The pick-up truck was barreling straight towards me, oblivious to the fact that I was prayer-walking, blind to my existence, ignorant of my conversation with God. Glancing at his menacing headlights, I scooted across the road, tucking my tail like one of my Schnauzers when scared, and gasping for breath as I reached the entrance of Gethsemane Abby. I was grateful that I was secure on the other side of the road, a side where I longed for and found, time and time again: calm, peace, tranquility.
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