Thoughts I keep returning to as I breathe; as I offer up prayers of thanks... and what convicts me when, too often, I don't. What will be left of this soul come its last days on earth? What will all my days amount to? In the end, what will I have become?
Oh God, give grace to live in prayer, to steep long in Your Word, so when all is stripped away, this is what is left....
“Those of us who had gathered around her bed [as she was dying] noticed that she was almost constantly saying short prayers in a rhythmic... fashion:
'You are the way, You are the truth, You are the life. Bless the poor. Have mercy.'
The prayers could not have come from a level of consciousness but had to have come from some deeper level of the unconscious and imagination.
At the deepest level of her being, she had been shaped by the Word of God.
She was breathing from God and for God and with God. She had become a prayer.”
Lord, till my last breath, form me in Your Word. Make me a prayer.
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