When You Don't Have Time to Pray

It’s dark. The house is silent. Breakfast is still three hours away.

Dressed warm enough to go outside, I ease down to my basement study and turn on the desk lamp. It flickers once or twice before its dusty yellow light focuses on the Bible laid open beneath it. The table had been set; my soul had been starving, and now, I made it on time. The banquet is before me. It’s dark. The house is silent. Breakfast is still three hours away.

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