BEEP BEEP BEEP, the alarm blares.
I realize that It is Wednesday.
The anxiety is already settling into the corners of my stomach
while the sound of rustling sleeping bags disturbs the still air.
The day is just beginning and my mind is already glued on tonight.
What coffee does for my heavy eyes is nothing compared to what worship does for my heart;
hitting me with its bitter beginnings, then lingering with a sharp, pointed finish.
The sun has crawled into bed and the moon is just sliding his feet to the floor.
I sit in the small, soft light of that tiny candle,
and my palms are sweating profusely as I grip the edges of
my leather bound journal, scribbling a letter to my Father.
In the distance I hear the clomping of feet, down the wooden steps and into the grass.
A final wave of nervousness washes over me just as the first set of feet stops at my candle
I am only a passive observer in this conversation.
The tea light in front of me has completely burned out,
so I rise and head back to my cabin with a warm certainty.
I open the creaky door and find that the air is still again, and I can hear slow, steady respiration.
I nestle back into the warm embrace of my comforter.
The cicadas are so kindly singing me a lullaby tonight, they must know that my mind is racing.
I can already feel my eyes getting heavy and I can feel my heartbeat slow,
as my anxious knots unravel themselves, I am ready for some much needed rest.