I sat in a boxWith walls on each side.Not too tall.Not too wide.To think.To ponder.To pray.To hide.I sat in a box and cried.

Prayer:  The act of falling to your knees in pleading fashion, seeking help from a greater power than all else to have failed you previously.

With bowed head, I act on that glimmer of hope; I pour out my heart to God in prayer as the moon slowly rises higher in the night. It shrinks to its normal size, no longer the ominous monster it appeared to be earlier.

Christmas is our annual reminder to look up—pondering celestial stars, to look out—serving those in need, and to look down—glorifying our Lord in humble prayer.

When you reach the point you truly want someone to stop and listen, to hear even your unspoken words, to feel your depth of sorrow, to care unreservedly, and to completely understand—pray.

It's a sweet thing to sit quietly in the early-morning darkness and talk to God for a while. It's amazing what you gain from the conversation.

Is anything truly impossible? Or is it that the path to our goals appears too unclear to follow? It seems to me that if you seek hard enough, pray hard enough, you usually stumble across a scattering of breadcrumbs that marks the trail leading to the goal you once considered beyond your reach.

If every day you were to walk past the same individual and ignore him, never smiling or saying hello or returning any kind gesture he extended toward you, would you expect that same individual to readily respond if suddenly you were to implore his helping hand? Then don’t ignore God. Say ‘hello’ now and then.

Fires! Fires everywhere!Surrounding me, the smoke and glare!I breathe it in day after day.Send rain! Please wash it all away!God sighs, “Oh, now you choose to pray?