I think it’s your turn, Rachel.

“I think it’s your turn, Rachel.”

I used to hear this around the dinner table about once or twice a week as my family paused to pray before eating.  We all took turns, so about every four days it was my turn to lead the mealtime prayer.

Some days I was eager to pause and speak while holding my brother’s hand on the right and my mom’s on the left.  Those were probably the days I was feeling especially confident or had a lot for which to be thankful, so words of gratitude came with ease.

Other days I really did not want it to be my turn [are you sure it’s not Jordan’s turn?].  The words didn’t come so easily.  I had to stumble through it or force them out.  Sometimes I mindlessly recited words and phrases that had become so familiar and routine to me. // thanks for this food and the hands that made it.  may it give us strength so we can do your work.

Sometimes I was incredibly embarrassed when it was my turn, particularly if we had extended family or friends over for dinner or if we were eating out.  What will they think of what I say?  What if I sound stupid or cheesy?  Are people laughing at us?

Today I am incredibly grateful for the gift of practicing mealtime prayers [Thanks Mom and Dad].  Though there were awkward times, uncomfortable times and many excuses for my brothers to squeeze my hands as hard as they could, mealtime prayers were a rich time for my family and a practice I hope to continue.

Mealtime prayers created a time and space in the day to pause.  As an active family of five, we were always running in different directions.  My parents shuttled us to school, soccer practice, ice hockey games, drum lessons, piano lessons and tennis tournaments [to name a few].  So it was rare that we were all in the same place during the course of a day.

Somehow my mom managed to get dinner on the table and all five of us around the table for many of my childhood years [I think she’s a superhero].  We set aside our homework, our soccer shinguards, our drum set and video games and we came to the table.  And this was the unique part of the day when we all crossed paths.  We sat down around the hand-me-down wooden table, held hands, took a moment to pause and give thanks.

Some days we had a little more flexibility with time and we prayed for our friends, family and community.  Other days we sang a quick Johnny Appleseed prayer, one of my Papa’s favorites.  And yet other days, it was a quick twenty second prayer because my dad had to rush off to a meeting or one of us had to be shuttled to basketball practice.

Whether the mealtime prayer was twenty seconds or five minutes, it was an uninterrupted time.  Everyone sat down.  We let go of whatever we were holding so we could hold hands.  And we let the phone ring until the answering machine caught it.  [Sometimes we paused our prayer to laugh at the caller’s response to our “Don’t Go Chasing Phony Calls” voicemail message.]

I think part of the reason mealtime prayers were [and still can be] uncomfortable is because they force us to slow down, to break from the busyness of our day and to be fully present where we are.  It’s a time to come to the table with what you’ve got — whether you are celebrating a good grade on yesterday’s test, disappointed about the outcome of today’s big game or unhappy with the person who’s hand you are holding.

This lenten season, I aim to pause more at the table.  To practice mealtime prayer on days when the gratitude comes easily and words roll off my tongue and on days when I feel uncomfortable and I really don’t feel like it.  And because it’s now up to me to “take my turn”, it will be my turn every day.  So on the days I have not much to say [or feel embarrassed to bow my head in a restaurant], I plan on pausing to breathe deeply and allow my very breath to be a prayer.