My mind is tired. I sit on the porch in the evening time. Thoughts don’t form. Nothing clears. Nothing focuses.
Sometimes, this too is prayer—when without words or thought, we quiet enough to finally listen.
And so I do.
Miracle.
Through wall, my son plays on the piano—is playing capturing, communing, affirming in existence all the beauty, sentimentality, and Wonder in which I believe but struggle then to see or feel.
Still not seeing, still not feeling, God reaches in new sense—sound of the music—and I am touched, moved, by the hands of my son sharing and using the talent with which he’s blessed and works to grow.
It is June. He plays “Silent Night.”
God has a way of reaching. God has a way of finding—affecting—through the mediums we are open and willing to receive.
So I am in moment, moved—touched, affected— by the music of my son.