I cried to God,
I beat upon the door
Until my knuckles bled;
God gave me no answer, gave no sign.
"There is no God," I sad.
I stopped my clamor
And lay spent,
A channel at ebb tide,
And slowly in the silence
The door swung wide.
We are often bombarded by so many extraneous stimuli that it is difficult to pray, much less remain attentive in the silence. I can't help but wonder how many times God has called my name and has caught me in my distraction. Perhaps the sum and substance of our conversations with God are being able to talk together as we would with our closest friend. In any good conversation, there are moments of silence -- intimate silences filled with the comfort of the presence of the other.