Finding God in My Kitchen: When the Ordinary Becomes Holy

I froze as I stared at the kitchen countertop. Didn’t I clear this space just an hour ago?

Now it was a playground of potato peels, puri crumbs, and sticky bowls plastered with chutney and sev — messy proof of a long day that hadn’t ended yet. I’d done so much yet had nothing “productive” to show for it.

Just messes cleaned, meals made, and little hearts tended.

I really didn’t want to do this again. I could feel the urge to scream rise up.

Then, at the edge of my frustration, a gentle thought nudged my soul: This is your offering. Do it with love.

And just like that, in the middle of my messy kitchen, God entered my ordinary day.

The sacred everyday

We tend to look for God in the grand: in the breakthroughs, the retreats, the mountaintop moments. But most days, we’re settling cabinets, squabbles, and everything in between. No retreats. No Bible study groups. Just working with love in the trenches. Doing ordinary things.

Yet, Scripture reminds us that the ordinary becomes holy when touched by Him:

• A young girl in Nazareth saying yes
• A simple meal of fish and loaves offered with kindness
• Bread and wine, in the hands of the Savior

Little things, great love

St Thérèse of Lisieux grasped this mystery. Too ill to chase her missionary dreams, she lived a hidden life in her Carmelite convent. Her days were filled with mundane chores. But Thérèse discovered that even the simplest and dreariest of duties could become holy sacrifices when they were done with love.

So Thérèse didn’t just do her share.

She sought out the difficult tasks. She volunteered to care for an ailing nun known for her mean streak. She ate whatever she was given, even leftovers, without complaint. Every day, Thérèse died to herself. And she did all of this quietly, receiving little to no appreciation. (Sound familiar?)

It takes tremendous courage, sacrifice, and strength to do what this beloved saint and Doctor of the Church did.

A challenging spirituality

To an ordinary Catholic like me, St Thérèse does not just offer a way to holiness. She presents me with a great challenge: Do your ordinary work not only with love but with humility and a complete emptying of self.

Ouch!

If you ask me, that may qualify as a “little way,” but it sure isn’t an “easy way.” And therein lies its path to holiness: If I’m ready to live out this “little way,” I can find God in this nook I call home. I can nurture bodies, minds, and hearts, all while inching closer to holiness myself.

Because God doesn’t need me to clear my calendar and take an appointment with Him. He’s already with me in my cluttered kitchen, at my overfull study table, and in my children’s stories.. I simply need to recognize His presence and respond.

And I’m learning to respond in ways traditional and new. Here are ways you can, too.

Simple ways to see Him in our everyday

• Whisper a prayer before you get off your bed each morning: “Lord come be with me in the midst of this day and all it brings.” I like to pray this beautiful traditional morning offering, written by Fr. François-Xavier Gautrelet, before my feet hit the floor.
• Stitch intercession into your routines: Washing dishes? Pray for those who ate from them. Folding clothes? Bless each family member as you do.
• Practice praying on-the-go: Sing a hymn while peeling vegetables. Pray the rosary on your commute. Meditate on a verse from scripture while bathing a little one.
• Offer up the hard moments: That moment when your patience is all used up and you want to yell? Give it to Him. Say, “Lord, I’m tired but help me love well, for You.”

The mission field under my roof

So… there was my countertop. As I stood in front of it, I knew I was being called to humbly wipe down, without sighing in protest, without making a show. Wipe down I did, as humbly as I could. With a soft “Lord, this is for you. Use it as you will, little as it is.”

I’m learning now that the slow chiseling of our souls occurs when we patiently teach the same lesson for the hundredth time, gently offer a soft answer instead of a retort, or lovingly hold a tantrum-throwing toddler.

These little offerings done with love rise up as prayers.

Holiness is not reserved for monks and mystics. It’s here, in our hearts, our hands, our homes. This is our mission field. And here, holiness doesn’t always look like a mountaintop moment. More often than not, it looks like sticky floors mopped with self-giving love and a “simple look turned toward heaven.”

In faith,

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