The first item on my daily schedule is this:
Up at 5:30, pray
It's been so long since I've intentionally been up early to pray that I've considered removing it from my list. But it remains on my schedule, because ideally I'd really like to be there.
Last night I wearily climbed into bed and picked up my book and read a bit from Elisabeth Elliot's Be Still My Soul. It was like a drink of water to this tired and feeling-like-a-failure-in-my-prayer-life mommy:
I will offer Him my prayers, my sighs. I will pour out my heart to Him. Even in their distractedness, inconsistency, and deficiency, I can be confident that my prayers rise to Him like incense ("Let my prayer be counted as incense before thee, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice!" Psalm 141:2, RSV). He receives my imperfect prayers like the mother receives the crushed dandelions, as gifts made perfect in love.