At 2 A.M. my
Kitchen becomes a chapel,
So quiet and dark.

Silently I tread
Across its length in shadow,
Turn, and pace again.

With my head bowed low,
My heart so heavy burdened
That it cannot sing

The kitchen chapel
In muted tones of almond
Records each yearning,

And every prayer,
Whispered to the paneled walls
Finds wings in the night.

No monk was so true
To the midnight vows I keep,
No novice so pure.

My kitchen becomes
A throneroom for petitions,
Offered in pieces

Of one broken dream,
And bitter tears left shining
On the polished floor

Piercing the darkness
Of my lonely kitchen world,
Jesus walks with me

And tells me I'm loved.
Suddenly, my shadowland
Is filled with sunlight.