When I wake up in the morning, I am in a fog. A pea-soup, white-as-milk, can’t-see-a-thing fog. Lying on my back, eyes closed, ever so slowly I come to the realization that I am awake, not dreaming; alive, not dead. I may or may not know if it is Tuesday or Saturday, or if the alarm was set by mistake the night before or what is on my to-do list for the day. One thing I know: I must pray. And so I do.
I know that you will be with me today, Lord.
That is about as much prayer as I am capable of uttering out of the fog that lies in the valley between the dream world and the real world. This prayer comprises few words, but they serve a crucial purpose: they anchor me to God as soon as I am aware that I exist. They refocus my attention from a world in which I am the sole and central occupant to one in which a King reigns. This is His day. He has been waiting patiently all night to hear me speak these words of worship to Him. More than anything else, this prayer has changed my life.