On a night like tonight, I tend to look for comfort in two kinds of sheets. The first, made of paper— or recently, a folder on my desktop called “sheets.” They’re filled with words and notes that somehow my brain has learned to transform into music — isn’t that a small wonder? Music is like prayer for me: my soul offers up its questions, fears, grief, anger, and requests.
The second kind of sheets I look to for comfort are supposed to feel like nice silk but are really some kind of synthetic material that I got from AmazonBasics. They’re on a bed that I can crawl into after any kind of day and my body has learned to slow down and fall into a state of helpless rest — isn’t that a small wonder? Sleep is like preaching to me: I relinquish striving and toil and put myself entirely at the mercy of the God who never slumbers.
There’s a third kind of sheet available for comfort, written long ago and translated into numerous languages, or recorded into an audio version like the one I listen to today. Her voice is calm and confident, slowly repeating to me words that God Himself breathed through His children onto paper so that the Church could know Him — isn’t that such a wonder? These words connect me to people from every ethnē and every generation, all made for delight and glory, all part of a story of Love.
On a day like today when the world is confusing and the volume on fear and uncertainty gets turned up so loud, I need all three kinds of sheets for comfort. Music that’s prayer, sleep that’s a sermon, and God’s word that reminds me Who’s writing this story and why. I am understood, I am under the attentive care of God most High, and I am a part of His eternal story of the glory of His name, which is Love.