It is one of those days when the distance between my Lord and me suddenly seems so great that I cannot see Him, nor hear Him, nor sense Him. I begin to read Morning Prayer but the words blur before my eyes and lose all sense because I feel as though I am speaking into a void and cannot grasp their meaning. Without His sensed assistance to my small understanding, it is hard to think.
I start again, after telling Him that today I am writing a letter to Him instead of talking, because He seems too far away for my small voice to reach Him or for my weak ears to hear His voice. So I will, as it were, write to him, slowly and carefully, line by line, not thinking about the line before or the next line, just this line. He will receive my message in His own good time, which of course is always now. He knows. He knows all. It is I that do not know anything.
And thus I begin over again, concentrating very hard on each line, and slowly, slowly, the sense comes into focus. I carry on with my letter knowing that He will read it, that He is reading it even as I write it, because although I cannot sense His presence I know that I am present to Him. And thus He is present to me. And when my letter is done, I will know what I wrote.
Warmth begins to fill the lines of the psalms and then, ah, His own perfect prayer, the Our Father, says all that I ever need to say to Him.
It is not I that is praying but it is the Spirit praying within me.
Deo gratias.
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