What I’ve most noticed about living here in the northwoods is that there is a lot of space between words. Let me explain. I can think – and there are few other distractions squeezing into my thought space. I can walk in large and open frozen lake fields and among tightly grown harvesting pines and not be ruffled by opinions or glamour.
Unlike the city, invigorating as it is, where I go outside and my words are layered onto a cacophony of billboards, traffic, and other conversations; here I say one thing and it goes zinging into the open air. Each word has its own stage, and is given its own weight.
I don’t need to shout. There is no din. My thoughts do not compete with distracting elements and do not conform to editorial agendas.
It gives me a new sense of what is purposeful and prayerful.
My thoughts and words turn to prayer. In prayer, I am not trying to make a point or to defend or convince others. Stripped of ambition, competition and cleverness, my thoughts and words are naked. They form in their own atmosphere of intelligence and clarity. They rise up like a bubble from the depths of some lake and pop on top to the perfect word. They are delivered for the joy of seeing thought articulated.
My prayer is full of words with integrity because prayer is affirming what God has always known. My prayer words blend with God's word, and I know more of God than I did before.
"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path." My prayer transforms me and the words are made flesh.
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