The word “leisure” stuck out to me the most, prompting me to rethink my approach to the Word. I viewed meeting with a friend over coffee or lunch as a leisurely activity, so why couldn’t I transfer that anticipation to my meetings with God?

The Bible teaches that we are saved by grace alone, through faith alone—and this is not our own doing, so that no one can boast (Eph. 2:8–9). At the same time, we are commanded to work out our salvation, even as it is God who works in us (Phil. 2:12). So, how do we reconcile this tension between working out what God works in?

Many Christians feel this tension in their daily pursuit of God. We know that spending time in God’s Word and in prayer are essential for our spiritual growth. We want to practice these disciplines faithfully so we can grow in wisdom and knowledge, but also because we know God intends them for our enjoyment. After all, it is in the pages of His Word that He reveals Himself to us, and it is through prayer that we commune with Him.

Yet sometimes, what begins as delightful fellowship with God can drift into dutiful performance. What once felt life-giving and free can become cold and mechanical.

If Bible reading and prayer are the means God has given us to know him, what do we do when these very practices begin to feel like a checklist? If they are meant to draw us closer to God, why do they sometimes feel like a chore? What might it look like to recover them as practices that produce genuine delight—even leisure in our souls?

I don’t know if that tension marks your spiritual life, but it certainly marked mine.

As a new Christian, I was taught to have a daily quiet time; however, when I couldn’t consistently wake up early or stick to a routine of reading and praying, I felt guilty and like a spiritual failure. When I finally found the time, I expected to have an emotional experience, but I ended up feeling distracted and sometimes bored.

This confused me because I loved the Word and reading books about the Bible, but I struggled to enjoy the Book for myself. I was embarrassed when other Christians talked about their quiet times and what the Lord was showing them while I struggled to enjoy opening its pages. 

Almost imperceptibly, a shift happened in my mind. I began to think of my quiet time as an exercise of my will. It was like lifting weights or eating broccoli: it wasn’t something I always enjoyed, but it was good for me, and it would produce good rewards if I stuck with it.

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