Occasionally another Madonna House walker is out at that hour. Sometimes I see Maria Harrison waiting for her school bus, which takes her to the high school in Barry’s Bay. Her pleasant smile adds a nice touch to the morning’s brightness.

While I walk, I pray—a rosary going up, the Jesus beads coming down. It’s the kind of prayer that, admittedly, can serve as a background for all I have on my mind on a given morning.

On the other hand, the prayer pulls my day into a space of silence and communion and brings a measure of peace about things. I pray for the whole world. I pray for a thousand situations in Madonna House, both in Combermere and the field houses, which are on my mind at a given time.

While I’m at it, I keep an eye out for different kinds of birds (pileated woodpeckers are a favorite, indigo buntings, a rare treat in summer) and cloud formations (I’m a weather buff).

Lately, it’s the Our Fathers recited during the rosary that have been calling for my attention. I realized recently that for some reason, I haven’t been paying much attention to the first part of the prayer until "forgive us our trespasses," at which point, for some reason, more often than not, I tune in.

But nowadays, something is changing. I’ve begun to discover a (for me) hidden power and meaning in the Lord’s Prayer. I’ve begun to sense that when we pray to our Father that "his name be hallowed, his kingdom come, and his will be done," these petitions are meant to be prayed with expectation that yes, something wonderful really is meant to happen, "on earth, as in heaven."

It’s meant to happen "this day." It’s meant to happen through you and through me. Now! Today!

Have you ever noticed how much your attention is taken up with all that you have to do on a given day? If you are an organizer (like me), you are busy figuring out how best to negotiate the waters of the day without getting swamped. If it all can come out efficiently executed and tidy at the end, so much the better.

If you are disorganized, then you live in the vague dread and sad suspicion that yet again, the day’s complexities and complications will defeat you. At the least, you try to be stoic about the situation. Better yet, you take it in stride and tell a joke or two on yourself.

Neither of these approaches has much of anything to do with the Lord’s Prayer, however. That prayer seeks only one goal: that "this day" God’s kingdom and his will be accomplished in us. This day may be "orderly," or it may contain forces utterly beyond my control, but if I am surrendered to the meaning of that prayer, the Father’s kingdom will come and his name will be hallowed by my life.

The thing is, the Father’s heavenly kingdom must be of unsurpassing glory. Remember how St. Paul put it once: that Christ might dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, rooted in love and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God (Eph 3:17-19).

This is quite something to be praying for while looking at goldfinches on a morning walk.

Goldfinches, of course, are quite glorious in their own way, especially in summer when they really are golden and not an embarrassing shade of green as in winter. But what must it be to really shine with the glory of God’s kingdom, for the sake of our brothers and sisters?

I realized somewhat to my dismay that I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what it really means to be the bearer of such a magnificent petition as "thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." Still, it excites my heart to really be praying for this now, rather than skimming over it while making plans for the afternoon meeting.

Somehow, I know the key to understanding lies in the line about bread: "give us this day our daily bread." Only a heavenly bread can give insight and strength to understand and to undertake a heavenly kingdom.

Only the Wisdom from on high, Jesus Christ, has seen the Father and dwelt near the Father’s heart from all eternity. That fact gives this part of the Our Father an urgent quality:

O Father, we need your Bread, your Son, so much! How else will we have any idea of what you want to accomplish in us this day, unless you give us the Bread from on high in the Eucharist, and in whatever other ways the Eternal Wisdom chooses to give himself to us?

Yes, Father, give us that Bread always, in every moment! Bring us to your Son’s Eucharist with minds and hearts aching to receive the necessary gift, the "one thing necessary" that we might be bearers of your kingdom in this world!

In any case, something has started to change about my morning walk. As I come down Perrier Road back towards Madonna House (and usually, morning prayer in Our Lady of the Woods chapel), a false kind of burden is starting to fall away.

I’m beginning to see that the day’s outcome will not depend on me as I have often imagined. Rather, it will depend on receiving and giving the Bread that God alone can offer.

I feel like the baby robins I saw once, all four of them with heads out of the nest and mouths open, calling out loudly to their parents for food. How else will they ever leave the nest and fly? How else will their cheerful song flood our days with its bright beauty?

So, I am crying out as never before for the glory of heaven on earth and for the Bread that alone can sustain such a project. I want words that will set hearts on fire, and not just leave everyone with a vague, nice feeling inside.

I want a heart that overflows with a compassion that bespeaks the presence of Christ again on earth and testifies that He is indeed risen.

I want a patience that shares willingly the suffering road another must take. I want wisdom to know what is really needed next for the life and future of Madonna House, or for the direction of someone seeking the will of God.

I want, I want… most of all to not extend myself into the day, but instead he who is glory unsurpassed, Jesus Christ my Lord, through whatever is required of me next.

Father! Please.