Wrote this ten years ago, and it seems I’m still learning the same lesson in a deeper shade ten years later.
Her Father: Child, child, slow down.
Her, flying about: I’m sorry, Father, I haven’t the time!
Her Father: Child, the tortured soul will find no rest by running to and fro as you do. Be still, My child. Be still, and fight your battles in prayer and in silence.
Her: But I have, I have! I’ve prayed and prayed —
Her Father: — and have not quietly waited on Me.