My husband came home from an early meeting where they’d had a discussion on prayer. And as he shared, inwardly I lamented my position. Maybe I’d be more prayerful if I had a group like his or the freedom for alone time or a break from the ever present noise of boys, babies, buzzing monitors...Never mind that being home is meaningful and missional and a choice to which I feel called. Nevertheless, I started to sell myself the story that God would be more in my midst if life looked different. I think we do that sometimes...tell ourselves that God is more available in some other kind of life. But I don’t think that’s really true. I think He wants relationship in the exact story we’re living, whatever that may be. Maybe my prayer in this season doesn’t need to look like extended quiet time or ladies Bible studies, good as they are. Maybe prayer right now is meant to happen in the middle of my mess. Maybe God cares less about me carving out a dedicated holy moment for Him and more about me spilling His presence over all of my mundane moments and my little people. Perhaps the distinction between prayer and life and work and play can be gloriously blurry because He inhabits all.