Jesus went out into the hills to pray.
And he spent the whole night in prayer.
But I forget prayer for much of the busy day.
Business is the snare.

Bed like the hills is a lonely place.
We lie in the stillness of the night.
Alone for a moment enveloped in his grace.
In the long patient wait for morning light.

And now to in this quiet country place.
I idly watch the branch swaying outside the cottage window.
The glass being lightly tapped in an autumn trace.
As restful as night’s pillow.

His prayer led him to call the apostles.
But I do not worry that is only in my own mind that I find disciples.