Finding God in My Kitchen

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.

No prayer journal entry. No dazzling scriptural insight. Just messes cleaned, meals made, and little hearts tended.

I steadied myself. I could feel the urge to scream rise up. I really didn’t want to do this again… and then at the edge of my frustration, a gentle thought nudged my soul: This is your offering. Do it with love.

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 not living in the grand. We’re settling cabinets, squabbles, and everything in between, leaving no time for the mountaintop. No mission trips. No outreaches. 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 saying yes in a modest room in Nazareth
• A simple meal of fish and loaves offered out of 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. Like most of us, her days were filled with chores and duties that didn’t matter to the world outside. But Thérèse discovered that if she did “little things with great love” for Christ, they became extraordinary gifts in His Hands.

So Thérèse didn’t just do her share. She sought out the difficult tasks. She volunteered to care for an ailing old nun known for her mean streak, offering the best care possible even after being insulted and yelled at. She ate whatever she was given without complaint, even when she was served leftovers. Every day, Thérèse humbled herself and died to herself. And she did all of this quietly, receiving little to no appreciation. (Sound familiar?)

No wonder then that she is such a beloved saint and a Doctor of the Church. For it takes great courage, daily sacrifice, and strength to do what she 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 wonderful 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, in my children’s sweet stories, and in the bustle of a full house. I simply need to recognize His presence and respond.

And I’m learning to respond in ways traditional and new.

Simple ways to see Him in our everyday

The mission field under my roof

So… there was my countertop. And as I stood in front of it, I knew I was being called to humbly wipe down, without sighing in protest, without rolling my eyes, 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 humbly bend down to tie little sandals, patiently teach the same lesson for the hundredth time, gently offer a soft answer instead of a retort, 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. In fact, it often looks like sticky floors mopped with self-giving love, a heartfelt prayer, and a “simple look turned toward heaven.”

In faith,

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