There’s an unusual (and wonderful) thing about night, being that it carries with it a very real recognition of our finitude. I am human: I must stop my “living” and rest (not just once in a while, but every single day). I will sleep and the world will go on with ease apart from me. Every night I go to bed is almost a formal declaration that I have no input or strength necessary to the existence of the world. God is, has been, and always will be over everything, holding, sustaining, breathing (as it were) the world’s existence, all without my help.
At night, with this recognition of my finitude, I am often overcome with a more real sense of my own helplessness. What Jesus said, “Apart from Me you can do nothing,” rings more true at night, and prayer is not a struggle then.
The desperate need is for continual prayer–day and night–flowing from a constant sense of our helplessness apart from God.