Do not think that the words of prayer as you say them arise to God. It is not the words themselves that ascend; it is the burning
desire of your heart that rises like smoke
toward heaven.
And suddenly, there it is, a loud whirring crashing into the silence: a field cricket singing in the fading light. We all stop to listen. From a distance, we must look like a strange bunch, leaning towards a bramble bush. For us, though, the moment is holy. A tiny, solitary creature has the power to lift our spirits.
