i work in a hospital.
The main lobby has a little chapel, sandwiched between Tim Horton's and the public washrooms.
its a nondescript little room, all beige and earthy, maybe 8 feet x 8 feet.
i like to take my breaks there.
I go in and shut the door
i feel like i can finally breathe.
there are no phones ringing.
no endless tasks.
There are several pictures on the walls, i can see them in my mind. . the floral still life. . the winding path with grecian trees, the cloud 'angel' picture.
There is an old communion table at the front of the room, lettered with these words: "Do This in Remembrance of Me"
There are chairs enough for a small army, lining the walls, empty.
and there's a Bible in the centre of the table, flanked by boxes of kleenex.
The most well worn page in this Bible is, Psalm 23. Its grimy and smudgy. . and tear stained. Its almost always turned there when i come in. I love that. I wonder how many different people have looked up maybe the only thing they know: The Lord is my shepherd. .
as i had trouble trying to focus and not think of work, not hear the noise outside the door, trying to pray, i thought of writing one honest page per day.
I could not stop thinking of that. . . one honest page.
So, this is what i've started to do, write to God one page every day.
A way to 'pray' that helps me focus and corral my thoughts, which go wandering off in every direction.
this morning as I wondered why it was so hard to 'hear' God speak to me, I know the disconnect is on my end, I thought about how hard it is to talk to people when they're sleeping. You call their name over and over and over, you try to tell them something -- nothing. You say their name a bit louder. You shake their shoulder. . they mumble and mutter. .still not waking. You're speaking to them, they're fast asleep. hmmmm. . . am i asleep? i think so.
I think a most of us are.