I was meant for something more than this. I just cannot seem to decipher what. I wish that Jesus would come and visit me. That he would sit down by the fire and warm his hands, that we could sit among the books, reading or not reading. That he would encourage me, with his words or his presence to keep going. That he would tell me what direction to head, that he would tell me to slow down, to dig in, to work harder, to not take life so seriously all the time. We could sit in silence, or we could laugh loud and long at stories. We could cry together over Africa, or he could explain Aristotle to me so that I finally really understand it. Maybe we would just sit and think, furrow our brows, drink tea. I don’t think it would matter much what we did. Just so he was there with me.