Night Presence

Night is heavy. Somehow my body knows it’s too early, in the same way it knows I’m not going to fall easily back to sleep. My mind meanders and, as much as I’d prefer not to think about that thing, it lingers there. A tear forms.

I cover it in prayer and lift those others with needs, but the dark is distracting and I struggle to focus. The words of the familiar prayer God’s only begotten prayed form in my mind. I paraphrase, making it my own.

But my monkey mind still swings and I remember a little book that’s brought me much comfort through the years. Thomas à Kempis has been gone from this world for centuries but, in The Imitation of Christ, the old language drops like pearls from silver thread and minister to me.

The wisdom, meaningful still when the world looks much different from when he penned those thoughts. I wonder if he was writing to himself, or another, or maybe across time to me.

I don’t read long. There’s no need. Words have done the work they’re intended.

Prayer takes a different form and in the holy hush of night I worship. A sweet presence blankets. My concerns lift. It is well.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.
4 comments
    1. Oh, Marian, I haven’t heard this in years! Thank you!

  1. I’m sorry you have times like that, Linda, but how beautiful that God reached out to comfort you through Thomas a Kempis. God continues to use his writing all the centuries later. And that makes me think about what you have written and continue to write. I believe God will use your writings to bless family and friends for generations to come. Be encouraged! And so many of us are praying for you to feel better.

  2. Linda, thanks for your words and your sharing your heart with us this morning. I’m praying for you as you walk this path.

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