in the clamorous demands of the ego and the flesh, it is always open to us to wait on God. all we have to do is, as it were, to make a little clearing in the wild jungle of our human will, and then keep our rendezvous with our creator. He is sure to come; His presence falls like a comforting shadow, and then we are at peace. our tiny exercise in time is lost in the immensity of eternity. this is open to anyone at any time- fighting one's way on to a crowded commuter train, forcing tired eyes to grapple with turgid words, sleepless in an interminable night. and then, suddenly & incalculably, peace- the acceptance of earthly circumstance; all the turbulence, doubt, conflicting devices and desires, crystallizing in one single prayer, "Thy will be done." an alternative impulse- to sacrifice rather than grab, love rather than lust, give rather than take, pursue truth rather than promote lies, to humble oneself rather than inflate the ego.
-malcom muggeridge, confessions of a 20th-century pilgrim
"i do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. but i have stilled and quieted my soul"
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