Susanna Wesley had nineteen children. Ten survived infancy. Her husband was frequently away and often in debt. Their house burned down — twice. She lived in a world without washing machines, antibiotics, or any of the things that might have made her life manageable. She was drowning in domesticity.
No Room of Her Own
Susanna didn't have a private chapel. She didn't have a quiet corner. She had a house full of children who needed feeding, teaching, clothing, and correcting — every single day. Finding time to pray required creativity that would put most spiritual retreat leaders to shame.
So she pulled her apron over her head.
That was it. That was her signal to her children: when mother's apron is over her face, she is talking to God. Leave her alone. It became a regular practice — Susanna, standing in the middle of domestic chaos, covered by a piece of kitchen fabric, encountering the God who apparently didn't need silence or solitude to show up.
What Happened Under the Apron
Susanna wrote in her journals that these moments — stolen minutes in the middle of noise and need — became the most real conversations she had with God. Not her Sunday worship. Not the times when the house was briefly quiet. The apron moments. The ones carved out of impossibility.
She described a peace that arrived uninvited in those moments. A clarity about how to raise her children. A strength that didn't come from her. She was, by every measure, overwhelmed. But under that apron, she found a presence that made the overwhelming bearable.
The Ripple Effect
Two of the children she raised under that apron — John and Charles Wesley — went on to start the Methodist movement, one of the largest religious awakenings in history. Susanna never preached to thousands. She prayed under a kitchen apron. And it turned out that was enough.
What This Means for You
If Susanna Wesley could find God under a kitchen apron with nineteen children around her, your circumstances aren't too chaotic for God to meet you. You don't need the perfect setting. You don't need quiet. You need the willingness to pull the apron over your head — metaphorically speaking — and pay attention, right in the middle of your mess.