Our family spent summer vacations at a family camp north of Ely, Minnesota. It was situated on a large lake set in the wildlife-protected forests on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area between the United States and Canada. One of the very special aspects of this beautiful wilderness area is the low level of human-generated noise, thanks to rules such as the one prohibiting high-speed motors on the lakes. But, of course, the quietest time of all is before dawn.

One of my favorite activities was to rise quietly while everyone else was sleeping, slip out of the cabin, walk up the path among the pines and birches, and sit on a rocky ledge overlooking the lake—to pray, and to watch the day break.

The atmosphere was exquisite with stillness. Nothing moved. Every leaf and every creature was perfectly quiet. The lake's surface had not a single ripple. Then, ever so gradually and gently—as the light began to dawn—the air would begin to stir, leaves would begin to rustle, creatures would begin their day's activity and communications, the lake's surface would yield to the breeze, and the water would begin to lap against the rocky shore.

To me it was as if everything had stopped to acknowledge the presence of God, and then was stirred by reverent awe to praise Him in Godlike activity.

Stopping to acknowledge the presence of God is certainly one of the most important elements of prayer—in the morning or at any other time, whether in the wilderness or in any other place. In one of her most recent books, Maya Angelou, referring to God as Spirit, says: "I believe that Spirit is one and is everywhere present. That it never leaves me. That in my ignorance I may withdraw from it, but I can realize its presence the instant I return to my senses." ^{Wouldn't take nothing for my journey now (New York: Random House, 1993), pp. 33–34 .}

My early mornings in the wilderness highlighted for me some of the "senses" we need to return to in prayer in order to realize the presence of Spirit—a sense of solitude, a sense of stillness, a sense of reverence.

Solitude is sometimes regarded as isolation. But that is an unpalatable view of solitude and arises from material beliefs—beliefs that lead to feelings of being completely alone. I think of solitude as the sacred experience of being alone with God. The solitude we seek in prayer is the solitude of spiritual consciousness. In spiritual consciousness—the consciousness divine Mind bestows—there are no material beliefs, only spiritual facts, the facts of our oneness with God and the oneness of His spiritual creation. We find this solitude whenever and wherever we turn our thoughts away from clamoring or whispering material beliefs, human preoccupations and concerns, to give all of our attention to God and His thoughts.

Christ Jesus consistently sought the solitude of spiritual consciousness. The Bible records that Jesus sometimes literally departed from humanity to pray: "And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed" (Mark 1:35). That was so he would be ready to retreat to the solitude of spiritual consciousness right in the press of human need and to bring healing to humanity wherever he went. Followers of Jesus seek solitude for the same pure purpose.

To get the most from being alone with God in prayer, we need to be quiet. In the same way that we most enjoy the stillness of the wilderness at dawn when we ourselves are perfectly still, we realize the presence of God most keenly when we keep our thought perfectly still. Then we can drink in the atmosphere and ideas of divine Mind—of Life, Truth, and Love. As the Discoverer of Christian Science, Mary Baker Eddy, says, "Mind demonstrates omnipresence and omnipotence, but Mind revolves on a spiritual axis, and its power is displayed and its presence felt in eternal stillness and immovable Love" (Retrospection and Introspection, pp. 88–89).

The quiet contemplation of the omnipotence and omnipresence of God, and of the consistency and constancy of His goodness and love, makes us realize we are indeed in the hands of a benevolent power beyond and above ourselves. Within this realization we perceive the grand design of Love's supreme control over its universe and man. And with this realization comes a feeling of reverent awe for God and a deep love for His creation.

The reverence that comes into consciousness in the solitude and stillness of prayer is difficult to put into words. But it stirs us to embrace purer motives, more selfless aims, more Christlike goals. The gentle dawning of new spiritual insights that enlighten consciousness in prayer leads us to praise God in Godlike activity—activity that makes a concrete impact for good in our own lives and the lives of others. That's "morning" prayer—whatever time of day it takes place. It's the Christly way of bringing healing to humanity. As Mrs. Eddy says, "The best spiritual type of Christly method for uplifting human thought and imparting divine Truth, is stationary power, stillness, and when this spiritual ideal is made our own, it becomes the model for human action" (ibid., p. 93).

Let's make the solitude, stillness, and reverence of morning prayer our own every day.

Barbara M. Vining