In the silence of prayer I come face to face with myself. With my fears, my pain, my sin. Any sadness or anxiety or unclean thing seems to rush right to the surface of my consciousness and grip me. Can this be why prayer is sometimes painful? Can this be why the busyness of life is much more comforting, more secure? Can this be why I sometimes run - flee - to hide in the mighty forest of Martha's "many things?" To take comfort and solace in the clutter I gather to myself like a security blanket? For if I am worried and anxious about many things, I do not have to face the one thing needful - coming face to face with the God I love more than anything.
The Cloistered Heart