I can think of no better words on the spiritual life than these, from Mother Teresa:

"The fruit of silence is prayer.

The fruit of prayer is faith.

The fruit of faith is love.

The fruit of love is service.

The fruit of service is peace."

I would like to focus on just one line—the line most of us may have the greatest difficulty with. It is the line that over-committed, well-intentioned pilgrims are most tempted to skip over.

Yet it is the first line and, therefore, the gateway to all of the fruits we hold dear. "The fruit of silence is prayer."

I’ll begin with a personal confession. Though I know the importance of silence in achieving a healthy spiritual life, I still find it elusive. My life is a constant battle to fulfill all the legitimate claims on my time.

1. As a wife and mother of young children, my days are consumed, as Mother Teresa would say, "doing the little things ...with great love."
2. As a managing director of a nationwide charity with more than 22,000 volunteers and a toll-free lifeline that connects literally thousands of abandoned, pregnant women with our practical resources, my days usually begin before dawn and end only when either my energy or eyesight gives out.
3. As a Catholic woman consecrated to imitating the Blessed Mother and her perfect example of humble service and universal compassion, I find myself asking for her help every day to multiply my hours and magnify my gifts so that I might manage to fit in the visit to the sick, the letter to the discouraged, the phone call to the forgotten. And she always comes through.

The fruit of silence is prayer.

How many of us could honestly describe our daily lives as filled with silence? The demands on our time and attention seem only to escalate, no matter how hard we try to simplify our cluttered lives. Our excuses range from the reasonable to the ridiculous. But the reality remains the same. We have lacked the discipline, wisdom and common sense to honor and obey the first great commandment to "love the Lord our God with our whole heart."

Our homes, once sanctuaries for peace and quiet, have become noise-ridden centers of activity. We’ve permitted them to be bombarded by TV, radio, video and now fax machines, cordless phones and laptop computers. Even the once-peaceful "stroll around the block" and quiet commute to work have been invaded by paging devices, cellular phones, Walkmans and beepers.

If the "fruit of silence is prayer," and prayer is the "raising of one’s heart and mind to God," then the loss of this fertile ground for grace literally is a threat to our salvation. This we must regain.

I learned to pray, in silence, when I was 5. My father had just left our family. To say that there was a void and a new silence is an under-statement. Yet into that silence stepped a wise and holy priest whom I have come to think of as a living saint. He, too, had lost a parent when he was very young, and so he began to teach me, out of his own brokenness, about the only Love that never walks away and the only compassion that never ends.

My eyes were opened to the great gift that suffering is.

We were standing in a rock garden bathed in sunlight. I can still remember him tenderly repeating the words of Jesus Christ, who taught us all we ever need to know about how to pray. The words "Our Father" took on an intimate and profoundly healing meaning for me that day. As I go through life struggling to carve out times for silence each day, it is the sweet familiarity of those childlike words that keeps bringing me home.

I have found that 3 a.m. is a wonderful, peaceful time to awaken and to give yourself and your Creator a precious gift of one uninterrupted hour of silent meditation. There are no phones, no fares, no calls on your time or attention. None, except the gentle voice of an understanding Father whose love is infinite and unconditional. He calls to you even before you call to Him in prayer. He waits to give you the words that you ache to hear.

So the next time you’re tempted to roll over at 3 a.m., consider the possibility that Jesus has tapped you on the shoulder and is asking, "Will you not come and watch with me for one hour?"