I call it my praying spot. A green tunnel all alone, beyond the broken fence where I sit. When I close my eyes to listen, the roar of traffic fades; I am a million miles away from homes, neighbors. Alone, just me and God. Sunlight spills in patches from The Shire, opening to an untouched field. When it rains, puddles--or are they fairy pools?--soak my toes, turning my small paradise into a whimsical thing, a place in a storybook. Then there are the creatures; squirrels chattering away, an occasional chipmunk, and every day, no matter what time of day, I am visited by a pair of House Wrens. They've become my friends, these homely, lively little brown birds. Always there. Always "whirring" warnings as if to say "who is this invader and why won't she leave?" Perhaps I'll name them. There's a connection between us, me and the wrens. Almost like a promise from God, a token from Him, reminding me that He is there. That He is watching. That He is the Master Artist. That He is in control. How someone looks at creation and fails to see a Creator is something I'll never grasp. In this place I commune with my King--utterly alone, worshiping Him to the deepest, fullest degree. Here I can reach Him. I can see Him, face to face. In my praying spot of filtered sunlight and tunneled green, fairy pools and dull-colored birds, I meet my Savior. It's no more than a nook, a desperate search for peace in a place teeming with noise, where a walk outside means waving "hello", where sirens blare and children play. But not in my praying spot. There everything is peace. There I can praise and cry and lift my hands. When we worship, He fills us with His smile of blessing. He enters our soul and dwells there. He becomes our guide, our strength, and we realize just how small we really are. Things may seem "good", things may be going fine in ones life--yet it makes THAT much of a difference to wake with praise on ones lips, with a song of thanks. Oh, the beauty of it, when we stop and say "not my will, but thine be done!"