Sometimes – a lot of the time, actually – in my relationship with God, I feel like the man frantically scurrying around doing all sorts of stuff for his family, but never being present with them. He buys them things, takes them places, tells hilarious jokes round the dinner table, arranges elaborate birthday parties, he makes grand proclamations of his love for them in front of his friends – but he’s never available, he never talks to them, he’s never intimately there. I do a lot for God. I preach, I teach, I play music, I comment, debate, discuss, defend, encourage, celebrate. But I find it really, really difficult to be prayerfully present with God. Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll find once I go to the inner sanctum. Maybe I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m the last person present in my own heart. Trying to hide, or trying to forget.