beautiful perpetual adoration chapel, and they love to step in for a moment before we make our way back home. It’s a beautiful first sign of a budding devotion in them, and yet, my chest feels heavy just thinking about it. I’m sure many of you can relate. Sometimes, it just feels like too much, and if I’m being honest, I’m usually the least excited for our little visit to the chapel.

Let me set the scene for you, if I may. As we approach the door, I remind the girls that other people are praying and we need to quiet and reverent. (Lately, my younger daughter will remind me of this: “ky-it mommy?”) We enter the “narthex” of the chapel, where a statue of Our Lady and Baby Jesus is flanked by two doors into the chapel itself. Immediately, my eldest runs to the opposite door as me, determined to open it herself. I’ve got the younger one on my hip as I pull open my door, and the older one pokes her head out and giggles at me from the other side of the back. We come in—a three and a half year old, an almost-two-year-old, and a tired pregnant lady. I offer the younger one some holy water, and we all three get down on our knees in the back of the chapel.

Within moments, they’re standing in the center aisle chatting quietly between themselves. Usually, big sis is trying to make little sis do something: genuflect, sit here, make the sign of the cross. Little sis giggles and folds her hands and looks around. I gesture for them to come back to me, and together we whisper a quiet, “Hello Jesus! Love you, Jesus! Thank you for this beautiful day!” I look anxiously around the chapel and fret about whether or not we’re being too disruptive.

By this point, they’re getting squirmy and loud. Two hours of Atrium does not make for still children, nor full children, nor quiet children. So I offer a tired, wishful glance at the Host in the monstrance and usher the girls back into the Narthex. If I take my gaze off them for a moment, little sis is yanking petals off the flowers that surround the statue of Our Lady.

We step back out into the parking lot, and as long as there are no cars coming, we “run run run” back to the car so that we can get home for lunch and naptime.

Friends, so many times, it feels fruitless to bring them to Adoration. I hate to admit it, but I don’t think that I’m alone in it. We’re usually in the chapel for ninety seconds or less, and I don’t always trust that the shortness of the visit justifies the extra “stop” on the way home. There was a period of several months when they would immediately sprint to the door beside the altar that leads to a back hallway and a “secret” bathroom. I began to fear that they only wanted to visit the chapel so that they could use the chapel potty and play hide and seek in the back hallway.

But for this, my friends, there is always time.

Even when our children are loud, and louder still for the silence of the chapel. Even when our children are wiggly, and wigglier still for the stillness of the other adorers. Even when we wonder if they’re learning anything, or we question their motivation for wanting to go. Even when we worry that they’ll be seen as a nuisance. Even when we fear that our worth as mothers will be determined by the way they are perceived in this moment.

For this, there is always time.

“Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”

- Mark 10:14b-15

It reminds me of another story included in Meredith’s book, about St. John Paul II, who was known to take, shall we say, schedule-derailing visits into any and every chapel he passed by. On one trip, where the timetable was particularly tight, his security detail or guides were hoping that he wouldn’t notice a little church right on their route, and asked that the doors of the church be closed. But John Paul II, not to be deterred, took a few paces past the church, paused, turned around, and (probably with a twinkle in his eye, let’s be real) stopped in to say “hello” to his Eucharistic Lord.

Would that I had that kind of devotion! To go out of my way for Him! To be late or otherwise “inconvenient” because I couldn’t not spend time with Him! To be so detached from the opinions of those around me and have eyes and a heart only for Him and His view of me! I have a desire deeper than words that my daughters will have this kind of devotion. For this, my friends, there is always time.

Our youth minister at our parish put together a beautiful video about bringing children to Adoration that I have found highly encouraging over the years. If you’re in a similar season, I strongly recommend it. Even when all we can muster is a minute or two, we can—indeed, we must—trust that we are planting seeds in the hearts of these children we love so deeply.

With Lent around the corner, I am hoping to bring my children to Adoration more often—but I am also hoping to bring myself to Adoration more often. I am still taking my weekly night off, and I’ve recently been feeling convicted of the folly of having this time “to myself” and not stopping by for at least a quick visit. I’ll happily go to the pool for a swim. I’ll plug away at my own writing or send of a volley of emails for my event planning contract. I’ll spend hours hunched over my screen finding errors in documents I’m proofreading… but I won’t go ten minutes out of my way to spend a little while in the Lord’s presence?² Sometimes I feel like St. Juan Diego, who went out of his way to avoid Our Lady when the (important!) business of life felt so pressing as to brook no delay.

But if I want to be the kind of person who prioritizes prayer—if I want to live the kind of life that flows from a strong prayer life—and yet I’m not willing or able to sacrifice a little of my “me time” to spend with Christ in prayer… how badly do I really want it?

Walther Cantu

wrote a beautiful reflection a while back about cultivating silence in his own life, which primarily happened for him in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I’ve noticed a distinct lack of silence in my life lately—largely a result of the increased screen and social media time I’ve allowed to take root in the wake of my book launch.³ What better antidote to the malaise of overscrolling than to spend even just a fraction of that time remaining here and watching with the Lord?⁴

Will you join me in making a commitment to spend more time with Lord during this Lenten season?

1. Expect a future reflection on the role of beautiful, meaningful art in the life of the child. My inquisitive three year old looks at the illustrations in Meredith’s book and asks questions that cut right to the heart of the Christian life. Her ability to wonder blows me away.

2. I once had a priest in college recommend that I intentionally go “waste time” with Jesus in the Eucharist. He heard my woes and my stress and my overwhelm, and his advice was worry less about the number of hours in the day by choosing to spend more time with the Lord than I though I could afford. Prescient advice, and wisdom that I am still working to incorporate into my life.

3. Bad internet habits and lack of self-control notwithstanding, I’m incredibly excited about the crime/medical thriller novel I just published, and I’d love for you to check it out if you haven’t already! It’s a fun and exciting page-turner that also won’t require you to skip past any inappropriate scenes and hope you don’t miss any important exposition. You can read one reviewer’s thoughts here.

4. cf. Matthew 26:38 ESV