A leaf crunches suddenly, and a single figure slips among the trees. The steps are unhurried, but eager. Part way up the slope, it pauses, and in the shadowy half-moon light turns face toward the sky.
In the still night air the words float, quiet but ringing with unconcealed relief and joy to finally, finally, be here and be able to speak unfettered.
"My Father. . ."
"Now in the morning, having risen a long while before daybreak, He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed." (Mk. 1:35)---------
How much would I give to speak with God? Do I prioritize my time to make sure I have time to keep that connection alive? I'm afraid not much...