When quiet fails, discover God in the noise

I planned to write last week about Saint Teresa of Ávila’s “Prayer of Quiet.” Instead, at 8:30 a.m., the Terminix truck pulled up, someone arrived to install skylights, and a crew of carpenters showed up to rebuild my dock. Not exactly the setting for silent contemplation. I slipped away to a quiet spot in the woods, hoping to listen for God—but even there, my aging dog tracked me down and insisted on attention (see photo). So I postponed the reflection. 

This week, I’m trying again. But now my two grandsons—ages two and four, and 100% boy—are staying with me. “Quiet” is, once again, in short supply. 

Teresa describes the Prayer of Quiet as the beginning of a deeper, more mystical prayer. She offers a beautiful image: God’s consolations flow into the soul like a hidden spring filling a basin—gently, silently, with little effort on our part. She contrasts this with an aqueduct, which requires human effort and ingenuity to bring water from a distance. The aqueduct, she says, is like vocal prayer or meditation—good and necessary, but active. “Through our own efforts, comforting feelings come splashing in, making noise as they fill up the basin” (Interior Castle, Fourth Dwelling).  

Lately, I’ve been wondering what Teresa might say about prayer in the presence of toddlers.  

There are brief moments, like when one of them rests quietly in my arms, when I sense that hidden spring again, gently filling the basin with consolations. But most of the time, they’re noisy and splashy: asking for snacks, dismantling whatever catches their attention, or exploring places they shouldn’t. Yesterday’s project was moving gravel from the driveway to the front porch. Along the way came a full range of emotions, sounds, and discoveries.  

I’m in my sixties now, and I realize how much I’ve come to value quiet. An empty-nest life is much more conducive to contemplative prayer. And yet, this week has given me a renewed appreciation—and sympathy—for young parents who are simply trying to find a moment for God. Sometimes, all that’s possible is a quick plea: “God, come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me.”  

So for now, my “Prayer of Quiet” has become a “prayer of life.”  Time spent kayaking, fishing, watching Shark Dog, or crawling on the floor tapping into my own inner toddler—this is where I meet God today.  

This, too, can be my prayer. As Saint Paul reminds us: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing… for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18).

May you discover God in both the quiet and the noise in your life.