Attention as Prayer
My four-year-old daughter loves to choose a board game and announce that she is going to "play" it. She sits cross-legged on the floor by herself, carefully takes out each piece and sorts, arranges, and stacks. She admires the colors and patterns. She counts and categorizes. What is most striking, however, is her complete absorption in the tasks she has set out for herself. She will not be easily interrupted or distracted.
Kids are just so good at this, aren't they? My son can sit and look out the window, with a cat in his lap, lost in his own thoughts and observations for hours, and then suddenly ask something like, "What's a black hole, exactly?" My seven-year-old daughter will meticulously arrange her dollhouse just so, or sit down with paper and markers to write and illustrate a book from beginning to end, or set up a classroom for her stuffed animals, all with complete focus and precision.
I often envy their ability to devote complete attention to one thing to the exclusion of all else. Grown-ups, perhaps moms especially, and often by necessity, have too many tabs open in their minds at all times, trying to both remember and anticipate the needs of the family today, tomorrow, into next week, maybe worrying about a child or situation, making sure supper is on the table, shoes are tied, spelling words get practiced, and everyone is in bed on time. There are so many pressures on our time and attention, and it often seems impossible to stop the hamster-wheel of thoughts and things to do.
Simone Weil, a social philosopher, wrote that "Absolute unmixed attention is prayer." I stumbled across this quote last week and have been unable to shake it since. Our sermon this past Sunday was about prayer, too, reminding me that prayer is a practice that helps to prepare us, something we can and should do as we wait.
I like that word, "practice." I have been reminded lately that practice is necessary for anything we want to get good at in life; it doesn't just apply to my son's piano lessons. I've never been great at speaking my thoughts out loud, off the cuff, but have realized that I need to force myself to simply do it, to practice, and I will get better. As I like to remind my children, it's normal to not be good at something right away. I must try and fail at things (like this blog, perhaps?) in order to improve. Likewise, I can practice giving my unmixed attention to what is in front of me.
Sometimes, being completely focused on something is easy. I can usually do this at work, where I am not immediately responsible for small children or, ya know, emptying the garbage can. Any time I am preparing a project that involves writing a programming script, it's no problem. [Our family lore includes the time that I was scripting code for a project, walked out of our home office to get a refill on my cup of coffee, then poured the entire pot into my cup which overflowed onto the counter and floor while I stood there frozen, eyes vacant, thinking through the programming code I was writing.] Usually, when I'm working with my hands in the garden, baking bread, or, lately, painting window trim, I enjoy a sense of focus and what some like to call flow. I like to think that these are also times of prayer, times that I am wholeheartedly embracing my vocation to learn and grow and enjoy, just like my children.
It's those times where the task in front of me is not all-absorbing, I'm in a rush, or I'm being pulled in multiple directions that are challenging. My brain starts whirling and spinning out, and I'm jumping from one thing to the next in the effort to get everything done and manage all the needs in my line of sight. It's exhausting just describing it, isn't it?
So, I'm resolved to do what I can to stop the hamster-wheel and practice giving my unmixed attention to what is in front of me. I'll exercise that mental muscle until it becomes easier to fully listen to a long-winded story told in a child's voice from the back seat of the car, to diligently set out the backpacks and shoes, and to enjoy a meal together instead of mentally making a list of what comes next. And, perhaps, that undivided attention can be an offering, a devotion, a prayer.
