A follow on thought about prayer.
After my wife Katey died, I moved from the ground floor bedroom we had shared to a bedroom on the third floor of the Oratory. It was important to find a fresh space, one in which I wasn’t constantly surrounded by triggers that brought back memories that at that stage provoked raw feelings of emotion within. The room itself was light and airy, and at night as I lay in bed, sleepless more often than not, I grew accustomed to sounds from other people from which I had been protected from on the ground floor far below.
I enjoyed this room apart from one aspect that often provoked within me an irrational inner anger. An inner anger both with myself and, sad to say, the inanimate bricks and mortar of the building itself. this was when I remembered I’d left something I wanted in my bedroom and had to climb…
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