My grandmother prayed at the kitchen table

I think she must have been onto something there.
If you spent more than a few hours at my grandmother’s house, you probably would hear her say, “I’m going to say my prayers.” She’d disappear into the kitchen if she wasn’t already there, sit down at her place (near the stove) and take out her envelope of holy cards and quietly read the prayers on the back.
It didn’t matter about background noise, who was there, or what else might be going on around her.
I am finding that I’ve been guilty of being too perfectionistic about prayer.
If I can’t do the Liturgy of the Hours perfectly (total quiet, no distractions) then often it doesn’t get done at all.
I have one husband and three children. “No distractions” just doesn’t happen in my world, or in most worlds.
In this house there is no room for a prayer corner with a candle and all that. But there is a kitchen table with a chair, and my memories of my grandmother’s devotion to her prayers no matter what. For right now, that is good enough.

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