If nameless, haunting anxieties tend to surface at night, wouldn't it also be true for its counterpart, grace? If night is when the window opens, why is it that we only beckon to the energy hungry to eat us alive?
Couldn't we, against our so-called better judgment, throw open the window a bit wider, with more intention, and invite in whatever happens to be winging around out there? Isn't there an equal (a better?) chance that hope, faith, insight, and inspiration will rush in, grateful finally, finally, for enough space to enter?