Dear God, I take such comfort in these daily structures I have erected. My quiet seat. These books. The soft lamp. Blank pages that my pen fills. But O! I mistake the seen for the unseen.
My seat and my pen are neither the containers nor instruments of my devotion to you. It exists apart. I am called to seek you in the chaos, the maelstrom, just as in my crafted quiet time.
This solitude and silence are not your requirements. They are my own crutches. They ease my walking along a path to you, dear Lord.
Let there come a time that I throw aside my cane and walk toward you unaided. Let me stride with single purpose, serene, even as the earth quakes and the storm howls. The tissue around me, this apparent world, reveals itself as mist.
But no. Until then, I so depend on these quiet conditions. Let me therefore be thankful, seeing them as the gift they are. One day you may call me to march before I feel ready. Today, in my quiet, let me prepare myself for such a day.