I've said it a million times in the past 12 weeks; it's a busy time for us.
Life is a kite in the breeze of autumn, whooshing wildly by, taking unexpected dips and turns,and I'm tethered to it, dragged along by it, hair flailing, barely holding on.
I've felt the need for an anchor deep inside to stop the motion sickness. All the more, I've been drawn to the stabilizing force of prayer. Or perhaps it has been drawing me.
I wake up to nurse the baby, only to find myself awake hours afterward. I used to fight it. Flailing around in bed, huffing and puffing myself into exasperation. If there had been any hope of sleep, it was now lost under the covers somewhere.
It has taken a stuborn soul like me many a sleepless beating to awaken my prayer life.
To not mourn something lost, but give thanks for something gained.
To not fight like a fool, cursing the night, but to smile at the darkness and I get up.
I tiptoe to our alter, and I light a candle. My fingers open a secret treasury. It is work at first; my soul is heavy laden. But then a miracle happens: minutes effortlessly turn to hours. And hundreds of would-be counted sheep have been replaced by a hundred Jesus Prayers.
Lord Jesus Christ, Have mercy on me a sinner.
Stars disolve into day, the house is stirring.
For once, I'm not thinking how empty I am on sleep, but how full I am on prayer.
"How was your night?" asks my husband.
Blessed
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