The ancient custom of ringing bells from church towers had many purposes, one of which was to call the faithful to prayer at fixed times of the day. Although there are some bell towers in my community, I have not heard the bells ring. My only hourly call to prayer has been during the Christmas season when the snowman clock plays a carol at the top of each hour. Packing it up for another year made me sad. This year I promised myself that I will buy a clock that chimes to call me to prayer each hour all the other seasons of the year.
I want to live most simply. Like the lub-dub of every beat of my heart. Like the tic-tock of the old fashioned clock beside my bed. Like the criss-cross of one stitch after another stitch made in aida cloth. My life is a blank canvas of fabric, a number of seconds in a number of hours for an unknown number of years. What I stitch on that blank canvas is a gift I give to the One who gave me breath. I wonder if my needlework this year would be more beautiful if every hour was consecrated with thanksgiving to my Creator. The simplicity of living one hour at a time for one reason, for one person.