My Prayer Table

Christi Braschler describes how a home altar brought peace and silence into her home.

I didn’t give up coffee or donuts this Lent. 

Something I wanted to tackle was finding time for silence. 

Which is crucial for prayer. To get fruitful conversation, at some point, you have to have silence—because that’s how God speaks. While He is always listening to us, we can only hear Him in silence. 

Distraction- and noise-free. 

In a house with six people, this is impossible. 

With a 7-year-old who is teaching himself how to whistle, this is impossible. 

With a 2-year-old who has to be heard for the sake of being heard, this is impossible. 

In addition to actual noise, there is the mental noise of life’s regular routine of what has to be done next, and who needs to be where and when. The noise of wearing multiple hats and having to change direction on a whim with zero notice. 

The silence I wanted and longed for is the silence from sitting alone in a chapel after hours. The silence I first experienced and fell in love with at a Benedictine abbey five years ago. The kind of comforting silence that you can’t find in the world or inside a house full of people and never-ending responsibilities. This is the silence where God lives. The silence where you can feel Him. 

Even if it’s quiet at home or at church, there’s always noise. There is always “the next thing to do.” 

Noise from the world. 

Noise from the house. 

Noise from responsibility. 

Noise from inside our heads shouting all the things that want to compete for our attention. 

So, how could I find that silence into my daily life? I’ve been asking myself that for five years. For a while I looked outside of the house. But, there’s noise too. And wind. Sometimes it’s cold. 

I decided to finally set up a small altar, or “prayer table,” as my kids call it. 

I gave my husband a heads-up and his response was to nervously laugh, because I think he didn’t think I was serious ... and when he saw I was serious, I don’t think he knew what to think. Heck, if you had told me six years ago before my conversion that I would have a home altar, I’d have laughed in your face.

“That’s WAY too religious. Thanks, but no thanks.” 

I used an old nightstand and bought a yard of purple fabric to cover it (I have since bought the other colors for the liturgical year). Then, I grabbed some prayer cards, a photo frame to put an image of Jesus in, my favorite statue, and some blessed candles (incense- and chrism-scented) because I need all the help I can get.

Suddenly, I had this amazing space that was just for the purpose of praying and silence. I put it in our basement. The basement is the least-used area of our house and, oddly enough, pretty quiet. Especially after my kids go to bed. 

I wanted to have access to a space to focus. 

To sit. 

To be still. 

To vent. 

To cry. 

To listen. 

Because sometimes we just need silence. 

Because sometimes we just need to be still. 

Under the soft, warm glow of the candles, in an unused, and mostly forgotten, corner of my house, I found the silence I’ve spent so many years longing for. The place where rest and peace reside with our God who wants nothing more than for us to know that He is the only place we can truly find those things. 

I always thought that I had to go someplace to find this: church, Adoration, a monastery. And while all those places are important and should be used regularly, I learned that my home can be part of my church and my place of worship. It too can be a sanctuary from the world. 

And it was, for the entire Lenten season.

And it will continue to be for as long as I’m in charge. 

This Lent wasn’t perfect, and I failed a lot. But, I succeeded where I didn’t expect to. I entered into the Easter season with a new place for prayer that has already brought more depth and peace than I ever expected. Not only that, my family has slowly found their way down to that “prayer table” too. 

Little by little, the stack of prayer cards grew from my children delivering them as they found one. Or from my husband finding them and sending one of the kids down with it. Next, it was requests to pray the Rosary with me after bedtime—partly to sneak out of bed and partly to be the one to light and put out the candle. Sometimes the Angelus is led by my 10-year-old (because I don’t know it yet). On Palm Sunday, one of my daughters added her palm cross to the table. Even my husband recently (and quietly) announced he was going to use the “prayer garden table thing” for the first time. With rosary in hand, I nonchalantly said, “Okay.” 

After he left the room, I jumped up on the bed and high-fived myself with a quiet “Woo hoo!” while I did some silent, celebratory Flashdance moves.

Click to tweet:
I didn’t give up coffee and donuts this year, but somewhere along the line I gave up. I asked for help. I got an answer. #catholicmom

So I didn’t give up coffee and donuts this year, but somewhere along the line I gave up. 

I surrendered that I can’t find silence. 

I admitted I needed it. 

I admitted I wanted it. 

I asked for help. 

I got an answer. 

I don’t think I’ve ever had a Lenten season end where I felt like I had accomplished the beginning of something pretty awesome. 

I just might celebrate it with a donut. And some Flashdance moves.

Copyright 2022 Christi Braschler
Images: (top) Canva Pro; all others copyright 2022 Christi Braschler, all rights reserved.