Sometimes I don't feel God at all, and sometimes I feel him suddenly, abstractly, like a gentle tug on the hem of my spirit, asking me if I wouldn't mind taking a little time out of my busy schedule to sit down and have a chat.

It's a corner of my bed, rumpled and peeled open.  It's the seat of my car.  It's somewhere unexpected, in a face or a conversation that doesn't feel like yesterday, or the day before.  It feels like hope.  It's something new, and the newness is important because I've heard that the old has gone, and the new has come.  Things keep happening, reminding me that I'm still getting caught up, yet it feels like I could be right on time.  And that's more than enough to make me bow my head at night.

It keeps me rested until morning.