I’m a bit nervous about this post. There are many bloggers who are open about their faith. While I admire these people and am often inspired by what they write, my own spiritual life is an intensely personal experience that I find difficult to articulate and share.

Last week I heard something in church that lit up my brain like a neon sign. The speaker said simply this: “Prayer should be the highlight of our day.” Really? I thought. Well, yes, of course. Prayer is a conversation with God, after all. It should be the highlight of my day. I must confess that this statement rattled me so much that I couldn’t focus on the rest of what was said. I’ve been mulling it over ever since.

I do hear God whisper to me often. There is certain music that always opens up a heavenly conduit for me. The beauty of our natural surroundings, the light that emanates from the faces of my children, many passages of scripture—all these things and more have been sources of revelation and inspiration for me. I pray regularly: morning, evening, over meals, little missives sent up into the ether during the day expressing thanks or need. But I am sorry to say that these moments have often occurred out of habit and have not been the highlight of my day.

I can think of many conversations that have been highlights: moments of shared experience with close friends; quirky turns of phrase my children come up with; good news rejoiced over, bad news commiserated with. The best interchanges are those I have with people with whom I have a long, shared history built on the foundation of love and mutual respect.

It would be a highlight of my year to talk to certain people: various ancestors, any of a number of Dead British People, one or two intelligent-seeming celebrities. I imagine myself gearing up for some one-on-one time with, say, Toni Morrison. What would I want to ask this wise, talented woman? What would I be willing to reveal about myself? How would I prepare so as to make best use of her time?

Toni Morrison is amazing, but let’s face it: she’s not God. The King of the Universe, who happens to be the Eternal Father of my spirit, is willing to be in communication with me at my convenience. Shouldn’t I put a little more effort into enhancing the quality of the time I spend with Him? Why is it so easy to forget how important God is to me, and how important I, one of his daughters, am to Him?

The growth and maintenance of a successful relationship is work, an aggregation of small daily choices that can become more than the sum of its parts if allowed to reach critical mass. I’m quite vigilant about remembering to make those choices with the people who live in my house—I believe with good results. It’s clear to me that I should expand those choices into my relationship with God. I now believe that I need prayer to become the highlight of every day.

This morning I walked down to the graveyard to pick up James from the Memorial Day Parade. The cemetery gates are about a quarter mile from our house; the whole way there, I could hear the local pipe and drum corps skirling out a patriotic hymn. I’m not a real flag-waver, preferring to consider myself a citizen of the world, but a good bagpiper does get my blood stirring. The air was fresh after last night’s thunderstorm, and I could smell wild roses and mountain ash blossoms. God gently reminded me of His grandeur and mercy; I answered Him with a resolve to keep His glory closer to the forefront of my mind, days, and prayers.

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
—Rudyard Kipling, “Recessional”