I needed the dark and the quiet last night. The demands of the evening caught me unprepared, and so I let it be known: I will be on the red bench. Yes, in the dark. Back soon.
Perhaps it is some sort of defect that makes my brain sizzle or stall when I need my wits most. Oh Well. It has been a blessing dressed in weakness's old rags. I am reminded that I cannot do it all, and that I must silence the cacophonic chorus demanding my attention.
It is in these moments of quiet when I am most drawn to prayer books, both the Orthodox Prayer Book and The Book of Common Prayer. I realize my hunger for the words of so great a cloud of witnesses who surround me. I find my whole self settling down.
It is not, after all, the activity or the people in my life that cause the discord. It is me, it is my turbulent soul, that needs quieting. A few minutes of prayers in the dark, prayers written to stand the test of time, barely lit by a candle's flame, and I can rejoin whatever is happening on the other side of the red door.
