It was the end of Lent. I was home on spring break from college. My life had been a whirlwind of papers and midterms, and only when I came home did I realize that I hadn’t been praying. It wasn’t that I was avoiding God. I had diligently attended Mass almost every day, but I had been so focused on school that I hadn’t taken any personal time with the Lord.
That sunny day I sat on my family’s sofa as various family members left on errands. Suddenly and unexpectedly the house emptied. I had one whole hour all to myself without family members, roommates or their friends running through. Very unusual.
That was when I realized I hadn’t spent time with God in a while. Probably weeks. I couldn’t remember how long it had been. I was embarrassed. I apologized to Jesus and proudly told him that I would spend the next hour in prayer.
I woke up exactly an hour later. A car door slammed, and then another. My mom and siblings were home. The ribbed imprint of the sofa cushions was pressed into my hands. My hour was over, and I had squandered it.
I was so disappointed. “Lord,” I cried, mortified. “I couldn’t even spend one hour with you.”
Oh. Just like the apostles. They couldn’t spend an hour with him either.
Oh.
I get it, Lord. I need you to save me. And you’re at work in me even when I don’t realize it. Even when it looks like I’m doing everything wrong. You’re still at work. And you’re using my failures to bring something far greater. If I’d spent a whole hour talking with you and listening to you, I don’t think I’d have experienced such a profound lesson as you have just taught me. O happy fault!
My brother and sisters were talking and laughing as they came to the door. The sun streamed in warm on my face. I no longer felt shame. Instead I felt deep, deep gratitude. It wasn’t even Easter yet, and the Lord was giving me new life!