Ever since we got back from New Zealand my prayer life has been muted. I've felt as though someone has rolled me up in cotton, or placed me in a padded room so that my inner voice, that praying voice, falls dead on the air.
I try to read a Thomas Merton prayer every morning. I like to read one per day, and then move on. For the last four mornings, I haven't been able to get past this simple, two sentence confession:
"My God, I pray better to You by breathing.
I pray better to You by walking than by talking."
Four mornings, I've taken up this book, ready to turn the page, ready to start praying, and every morning I stop dead in my tracks -much like the prayers in the air. I feel that familiar muffled helplessness and my quiet time ends abruptly. I put down the book. I go on with my day - breakfast, groceries, e-mail. I listen to myself breathe. I feel myself walk.
How long will it take me to turn that page? Perhaps as long as it takes me to pray.
