I am in my usual place. I close the door. My room feels secure. I start to read. My mind hears the sound of my own voice. I am the narrator: “Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them . . .” Of course these are not my words, but I hear them in my own voice. I’ve been here before. The words continue, “. . . so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”
Because I’ve come to this place often. These words are as familiar as my morning coffee, yet each morning I can savor the smell and taste anew. I make a note in the margin of the book. “He sees what is done in secret. He rewards.” I consider the fact he also sees the murder and adultery in my heart. Am I comfortable that he sees me in secret? There is danger and reward in what he sees. Other people see only the surface. They reward, too, with smiles and words of praise.
“Go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” The voice in my head sounds less like me–it begins to blend with another voice: one sure and steady. He’s telling me about my Father.
