Solitude

September 10, 2017

When Linda asked if I didn’t want someone to go with me, I declined the offer. I knew that somebody wouldn’t be her, and she’s the only one with whom I’d want to spend eight continuous hours in the cab of a truck. I understand her concern; it would be a long trip, and she was worried there’d be no one to keep up conversation if I got sleepy. Her worry was needless. I didn’t have any lunch, so my usual afternoon grogginess didn’t kick in. I listened to the radio for about ten minutes before it wore thin with all the mindless chatter. Most of those eight hours I simply prayed. It was wonderful. As easily distracted as I am, my prayer times at home are often broken up by something I remembered I have to do, an email that comes in, a Facebook message to answer, or just plain sleepiness and a wandering mind. All of which tends to make my prayer times spotty, a confession I’d just as soon not have to make.

It’s my own fault. The old liturgy of repentance confesses that “we have done things we ought not to have done, and left undone things we ought to have done.” When it comes to prayer, that confession fits me to a T. So an uninterrupted eight hours was a gift. If my mind wandered from interceding for someone, I had plenty of time to bring it back. There was time for praise, for thanksgiving, for reflection upon Scripture, for petition for myself and intercession for others. Eight hours by myself was a gift. Driving requires enough attentiveness to keep me awake, but not so much that I can’t be thinking about other things. If I’m splitting wood or working on the house, I can’t multi-task. Only when I’m driving. So tonight, I’m grateful for the hours I had with just me and the Lord in my truck. It renewed my spirit as nothing else can do.