Drop They still dews of quietness
Til all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
the beauty of Thy peace.
This room was a sacred space, a place that he had chosen to make especially his own, a place redeemed from mere "use" in which he would make a conscious attempt to be at rest and to put a part of his life in order. In short, this was the evidence that the man was able to pray.
~ from A DRESSER OF SYCAMORE TREES by Garret Keizer
