I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Alexia Jons’ reflection Living the Sacred in Ordinary Time: How Creativity Becomes a Form of Contemplative Prayer.
For a long time, I assumed spiritual depth would arrive through dramatic moments—clarity during prayer, profound insight, or some unmistakable experience of transformation. Instead, I kept encountering God in quieter places: while journaling in the early morning, sitting with unfinished thoughts, or writing words I didn’t fully understand until they appeared on the page.
What surprised me most was how creativity became less about producing something and more about paying attention.
I often move through life quickly, even when I want to live more contemplatively. Responsibilities accumulate, distractions multiply, and my mind constantly searches for what comes next. In that state, it becomes difficult to notice what is actually happening within me. I can pray with words while remaining disconnected from myself.
But when I sit down to write without a plan or outcome, something changes. The act itself slows me down. Thoughts I normally avoid begin to surface. Feelings I have ignored become visible. What begins as writing gradually becomes listening.
Over time, I’ve come to see this as a form of contemplative prayer.
Not because the writing is polished or meaningful in itself, but because it asks me to remain present. Creativity invites me to stay with my experience long enough for honesty to emerge. And honesty, I’ve learned, is often where prayer truly begins.
This is not always peaceful.
Sometimes what surfaces is resistance: restlessness, self-criticism, or the urge to distract myself with something easier. I notice how uncomfortable silence can feel when there is nothing to hide behind. Yet these moments reveal something important about my inner life. They expose how quickly I move away from discomfort instead of remaining present to it.
In contemplative practice, I have found that stillness is rarely empty. It is revealing.
Creativity has helped me recognize this in ordinary life. Writing about a conversation helps me notice what I missed while living it. Reflecting on my day reveals patterns in my reactions and assumptions. Even a few quiet minutes with a notebook can shift how I carry the rest of the day.
The outer circumstances remain the same, but my awareness changes.
I begin to notice beauty more easily. I listen more carefully. I react less quickly. There is a subtle difference between rushing through life and inhabiting it fully, and creative reflection has slowly taught me that difference.
I’ve also realized how deeply stories shape my spiritual imagination. Certain books linger with me not because they provide answers, but because they create space for reflection. Sometimes a story reveals truths I struggle to name in myself.
I experienced this while reading The World Before the Flood. Its portrayal of a society appearing whole while quietly unraveling stayed with me long after I finished it. Rather than offering instruction, it invited me to examine the hidden fractures in my own life—the places where distraction, comfort, or avoidance can slowly distance me from deeper awareness.
That is part of the sacred power of creativity and storytelling. They do not force transformation. They invite attention.
And attention, I believe, is one of the purest forms of prayer we can practice in a distracted world.
I no longer think contemplative life is separate from ordinary life. It unfolds within it: in pauses, in reflection, in moments when I resist the urge to rush past my own experience. Creativity has become one of the ways I return to that awareness again and again.
Not perfectly. Not consistently. But honestly.
What began as a simple habit of writing has gradually become a way of listening—to myself, to the world around me, and to the quiet presence of the sacred hidden within ordinary time.
I still look for meaning the way many people do. But I am beginning to believe that depth is not something absent from our lives. More often, it is something we fail to notice.
And sometimes, all it takes to notice again is a blank page, a few moments of silence, and the willingness to remain present long enough for the sacred to appear.
Alexia Jons writes on Christianity through a contemplative and reflective lens, exploring faith, spirituality, and personal growth rooted in biblical wisdom. Her work focuses on deepening awareness of God’s presence in everyday life and navigating life’s challenges with faith, reflection, and spiritual grounding. Alongside writing, she also enjoys photography, often using it as another way of noticing beauty in ordinary moments.
