I don't always ask P how he's doing. I don't always tell him how I'm doing. Sometimes, we are a series of interrupted conversations. Sometimes, we dwell, but not together.
I wish to pray without ceasing and hold my breath; only faith (that is God's gift) reveals God's face to me. He is my Life-line, though I weigh too much in silent introspection even as desire unfolds and aches toward Him from eyes that hope for understanding. I am shy to whisper words and feelings only just discovered.
There is no last word on how it should be; prayer is the ebb and flow, the interrupted conversations of relationship with One who wishes to dwell together, and every relationship is different. Every trust takes time to build.
I reach for P, and I reach for God, and our fingers brush and the dwelling is intimate; our hearts intertwine and there is nothing else in the world - except the toddler, who is always reaching, always asking, always praying for together-love.
I learn slowly.
As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?
Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him
For the help of His countenance.
- Ps. 42:1-2,5
(image from sxc)