The path to the river was damp and black, like a bog, really. I was in the midst of a gray winter landscape with mist rising from the river, that early morning in March. It seemed the only activity around was a squirrel furiously digging a hole at the base of a tree.

I sat on a fallen log near the edge of the river, enjoying my solitude and the sound of the water flowing downstream. I was hoping to pray, really pray, that early morning. I wanted feel to that wonderful sense of communion with God and I was trying hard to reach and make it happen. After a while I let go and began coasting, floating as if out of gear...

...Then I noticed it, a tiny yellow bloom on a tiny plant near my feet. Exquisite. I saw another and another. To my surprise tiny exquisite blooms were all around. I was only now seeing them. In my determination to meditate I had missed the beauty that was waiting. Waiting like tiny lights, more lovely than anything I could imagine, there for the quiet mind to rest on and to take in.

It seemed to me, that Sunday morning in March, that prayer is like that. When I try too hard, when I struggle to get God's attention, I get in the way. If I step back, just wait, I will get beauty and comfort and whatever I need. It's close at hand. If I don't see it, it is because I am too busy.

Sometimes we may feel as though our lives are in the middle of a gray winter landscape. Things might look bleak and cold. Yet, God is never far away. He is always near. Once again He told me so one morning at the river.

Virginia K.

Atlanta, GA