For days I’d suffered with what I call "a rushing spirit." No matter how fast I thought or hurried, a nasty inner voice insisted, You’re still behind.

My list of things to do that spring Wednesday included going to our church at ten-thirty in the morning for one hour of solitary prayer. I entered the small, simple room in our church wishing I felt spiritual—like a real prayer warrior. I sat down in a metal folding chair and leaned hard against the heavy wooden table. "You know my heart and mind are rushed," I told God. "I don’t even know how to slow down and try to hear You, but I desperately need to." I didn’t really believe God would honor such a half-hearted prayer, but then thoughts began to glide into my troubled mind.

Remember the woman sitting alone on the bench outside the grocery store yesterday? You slowed down because she was reading from a small New Testament. You saw her defeated face, and I even allowed you to peek into her lonely heart. You understood that she was hurting. You almost stopped, but then you hurried on with your groceries to the car. I had placed her there just for you.

"Oh, Lord, Lord! Forgive me. Yes, of course I remember. I saw her all the way home in my mind. I still see her! It wouldn’t have taken long. I . . . I..."

She was My plan to help you slow down and learn to be still, child. I often reach you through unlikely people. Just sit here for a bit now while I comfort you.

My Comforter, when my life is speeding up, make me attentive to the means You give me to slow it down. Amen.
                                    By Marion Bond West