It’s 2am and I just heard a train. And I’m thinking, sometimes in quiet, things that seemed far away maybe aren’t so much. You see, we don’t live near the train.

There’s no rain tonight. And the sky is dark, almost like it’s clear. In stillness, the right things are absent as to make others more apparent. That’s what I was hoping for this Lent. My heart and mind are not early adopters of this enterprise, but I have hope for them yet.

Especially moments like this, at 2am. I’m lying here and I just now acknowledged that I don’t have to fall asleep – there’s no one who says I do. It’s a beautiful night, and what if I just think about God for a while? My body has tricked that mind and heart into it, praise be for sleeplessness. I never thought I’d say a thing like that.

And then I feel united, these parts of me, and ready for this night, ready for some new stillness to settle itself down on me, and to listen for trains, and to remember my God.

My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips, when I remember you upon my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. [Psalm 63:5-7 ESV]