There’s something about the rhythm of a day that either drags us down or draws us closer to heaven.
Morning rush, midday crash, evening blur, bedtime chaos… then late-night scrolling. Then we wake up and do it all again.
But what if our messy, snack-filled, Lego-strewn, kid-powered day could become prayer?
That’s the gift of the Liturgy of the Hours—also called the Divine Office. It’s the Church’s invitation to sanctify time. Not just Sundays. Not just in silence. All of it.
So this week, we decided to dive in as a family and pray Night Prayer. Just one night. That was the goal.
We made it four days in a row.
That’s a miracle.
And not the “sun-dancing-Fatima” type. More like the “everyone was in the living room and no one was bleeding or eating marshmallows under the couch while we prayed” kind of miracle. #parentingwin
Day One: We Begin
We opened with:
“God, come to my assistance.”
— “Lord, make haste to help me.”
The dog started barking. Not sure if it was a leaf, a squirrel, or some minor demon. One kid began reading a bedtime story aloud. Another hung upside down on the couch like a bat.
Then came the sound of wheels on tile.
Our youngest daughter had gone rogue. She retrieved her pedal-less bike from the garage and was now circling the kitchen island like she was warming up for the toddler Indy 500.
My wife and I gave each other a look. The “is-this-worth-it?” look. We decided: let her ride. She wasn’t distracting the others, and honestly, her joy was kind of contagious.
Somewhere during the Psalm, one kid disappeared downstairs and came back with a snack. Again. Another resumed fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube. A third attempted to recite the Gospel Canticle in a British accent (no idea why).
We picked up toys already—eleven times that day. And here they were again, littered across the floor like sacred breadcrumbs leading us to sanctification.
And still…
We prayed.
The Divine Office, Lived Loudly
You see, the Liturgy of the Hours isn’t just for monks in cloisters or clergy in collars. It’s for families like ours—with ADHD, barking dogs, tired parents, and snack heists.
It’s the Church’s ancient prayer that baptizes time itself. A liturgical rhythm flowing around the Mass. A pattern of praise that runs through the cracks of ordinary life like gold in kintsugi pottery.
Each Hour of the Divine Office gives shape to the day:
- Morning Prayer: praise and purpose
- Evening Prayer: surrender and thanksgiving
- Night Prayer: rest and trust
- (Plus those middle ones if you’re especially caffeinated)
At the heart of each Hour? The Psalms.
As Fr. Timothy Gallagher says:
“Jesus not only prayed the Psalms; He fulfilled them.”
When we recite these prayers, we don’t just imitate Christ—we enter His prayer. We join a chorus echoing through centuries and continents.
Even when that chorus includes a 6-year-old spinning in circles during the Responsory.
Real Reverence Can Have Wiggles
By the fourth night, something shifted. Not externally—we still had interruptions. The dog barked. Someone spilled water. The pedal-less bike made its triumphant reappearance.
But the kids knew the words. They settled in quicker. They anticipated the prayers. One of them even whispered, “Is this where we say ‘Into your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit’?”
Yes. Yes it is.
That moment—the soft reverence of a tired child remembering the psalm by heart—was holier than any candle-lit retreat. It was grace in the moment.
Final Blessing
We closed with:
“May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death.”
— Amen.
Then they each climbed into bed. It still takes many minutes to get to bed after prayer. Someone always forgets a drink of water or a stuffed animal. But there’s a beginning of a calmness (at least by a few degrees to start off). They really prayed. With their bodies, their voices, their interruptions… and their hearts. And we prayed together as a family (and in communion with the Church).
So we’ll keep at it. Because God doesn’t just want our polished, filtered, idealized versions. He wants our real days. Our noisy homes. Our ordinary hours.
He wants this hour—even if it comes with Rubik’s Cubes, kitchen bike laps, and the occasional trail mix theft.
After all, as St. Ambrose said:
“The Psalms soothe the temper, lighten sorrow, offer security at night, and stir up holiness by day.”
Turns out, holiness sometimes looks like picking up toys for the twelfth time… and then praying anyway.
Related Links
3 Ways the Holy Family will Help Your Family
How The Jesus Prayer Impacted My Life
Praying the Divine Office as a Family
