Thursday, November 30, 2006

Dearest God,

Yesterday was a gray, rainy day. I drove downtown, parked at the Wishard Garage, then walked to IU Hospital. Having calcium problems. I failed to go to the hospital when I became ill last weekend. Supposed to go for fluids to keep my system in balance. But I was in Michigan and I had a wedding to do that evening. Thought diarrhea was different than vomiting (it is, but not for my purposes) So I have the tingling, weakness, strange feelings. Knew I had to get a blood draw.

As I strolled down the walkway, the streets, walks and landscape were littered with thousands of large, soft, wet brown pin oak leaves. Flat yet piled atop one another, I stopped to stare. I leaned down to pick one up. As I stood gazing at the beauty before me, there was a soft murmuring of song. I just stood, looked around. I was held in a beautiful moment. As I inspected the trees that held these leaves since springtime, I felt the whisperings of God. "I have done what I was called to do." My eyes moistened as I muttered, "I know."

The trees, each one an object of art, are designed to lean toward heaven, then bud, grow, beautify, then release, let go, expose its bare branches, stand vulnerable all winter. And that is exactly what they do. I've never seen a tree that refused to surrender its magnificent color.

I was touched by this rare scene. Yes, I had to hurry into the hospital because I was late due to a car accident on the corner. But when I returned wearing my Garfield bandage, I lingered once again, amazed at the signs of God beckoning,

How I long to be like the trees. I too wish to be a piece of art, strikingly beautiful, designed to do what only I can do uniquely. And I desire to fulfill my own life's calling. Then to be willing to bare myself before God, letting go, like the tree, the leaves. And although no one notices the quiet process, to stand alone leaning toward heaven. Until the next time.

What awesome beauty is mine
as I stand,
a work of your hands.
To behold the majesty
of your creation
titillates my mind.
My soul's juices form,
stimulating the rest of my being.
God is near,
I tell myself,
God is so near.
Take notice!
Don't miss one moment,
not one.
Behold.
And behold again.
A tree is evermore beautiful
starkly naked
as it is in full color.
Because it is doing
creation's work.
Year after month
after week
after day
after minute
after moment
after milisecond,
leaning toward heaven.

Humbly, Andrea

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Dear God,

Somehow my record of service as a United Methodist pastor has been messed up; our Conference has an inaccurate ministry beginning date. This information started me down a path of wonder.

I called my first church, the one who welcomed a "foreigner" (I lived 33 miles away) into their midst. There was never a more warm, loving congregation. I was accepted immediately and felt a sense of belonging in my earliest days.

A few days before I had left a voice mail. Yesterday the secretary called me back. We laughed as we remembered our time together. I was only there for two years; but we had a good time. Our lives were handknit together.

"This is gonna cost you!" Linda told me as she talked about getting into the archives to find proof that I served First Church. "I'm certain of that!" I retorted.

As we were concluding our conversation, I told her to give everyone in the congregation a big hug from me. "Andrea, when I think of you, I think of Wanda. Do you remember Wanda?" She asked me. "I sure do." I said fondly.

Wanda walked the streets in the town. She was one of those persons that people avoided. It was clear from her appearance that something had gone wrong early in her development. She was on Disability and could only do odd jobs. She could swear like a sailor. It's how she coped.

I don't know how I met Wanda. I just know I loved her from the beginning. Always one to bring the friend home that other people made fun of when I was a child, Wanda was my personal project. I befriended her or more importantly, she befriended me. I would pick her up, take her places, invited her to church. She was hesitant, reluctant; but she came anyway.

During my stint Wanda and I became friends. She opened up a little bit, had to figure whether she could trust me. We exchanged Christmas gifts. We both cried when I left. I think she was afraid.

But this week I thought of Wanda. I remembered how the cold winter winds chafed her cheeks making them bright pink, how her eyes watered and her nose ran when she had to be out in the brisk weather too long. I smiled inside, reflecting upon our friendship.

I remember promising to pick her up from work one day. I can't remember what we were going to do, but I forgot. When I recalled my promise, I ran down the church hall, shouting, "Wanda, Wanda, Wanda, I forgot Wanda." As I drove up where she had been standing for a while, she gave me one of those looks that makes you feel two inches tall. I begged forgiveness and she gave it.

"Andrea, Wanda is going to be one of the Women's Circle Co-Leaders next year. She has made such a contribution to our church. Our congregation has really embraced her and two of our women drive her to church every Sunday. They regularly go out for coffee together.

My heart warmed. Wanda, in the arms of God's own children, no one picking on her, making fun, or worse making her feel like a freak. No need to cut loose with some of those words she had picked up. Wanda, in the arms of God's own children.

Wondrous and Amazing God,
Wanda,
Wanda, Wanda, Wanda,
your very own child.
How wonder-full you are.
Your children welcomed your own.
Love.
It was love that reached out;
love that reached back.
Wanda.
Your miracle of love
extends way beyond our own.
You prick our hearts,
scratching a little place,
like a TB test,
and you put a dab
of your own DNA
on that lonely heart
and those cells
begin to grow
like those in a petri dish.
A miraculous act
that makes no sense
to a novice.
And that love,
it spills silently,
outward
onto others.
But nobody notices;
until one day...
love cries out.
A beautiful spirit is born
and
God smiles.

Forever and always, Andrea

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Dear God,

Do we trust in God or not? And if so, what does this trust look like? Is it trust if I totally abandon my own thoughts, sit down, and wait for God to act? Is trust made when I simply give up my desires and determine that whatever happens is God's will? Is trust accepted as trust if I am able to manipulate my situation just enough to make me happy, then I can proclaim that my "trust" in God is what "saved" the day? What is trust and what is not?

How much do I trust God? A little? A lot? With everything or some things? Do I believe that my trust in God will change or alter a condition or situation? Then is it my trust or is it God that transforms?

In this pre-Advent season I have several situations I need to address. Some will be hard. Some may not turn out as I hope. Some may do better than I think.

Is trust my leap of faith to deal with each issue? Will my demeanor, my love for God, make a difference? Will I take God's hand, listen, really listen to the Spirit, then act as God gives light?

Basic questions. Essential questions to faith. What role does trust play in my life? And how do I convey that trust to God, to others? How do I live it daily as part of my being? As the central force in my life?

I think of Lydia, Paul, Noah, Sarah, David, Jephthah's daughter, biblical characters who asked these same questions. Each who built a bridge of trust with God. Each who stepped forward in faith with God to make a radical decision, to move beyond trust in one's own self to a trust in Someone greater. We now study their lives, make judgements, think about how it applies to our lives.

Can, will God bring more to each issue than I can see at the moment? Assuredly. Good ideas come from God. Impossible ideas become possible when God sheds light. A tiny shift can bring a ray of light like no other.

Is there anything beyond God's control? I hope not. Or does God have a say in all things? I hope so.

Sometimes living in hope is a prerequisite for abiding in trust.

Questions.
Today I'm facing questions.
Good ones, really.
Many things are swirling
in my head.
Nothing really bad,
not bad at all.
Just things.
People, coming together
in the sight of God,
listening,
learning from one another.
If it is true
that each of us
has a portion of the Truth,
then coming together
will reveal the whole Truth.
I need others
for what they bring to the table.
They need what I have.
We need each other
for the Truth to be revealed.
Perhaps this is where trust
begins,
at the table
together.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, November 27, 2006

Dearest God,

I woke up at 4:00 a.m. this morning. Decided to get up. Spent the next three hours cleaning out the cruddy car, sorting through papers in my briefcase, throwing away 2004 and 2005 Christmas letters, recording all receipts for my Financial Peace University cash flow plan, adding new addresses to my address book, washing clothes and folding them, rolling up clean sleeping bags, and putting away varied items. Now you and I will spend time together before I get on the treadmill for 15 minutes (I've lost 18 lbs on my lifestyle change plan).

Uncluttering, cleaning out, sorting through, helps to clear my mind, not to mention the areas where the clutter existed. I feel more on top of things when I know where things are and have passed important information (they may not think so) on to others. Having a handle on things helps me move more easily into my work.

It is almost Advent. I want my spirit to go through the same uncluttering procedure. I cannot receive the Gift if I am too full of clutter. I will miss the sound of angels singing if I am talking to myself about all I have to do. I will be blind to God in the manger if I am too busy, anxious. Simplifying my life will ready me for the Savior's entry into my life once again. I want to prepare my heart and soul to receive him. I want to lay the straw, warm the room, prepare the blanket, then begin singing as the Savior comes to the world, to me. What a beautiful image just thinking about it. My soul wants to meditate, quiet, still myself, listen for every word God wants to say to me this Advent, this Christmas, even this new year.

I am a creature of habit. I hold on to papers on my desk at home, at work, in my briefcase. Then one day I can't stand it any longer and I start pitching. I keep thinking I need to do something about this and that. But really it's not always necessary. I don't have to keep everything. Just the important things.

The work is not all done. I'll do some more tomorrow morning. Today my work will be a whirlwind. I meet with a family about a memorial service at 8:45 a.m. Then I have to run to a county hospital for a surgery of a member. Then I have to make my way the opposite direction to the southside to visit a member in rehab. Then back to church. This is the week before Charge Conference. Lots of calls still to make for the 2007 Leadership Team. Forms, forms, and more forms to fill out. Writing to do, booklets to make. And visits, lots of sick people, lonely people. I've got to see the shut ins.

The good news is that I will not be alone in my tasks, my endeavors. God will ride along. I will listen. God will speak. I don't want to miss a word. God will be with me as I plan, prepare and put together everything needing to be done.

I am preparing my heart to receive so I can give away.

Love bursts forth
from my heart
as I prepare myself
for your entry.
I am so grateful
for Advent,
the preparation time.
I couldn't just go
from Thanksgiving
to Christmas.
I need Advent.
This 'ole heart
needs some reworking,
maybe a little rewiring,
mending and restoring
to really be ready.
I don't want Christmas Eve
to just be Christmas Eve.
I want to see Christ,
not just preach about him.
I want to see Christ,
then offer Him in the Holy Communion.
I want the real presence
to be in our sanctuary
December 24.
I want us to be amazed,
awed, in wonder
of Christ with us.
God is either dead
or alive.
If God is alive,
it only makes sense
that God is with us.
Emmanuel.
Anticipation.

Eternally yours, Andrea

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Dearest God,

Some days it's just hard to get a sermon together, especially when you're sick with a fever. I read the Bible and commentaries, eating crackers and sipping 7Up in between. I wrote notes, ideas that came to me from the scriptures. Then I penned thoughts about the direction of the Sunday morning message. Finally, at 9:00 p.m. I put the books and my notepad on the floor and turned off the light. I was too weak and too sick to do anything else.

I awakened in the morning, feeling much, much better. I walked out of the bedroom at 5:30 a.m. and went back to the sermon. Not much of what I had written the night before made sense. I cried out, "Oh Lord, please help me." I needed help. I worked until 7:45 a.m. then had to shower, get dressed, eat something delicate, then drive to the church.

I made the preparations for the worship service and prayed that something good may come from the message. I didn't do so well at the first service. At the second service I could only pray for guidance, preach the Word, then be grateful the service was over. Ooo, that didn't sound so good.

As is my usual tradition I stood greeting people as they came through the line following the service. I noticed a woman standing to the side. I could tell she wanted to talk but wanted to do so privately. As the last person passed through the line, she came up to me, tears welling in her eyes. "You hit home today. You really hit me hard. I want to make a covenant with God." (I had preached about a covenant relationship with God) "Another woman and I are going to get together this week and we are going to write a covenant with one another. I need to meet with you first." She told me. I told her to call me, that I would share some ideas about drafting a covenant and help her in any way I could.

As I drove home, I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. I knew I was falling short, feeling inadequate as I preached today; yet God, in God's own wisdom touched two hearts, two souls who were ready for a covenantal relationship with God. I could not have orchestrated this happening; only God could. I just got to be in the middle, grateful.

Loving Compassionate God,
you are filled with love
for your children.
You do reach out to us,
never leaving us alone,
not even for a milisecond.
You care about our well being,
every atom that makes up
this fleshly body.
You speak to us,
bringing encouragement,
courage,
and relief.
And you do your work
even through broken
or sick bodies.
Willing participants
in the body of Christ,
we do carry your Word.
We are vessels,
worn, stretched, used,
but nevertheless vessels.
Grateful ones,
at that.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Dear God,

Sick. At 2:00 a.m. I woke up sick, stomach gurgling, doing flip flops. I picked up my sleeping bag, moving myself away from my two young granddaughters who were asleep in sleeping bags next to me. I tiptoed downstairs, then placed my bag on the couch. I tossed and turned, knowing what would soon happen.

While I tried to dismiss the yucky feeling in my stomach, I could hear my son-in-law heaving in the upstairs bathroom. I could only imagine him holding on to the sides of the toilet, clinging for dear life. I was certain I was close behind.

Within minutes the toilet became my best friend too. Heaving, closing my eyes, letting go. When I wasn't vomiting, I was seated on my "best friend." Not so much fun. I was very grateful for two toilets in the house.

As the sun rose my youngest daughter walked up the basement steps and into the room where I lay. She didn't look good. "Mom, I'm really sick." She said. "I'm sick too. Josh has been throwing up since 1:30 a.m." I told her. In minutes we decided to make the five hour trek home. Jill was sure she would vomit at some point and thought she should drive until she got sick. I was just as sure I would have to make close runs to the bathroom. We got the two granddaughters ready, one 14 months and the other 6 years. Then we started out...the car a complete disaster, sleeping bags, pillows, bins of Christmas ornaments, various items of dirty clothing, diaper bags, Christmas books, used water bottles, buckets for vomiting, wet wash cloths, a briefcase, Christmas envelopes and stamps, sacks of craft supplies, purses, toys and kids.

The girls were hungry so we stopped at Burger King. As they opened their breakfast sandwiches, I hung my head out the window, my stomach rolling.

All the way home we stopped at restaurants, fast food joints, and gas stations. I can tell you the color of every bathroom from Canton, Michigan to Brownsburg, Indiana. I can even tell you the one who was out of toilet paper. Jill never did get sick. But Lucy in the back seat cried often of a sick or hurting tummy. What a trip!

As I drove to my home from my daughter's house, I smiled amidst the mess. We had experienced a fabulous Thanksgiving. Our time together was super. We laughed so much, played games, made crafts with grandkids, ate, talked, planned for Christmas and more. I don't know when we've had a better time. All this amid the chaotic vomiting and diarrhea! God is good.

Every moment is
an opportunity for God.
God can take
the undesirable
and find a way
to bring about good.
Living in the light
is about trusting God
in the middle
of the unexpected.
We can learn
to laugh at ourselves,
to be open,
prepared to change,
then change again.
From holding
a vomiting five year old
to clinging to a toilet
while vomiting myself
is a good time
for God to be present.
Hallelujah!

Love, Andrea

Friday, November 24, 2006

Dearest God,

It was finally Thanksgiving Day! I had looked so forward to this time together with my family. Each phone call I had made during the prior week, I asked one of my grandchildren, “How many more days ‘til we’re all together?” “Five, four, three, two, one!” Each would squeal as they thought about spending time with cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. I was as excited as they were!

On Wednesday night Sophie, my five-year-old granddaughter and I slept in sleeping bags on her bedroom floor. She could hardly sleep. She couldn’t wait for her cousin Gabrielle to arrive. She kept talking about it. I repeatedly said, “You’ve got to go to sleep. They’ll be here when you awaken in the morning.” (They were leaving Indiana at 3:30 a.m.)

It was 6:30 a.m. when I called the traveling family. “Fog, Mom, there is so much fog. Visibility is about 1/8 of a mile!” My frustrated daughter told me. “Just drive carefully. I’ll pray for you!” I promised.

When I told Sophie they were driving in fog, she only repeated, “When’s Gabrielle going to get here?” “Soon,” I promised, soon.” Her little eyes were lit up like a lighted tree on Christmas morning.

In a couple of hours my daughter and her family arrived. The girls threw their arms around one another. The noise level in the house grew by decibels. Gabrielle, 6, Sophie, 5, and I, 60, played the Disney Memory Game. It was very clear who possessed the greatest memory. Sophie won with 17 pairs; Gabrielle was a close second at 14. I had successfully paired five cards. I was grateful.

Just as soon as we picked up the card game, Sophie grew pale. “My tummy hurts.” She shared. “Why don’t we all lay down and read books. Maybe you’ll feel better.” I reassured her. But it didn’t happen. Sophie began throwing up. I ran for towels, barking orders to Gabrielle to leave the room. When she was finished, she was peaked. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Grandma, I want to play with Gabrielle.” Sophie cried out. “Oh, Honey, you’re sick and when you feel better, you’ll be able to be together.” I said. “But I want to play with her.” She spoke, unconvinced. She was so sad.

With Gabrielle downstairs and Sophie up, two little girls were very unhappy. I tried to calm Sophie and reassure her that she would be better soon. She didn’t buy it. She just cried while I held her close.

Finally, I rigged up a solution to the dilemma. I had Sophie in her sleeping bag with me in my bag next to her in case she got sick again. Then I placed a sleeping bag in the hallway next to Sophie’s bedroom door. Gabrielle crawled into her sleeping bag, then I put in the video, “Ice Age – The Meltdown,” I had purchased for the occasion.

Again Sophie vomited. I was better prepared this time. (I was grateful for the plastic Easter basket bucket) Now, both girls were crying. They so much wanted to be together in the same room. I was trying to comfort both of them. But I wasn’t very successful. Finally, with parents’ permission we allowed them back together. We figured if they both were sick, they could be miserable together in the same room. Before long, they were laughing and playing again.

Later Lucy, the 14 month old became ill as well. But by day’s end everyone seemed fine. We had had a wonderful day, laughing and playing, teasing one another, eating well, and giving thanks for one another.

Some days
don’t turn out exactly
as we planned.
Perfect days don’t happen.
They’re not supposed to.
Greater days
are those where
you roll with the punches,
go with the flow,
trust and make do.
God is in the midst,
in the middle of it all.
Turkey and vomit
don’t necessarily go together,
but, it’s really okay
when God’s in it.
Love gets expressed
in many ways,
more than you might have planned,
God in the middle.

Love always, Andrea

Thanksgiving Thursday, November 23, 2006

Dearest God,

The joy of experiencing a happy, young grandchild standing at the front door of her home, wanting to break free and run to you but she can't because she still has on her morning pjs and no shoes is priceless. Instead I am met by a "pudgy around the middle" golden retriever who wants to give me kisses. I hug Amber, my granddog, then bolt up the walkway to greet my waiting granddaughter. With a great big smile, Sophie, my five year old, opens her arms, and I lift her upward, swinging her 'round. "I love you, Grandma," she murmurs. "I love you too!" I echo.

Homecomings, wherever and however they take place, are heavenly moments. It feels like you touch heaven, a blend of joy, faith, peace, and love. I bring to mind other homecomings where I felt the same way.

I always remember my grandparents standing at the front door of their old farmhouse in tiny Atlanta, Indiana, population 500. I would drive down the gravel lane (until it was paved) all the while looking from side to side at the fertile fields of corn and soybeans, then turn the corner, and there beside the rolling hill rested the aging white log home where all four of their boys were born in the front room.

I would walk up the very long sidewalk, on the right viewing the pear tree, chicken coop and truck patch (a garden planted to feed all our extended family and half the townspeople) and to the left the cherry tree, hill and valley. As I got closer to the porch where my grandparents stood, they became bigger and bigger into view until I was close enough to see their twinkling eyes and broad smiles. Their arms would open outward to me and I would walk right into them. So glad to be there!

Such visits give me life. I feel every portion of my being taking notice. I am loved and I share my love back. We laugh, sometimes cry, tease and have so much fun. The food is always great but the fellowship even greater. We are making joy-filled memories to be remembered for a long, long time.

I've experienced a lot of homecomings during my lifetime. I look forward with great anticipation to each one, connecting again to people I love. I have forgotten many of the details of those events but the emotions, the joy and feeling of belonging are carefully tucked away in my memory bank. I can revisit them one by one or all together anytime I want.

I suspect that the heavenly reunion will be the best one. Reuniting with God in heaven, an extension of all the reunions with God on earth, will be paradise literally. Not because there are mansions and streets of gold, I couldn't care less about that, but because you are linked eternally with Pure Unconditional Love. We return to where we began...with God.

Joyous Soul of Heaven,
we begin and end with you,
and we celebrate
our relationship
with you
in the middle.
Differing experiences,
happy and sad,
challenging and hope-filled,
we enter your presence
and find our selves connected
to the most important thing
in the world.
Our lives take on greater meaning,
one of our purposes being fulfilled;
we turn to life's greatest joy.

Expectantly, Andrea

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Dear God,

Thanksgiving. This will be my 60th Thanksgiving. Oh my!

I awakened early this morning...3ish. My husband stirred about 4:00 a.m. Not feeling up to par. We talked until 5:00 a.m. I prayed aloud for special friends, Ann dying of cancer, Craig entering an alcohol treatment center, Lebanon where conflicts are brewing, for Harold, family, friends, the church, the cosmos. Starting the day with prayer with the one you love most in the world is a good thing!

But as I started downstairs to write, I was inundated with Thanksgivings past. Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings and much much more down on the farm at Grandma's house. Thanksgiving serving the hungry, listening to their stories as my children spent the day with their father who lived in another city. (Got into trouble with the senior pastor who told me to just serve the people, not talk with them) Thanksgiving dinner with my parents and siblings on a snowy, wintry day. Thanksgiving serving a meal to the homeless in Indianapolis. Thanksgiving when I cooked my first Turkey (didn't know it had strange stuff inside until I cut into it). Thanksgiving at Harold's son's home where I had a severe allergic reaction and was rushed to the hospital. (Spent the day looped up on Benadryl because I drank about half a bottle to avoid suffocating before I went to the hospital) Thanksgiving with all our family. Thanksgiving when my husband lost his temper and stabbed the turkey. (It was already dead) Thanksgiving when we returned home to find that Bailey, our beloved dog, had enjoyed a special Thanksgiving meal by knocking the turkey to the floor and eating a large portion of it as well as about 3 lbs of chocolate fudge. (Spent the rest of the day cleaning messes all over the house) Thanksgiving at my daughter's home in Michigan. Thanksgiving.

Mostly I don't think about the pilgrims and Indians who spent the first Thanksgiving together. I should. But I do think of giving thanks for blessings that are mine. I always honor the day, remembering all my gifts. And I've received many of them. I never move on to Christmas without first celebrating Thanksgiving. In fact I hope Thanksgiving gives me some perspective before I move on to the gift giving and receiving in December.

I'll be with my children tomorrow. Harold will be with his. We will miss each other. This year I want to savor the moments of Thanksgiving because I plan to do some special things with two of my older granddaughters. I intend to read a Christmas story each night before we snuggle into our sleeping bags on the floor. I'm prepared to guide them in making very special gifts for their family. I hope to take them to a movie. I will pray with them. I will make memories, long to be remembered as they grow older and so do I.

I'm looking forward to this season of thanks for I have much for which to be thankful. I realize that I don't have as many Thanksgivings to celebrate in my future as I have in the past, all the more reason to enjoy what is before me. I pray that I will rise early, write my letter to you, walk alone in the cold, breezy winds of Michigan, and reflect upon God's grace, that unconditional love that never stops even when my behavior tempts it to. I am blessed.

God of Thanksgiving,
I open my heart to you.
My soul gives thanks,
remembers the constancy,
the faithfulness
of your son Jesus.
I recall the past,
days with family,
days alone,
sad, happy, perplexed,
a myriad of emotions
dependent on "where" I was
at that moment in my life.
Although I was "all over the place"
you were always in the same place,
beside me,
sharing in my joy
or my dilemma.
Thanksgiving,
the blessing of God.

Love to you, Andrea

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Dear God,

I was 16 years old when I moved far away from my small Indiana town. Sacramento, California in 1963. What a crazy world of hippies, yippies, flower children, drugs, and Hell's Angels motorcyclists. Our world was tipped topsy turvy. It was extremely difficult transitioning from the Bible belt to the what do you call it.

Our family of six moved into the "cracker box." That's what Daddy called it. And the inside of our house was wallpapered with big, really big flowers. There were three tiny bedrooms. We had to put most of our stuff in storage.

I was ready to begin my senior year and talk about lonely. I was so lonely for friends I left behind. How do you adjust from a school of 500 in the Midwest with lots of friends to a huge school of 2000 where seemingly ever kid drives their own convertible? Really tough year. I made one or two friends, but none I would invite to my home.

I did win awards that year. Business education student of the year. I could take shorthand faster than anyone in class. (I still write it, on paper and in the air) I was the best all around student, probably because I had no real friends to distract me.

That Fall as I began school I got a letter from an old boyfriend. He had been a senior when I was a freshman. We dated for a while. He was a very nice boy, a gentleman, kind and thoughtful. But I lost interest and he graduated and got a job. Not college material.

He had a very difficult time getting over our breakup. He called my mother and pleaded with her to help us get back together. Mom liked Eddie but knew I needed to be my own person. For months he would call and I refused to talk to him. Finally he went into the military.

During my lonely days in California, I thought of Eddie. And one day the letter arrived. He told me he still cared for me very much and hoped we could one day return to our former relationship we shared three years earlier. He would be home at Christmas and would love to see me if I was coming home.

I had already begun working at Frankies, a burger joint just around the corner. I was a clever worker. I created new food items, especially ice cream. I made peanut butter shakes long before anyone thought of putting peanut butter and ice cream together. It was really fun. People loved my concoctions. I saved my money to fly back home to Indiana at Christmas time.

A week after I received Eddie's letter, I learned that he was on his way home driving late at night somewhere in the Dakotas when he fell asleep at the wheel. His car went off the road, flipped and landed upside down. He died instantly.

That Christmas our whole family drove home together. We used the money I had made from my part time job since expenses were very high in California. I was glad to have my family with me.

I visited Eddie's mother who wept when she saw me. She told me of Eddie's loss through the years, how he loved me and wanted to marry me. She gave me a beautiful cross necklace for Christmas. She kissed and hugged me goodbye, urging me to return again. All I could do was cry. I was just 17; I couldn't take it all in. I felt guilty, sad, depressed. So many emotions!

It was on November 21 that Eddie died. The moment I typed the date, I remembered his death. Odd, after all these years, 43 to be exact.

Events shape us, make their mark on us. Our vast brain cells store away the information and kick it out at strange times. We never forget; it's just tucked away for future reference.

I wonder how different my life might have been if I had married Eddie and stayed in my small town. I am sure I would have been treated wonderfully. I am sure he would have loved me very much. But I'm just as sure that I would never have developed as I have throughout these many years. God had a different plan for me, a plan A, B, C, D. I'm convinced I didn't work with plan A in the beginning. I just couldn't see it, wasn't as much in touch with God, talking but not listening very well.

I thank God for Eddie's life. He was a neat, loving person. I know he delighted his parents with his life, a life cut short. I am thankful for my relationship to him and what he taught me about being sensitive, kind and thoughtful. 43 years later.

Almighty God,
the mind is a wondrous instrument.
I am always astounded
by memory that emerges from the past.
Frequently events come to mind
and I think of what I received,
learned, from others.
Was I truly grateful at the time
or am I revisiting my past
in order to give thanks and learn?
You are always teaching me;
I hope I am a better student now.
Thanks for Eddie and his mom,
for their gifts to me.
I will always be grateful.

Love, Andrea

Monday, November 20, 2006

Dear God,

I responded to the letter I received the other day, the one I had longed for for 12 years. I typed my response in the e-mail. Before I clicked the "send" button I felt anxiety fill my frame. Not knowing the response to my response, I felt afraid. I read and reread my letter. It was honest, open, and forthright. My love was apparent. What more could I say? I clicked and the icon read, "on its way." On its way, it's on its way.

Writing from the gut, exposing my vulnerabilities is difficult and scary. But the letter demanded a response. I had to be willing to be vulnerable; that's where truth resides. It's the only place from which to write, communicate.

Trust. The person wrote me, trusting that I would read it, respond. Exhibiting a good deal of trust after so long, I was amazed. I had to write from the same place. I had to trust the person would read mine as well. I hope I too will receive a response, but that's not why I wrote it. I just wanted to give back, not expect anything, but hopeful that I might hear something once again.

Trust. I have learned to trust God more than ever before. My prayer is that God will trust me in what I do, in what I say, in how I live out my ministry. Not that I expect to be perfect; I am far from that line. I just want to hold hands with the Holy that I might make a better witness in the world. I want to trust God to lead me.

There's really not much more to say. A case in trust lead one to write after 12 years and this one to respond. Maybe we will be given the chance to build trust together. Hoping and praying.

Scary endeavors
can lead to greater trust.
Opening one's self
to the deepest dimensions
of truth and hope
is a path
toward healing and wholeness.
Still scary,
but a step in the right direction,
a journey,
a greater journey toward God.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, November 19, 2006

My dear God,

I've been sorting through all my Christmas decorations. I had no idea what I really had. Since I wanted to "unclutter" more of my life, I am putting aside all items I do not use so I can give them to a local shelter.

As I went through the Christmas tree ornaments, memories flooded my mind. Olive wood Christmas bell from Israel, wooden church from Russia, ceramic snowman from Maine, a very small wooden St. Francis from Italy, wooden camels from Egypt, all places where I have traveled. Not to mention family favorites...Salt dough Raggedy Ann and painted by a friend from the 1970's, colorful wooden Mrs. Santa my mom gave me, Santa clothespin I made in the 1960's, a Nativity scene, a wooden sleigh with Santa atop from Grandma H, and various angels I've been given.

But there are three very special ones. The first one is a red shiny ball with a snow scene, the words "Silent Night" lettered on the front. This belonged to my parents. It was Daddy's favorite. Every year when he put up the tree he placed this ornament right on the front. I am sure it is forty or fifty years old. Maybe less. Because Daddy loved it, I kept it out of all the ornaments they owned. I remember him placing it on the tree year after year. I can see his form, his face smiling as he pulled it out of the box. I like having this special decoration on my tree; it brings Daddy home to me once again.

The second one is a green resin Christmas tree with lights, a snowman face peering out with a brown sign that reads, "Christmas play tonight 6:30." Diana gave me this several years ago. A church member, she had been charged with fraud. I stuck like glue to her during those days. She was terrified, living with a husband who couldn't work, sick and trying to do the best she could. I don't know whether she was guilty or not. She was found guilty and spent three months in a downtown jail. I visited once and she asked me not to return. She had to go through a body search each time she had a visitor. She couldn't take it.

A couple years later I invited her to participate in an Advent play. She actually processed a real live camel into the sanctuary. She wore royal clothes as she played one of the wise men.

She was so thrilled to be asked to be part of our Christmas drama. Her self confidence bolstered, she gave me the 1999 ornament and wrote, To Andrea. Love, Diana. I will always remember her.

But the third ornament is probably my most favorite. Wanda handmade it for me.

Wanda showed up at our church years ago. She was homeless, with a little boy tagging along beside her. She was in trouble, her eyes filled with fear and despair. Her husband was an addicted drug dealer.

Wanda was one of five children. Her mother was a schizophrenic. Her father left the family early on, leaving this sick mother to care for her children. They were all taken away and placed in her grandmother's home. She could hardly stand the children, making all of them sleep and stay in the wet basement because she wanted her home perfectly in order. Wanda slept nearest the coal stove and frequently woke up with blisters on her arm.

One near-blizzard day their uncle stopped by to see the kids. The grandmother said they were outside playing with other children. He didn't believe her so he went looking for his nieces and nephews. When he opened the basement door, he was shocked to see the condition of the children and their sleeping quarters. He reported her to authorities and the kids were placed in a children's home. Wanda ran away with her husband-to-be at age 15. The rest was history. He dragged her across the country, living in one shelter or street corner after another. She gave birth to a baby boy on Christmas Eve and was taken by cab to a shelter where she spent Christmas Day.

All her siblings were sick human beings. Two were fried on drugs. I think one was dead. Only one sister seemed capable of a relationship and she lived far away.

I welcomed Wanda into our church. Within a few days she found lodging in a crappy apartment in town. One efficiency room that served as bedroom, living room, and dining room. All three of them lived in the tiny space. Wanda found a job, reluctantly leaving the boy with his father, so she could work, bringing home money for food and rent, and little less.

That first Christmas, cold and wintry, Wanda wore just a sweater to work. She didn't own a coat. Some friends at my church and I bought all kinds of gifts for Wanda and Sean, her son. We gave her a purple coat. She was so proud to wear it. She had never owned such a beautiful coat, she told me. Tears welled in her eyes as she bent down from her 6' frame to hug me.

The next Christmas she kicked out her husband and began a new life. One day she came by my home, walking, of course, she didn't own a car. She gave me a carefully wrapped gift and urged me to open it. It was a purple felt coat Christmas ornament, complete with white pearls for buttons and a white dove with red hearts. She had handstitched the ornament. Now tears formed in my eyes as I looked at the beaming woman whose life had been transformed. She had gotten her GED and learned to drive. She was later given a used car and found a job at a county hospital. Then she moved to be closer to her work. No ornament could be more valuable.

Today I thought of Daddy, Diana and Wanda. I felt the warmth of Christmas love as I remembered these three precious people from my past. I suspect the boy in the stable had something to do with it!

Wondrous God,
symbols of Christmas
bring out the best in me.
You have woven lives with mine,
exemplifying the glorious gift of life,
relationship, and love.
The ornaments on my tree
will be more than adornments;
they represent human lives
who have made me a better person.
I will sit alone before the tree
on Christmas Eve night,
white lights glowing,
and remember
the glorious gifts
you have brought me.
A shimmering ball,
a Christmas tree
and a beautiful purple coat.
Emmanuel.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, November 18, 2006

My dearest God,

I'm getting ready for Christmas. Yes, I'm an early bird. Not that I want to sidestep Thanksgiving. I've been living in gratitude for several days now. Thanksgiving Day will be spent with my daughters. I'm looking very forward to it, especially when we go around the dinner table, each person saying at least one thing for which they are grateful before we pray.

This morning I took down the Maine ocean scene and put up a Main Street Christmas scene. On the mantle I carefully placed all my snow persons (we gave up snowmen years ago). Stuffed snow persons of all sizes and color. Now, "let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." (Well, it did snow this morning, a box of artificial snow flakes fell open and spilled on my lap)

I'm going through all my plastic boxes of Christmas paraphernalia. What I do not want or cannot use, I am giving away to a local shelter. Angels. Ceramic bears. Candleholders. Afghans. Trinkets of all sizes and shapes. Children will enjoy the scenes of Christmas around them. Hopefully the magic will return to children and their mothers, victims of abuse.

Christmas is a very special time for me. Not the shopping, nor the gift buying. It's the spirit I feel coming alive within me. Memories, ah yes, memories of Christmas Eve at the tiny Atlanta Methodist Church. The magical mysteries of light, faith, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, the Word coming to life, family together, cousins sliding down Grandma's hill beside their old log home, raspberry pies and those little bubbling oil candle ornaments on the tree. Singing around the old upright piano, Grandma playing the tunes by "ear." And the prayers she prayed for her beloved family. It was the only time we 13 grandkids and all our parents were quiet.

For me Christmas Eve is a mystical night. In the dark skies, stars twinkling, I look up to see which one is the brightest, the one that shone down to the shepherds who heard the angels sing, pointing the way to the Christ child. I want to be lead there too.

Something happens to us during this season of mystery. Oh, its true, some turn Scrooge grouchy but overall, the sound of Salvation Army bells calling for generosity, Santa holding children on his lap, Christmas trees displayed for purchase, Christmas carolers and Christmas music, parties and plays expand the heart, making room for others.

My Christmas Eve is pretty much spent the same each year. I work during the day getting food and gifts prepared for the big day, then I go to church to prepare for the big night, then I get home late and turn on the Christmas Eve Service in Rome. The Boys Choir music transports me to the mystical realm as I watch person after person come forward to receive the true gift of Christ, the holy sacrament. I sit in my living room staring at the tiny white shimmering lights and I discover myself once again at the stable, listening to the cry of new birth, witnessing the joy of mother and father, animals still as if stunned by the magic of God. Shepherds rushing in, falling to their knees, angels singing their hallelujahs. My heart rejoices once again at the majesty of God, sending forth grace's gift.

I return to my boxes, sorting out the accumulation of Christmas objects. Will Christ return again this year? Will my heart be wide open?

Glorious God,
in the midst of a cold Fall day,
I hear the bells
of Christmas ringing.
The possible moments
of holy presence,
the opportunities
for faith and sacred mystery.
Christmas items all around me
remind me of greater truth,
the love of God
for humanity.
Peace on earth.

Love, Andrea

Friday, November 17, 2006

Dear God,

Friedman, a psychologist who lived in the last century, developed the Systems Theory. Basically its tenet purports that a virus can change a whole system, human or otherwise. When a person becomes sick, it can infect the rest of the system, making the whole system sick. Conversely, when one person heals, the rest of the system is impacted, promoting healing in the system.

I have seen this work in the church. When we became sick, I called a systems specialist to explain the systems theory. I remember an older woman who came to the presentation. She was upset, angry at what was happening in the church. She was skeptical, but she wanted to know. She walked away a believer. She told me it made a whole lot of sense to her.

When one person began to heal (we called it good news), the whole system was influenced. One by one, our system, the church, began to heal, to find good news, to create good news, a good spirit, cooperation, a positive attitude. During the last year and a half, no probably the last two years, maybe even longer have been healing years. All the signs indicate we have found new life. Many of our visitors now come to our church and stay. Before they could see our sickness and didn't want any part of it. Good decision! We weren't ready for wellness. But now we are.

One woman lived her whole life in a dangerously sick environment. For decades the family was "sick unto death". Any suggested healthy change was put down, the recommender crushed, punished almost to death. So the system remained as it was.

Then something happened. One child remembered a God-awful thing from her past. She sought professional help. As she attempted to share her "good news" with siblings, they didn't put her down; they simply told her they didn't know what she was talking about. Good thing she lived hours away. She could begin to heal on her own, not live in the shadow of those who weren't ready psychologically to learn the tragic story.

But then another sibling had an experience. She too was faced with the truth of the past. Abuse of all kinds was uncovered, memories coming at lightning speed. Devastated, despairing, she too sought help. Step by step, she faced one tragedy after another. She relived the wounding injuries and finally acknowledged that her parents were mentally ill. Their illnesses had created a whole system of sickness. Daily she sorrowed, grieved her many losses. She cried, allowing decades of tears to spill, a novelty in her family. Feeling emotions. Finding her voice. Speaking the truth. Taking back her life. Making good decisions. Becoming whole and visible. Discovering faith at its root. Living victoriously. Making plans for the future.

And now a third sibling has stepped into the awful truth of the past. His awareness, speaking the truth aloud to others, has stirred up the whole family. It seems everyone knows something terrible has happened. Different family members are in varying stages of shock, fear, anger, and grief. It feels to the family like everything is collapsing, the very foundation cracking, leaving gaping holes.

What they don't fully understand is that there never was a firm foundation. Their footing, underpinning, infrastructure was built on sand, like the song that talks about the foolish man who builds his house upon the sand. One generation after another building on sand, only they didn't know it; they were never exposed to the rock.

But all that is changing. One rock from the riverbed after another is being carried to the household. It's tough, painful work lugging those huge, solid boulders. They're building a bedrock foundation. They're smoothing out the sand which was always needed, then placing the rocks in place. And they're doing it together. They are building a foundation together, a house, one that is good, healthy, happy, a home, built on the rock solid faith in God and one another. They are building hope and a new future for their family. Healing is coming, it's on its way and every person will be affected. Their family story is changing; no, it's being transformed. The beginning of the story will remain tragically the same. But the end will be dramatically different. It will be the story of a family who discovers the truth and changes their lives.

To those who stand on the outside peering in, all we can see are miracles. We see the sweat on God's brow because God too is carrying in rocks, building a new existence for children He has loved His whole life. Children for whom he has wept and prayed and sent love through others. God is restoring a family, broken for so long. He is renewing faith as the lifeblood of this community. He is giving hope while they trudge through the years of suffering toward a new way of life. It's going to be a while before the whole house is built, but it will one day stand as a testimony to the love of God, faith and the strength of a family to endure.

Loving God,
Rock of the Ages,
we stand on the firm foundation
fixed from the beginning of time.
Each one,
every one of your children,
each inhabitant of the cosmos
is invited to stand together
on that which you have created.
No one is excluded,
sidelined, pushed away;
all are invited.
Oh how much
we need your loving care.
The song that comes rushing in
is one for this family
and every wounded family
on the earth...
"What a friend we have in Jesus,
all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
everything to God in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit,
O what needless pain we bear...
...Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In his arms he'll take and shield thee;
thou wilt find a solace there."
Joseph Scriven and Charles Converse,
writers of these words and music,
must surely have known
that one day,
one family
would take solace
in God whose love
extends time and space
to love his little ones.
How can we ever thank you?

Eternally yours, Andrea

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Dearest God,

God is in the middle, in the laughter, the hilarity and the ordinary. Two friends, one a church member, the other a staff member were sad, each facing their own difficult reality. It was near closing time. Like the comedian Robin Williams, I went into a manic state and declared a time for fun! I went into an office, picked up four sombreros and placed them on the heads of the struggling and another staff member. I handed each one a maraca and off we went laughing like crazy to Puerta Vallarta.

As we drove into the parking lot, I spotted a mannequin dressed like a French woman perched just outside the coffee shop. I took off her beret and replaced it with my sombrero. (The owner was a bit worried and puzzled) And then I took back my sombrero, leaving the fake lady as I found her.

When we stepped inside the Mexican restaurant, I asked for the best party table. The owner's brown eyes widening, smiling from the inside out. He set us down at a booth. (I was the only one now wearing the hat from Mexico. My friends had parted with theirs (except for the staff member who carried hers in).

"What will you have to drink?" The same server asked in entertaining fashion. "I'll have a margarita!" I declared. We broke into laughter because I don't drink. (I have had a few Olive Garden samples I must confess) "But I want to change my margarita just a bit. I want sugar around the rim instead of salt and lemonade instead of margarita juice and I want it in a fancy glass." After we finished ordering, I offered to stand and sing, "La cucaracha, la curaracha..." (Never could figure out why anyone would want to sing about a cockroach) We collapsed into more laughter.

Hot chips and salsa were soon placed on our tables. We each picked up a chip and toasted to friendship. During the course of the hour we were together we laughed and laughed and laughed. We even planned an outing, a Christmas happening that would alter the way our friends have lived Christmases past. (One's husband died a few months ago, another hasn't really ever experienced the real joy of Christmas) Basically our outing is planned like this: we intend to trespass on a land tract in Brown County (one of our friends is thinking about buying it) then decorate a fir tree with popcorn and cranberries and pine cones filled with peanut butter. Upon completing our Christmas task we will stand around the tree and sing Christmas carols. Then we'll hit town, sing Christmas songs as we walk (wearing lovely Christmas apparel, of course) and eat breakfast and lunch. (separately, not together)

As we finished sharing our chicken quesadilla, we stood to leave. (I was the only one donning the sombrero) We thanked the proprietor and left, returning to our work to finish our daily tasks. I was tempted to change hats again with my woman friend still standing in the same position at the coffee shop but I resisted.

As I sat at my office desk, I chuckled, thinking of some of the other hair-brained ideas I have come up with, some crazy antics, ways of temporarily laughing our way through grief, sorrow or other gut-wrenching pain. It's only a momentary act in time, minutes of setting aside our blues to allow our spirits to temporarily rise to crazy heights, then fall again to pick up the living pain. Bad idea? Not at all. Grief and sorrow will continue for a time, perhaps even a long time, so a short jaunt into laughter and hilarity raising the spirits is a welcome change, one to be remembered, allowing a temporary hold on the sorrow. And we did it together, friends, colleagues, partners in crime, fellowship...God in the middle.

Pain and joy come from the same place.
A suspension bridge keeps them connected,
permitting the weary to travel
back and forth,
back and forth,
calling a temporary stay to the anguish.
The wooden planks know each story
but do their job holding things up
while we find our way
until they're no longer needed.
God in the middle
holding us up,
offering reprieves.
God in the middle,
crying and laughing...
with us.

Thanks, Andrea

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Dearest God,

On Sunday evening I watched The Monastery, a reality show, on television. Immediately I was drawn back to my September days one year ago. On the first leg of my renewal leave I traveled up the 13 mile dirt road to enter the property of the Benedictine monastery located in the New Mexico canyons far from civilization.

I could feel the dirt under my feet as I remember walking up the path to the chapel and dining hall. I was able to hear the bell pealing, calling us to faithful worship. I recall singing the psalms and bowing during the Gloria. I remember setting at long wooden tables and high back chairs as the brothers served us our meals in silence. I brought to mind the spectacular midnight skies and cold, crisp Fall mornings. My mind is refreshed when I think of scrubbing my clothes in a wash basin, then hanging them in the hot, dry afternoons. I recollect standing by the rushing river, stunned by the exquisite beauty of the place. Digging into the past I can see the Milky Way for the very first time. I think back into that time and see myself and the few other visitors carrying our Coleman lanterns at dusk back to the guesthouse or into the bathroom where I would shower in the dark. I remember stuffing envelopes with Brother Luis, a Filipino, one who smiles easily and laughs often. I remember the surrender of my own heart.

The power of memory. Events that speak to the human soul, still stir reminiscence of Spirit life in an unfamiliar setting. I was taken there by God. And what happened there set the stage for a pilgrimage of a lifetime, one I shall never forget. Etched into my mind's heart.

During dark and lonely times I will remember the God of my faith who took me across the country to show me the world, calling for my own surrender and trust. My tears will return as I once again bask in the loveliness of God's love in the desert of New Mexico. However frail I will become God will turn back the time, taking me to this great change period in my life. Memory will restore, refresh me.

Those times when God is the farthest away are the times God is the closest, breathing holy air down our necks, whispering our name. But we have to be open to feel, to hear. We cannot always expect to experience God in the set ways of our lives. God cannot be restricted, contained in a holy box. Otherwise faith becomes stale, lifeless. God appears in ways we least expect it and in times when our minds are fixed elsewhere. God can pop up anytime, anywhere. Loving us.

The men on The Monastery are wrestling with questions of faith, love's loyalty, and trust. They are raking off the top soil of their existence to enter the subsoil of their faith. Striking the Rock of the Ages they are discovering the newness of each day, calling forth deeper and deeper answers. They are uncomfortable, sometimes afraid. They are listening, asking questions, expressing self doubt but they are continuing their quest.

Life is filled with such endeavors. We want to know the meaningfulness of our existence. We want to find our life's purpose and live it out in daily life. We want to know, or we want the world to know we once lived and died, etching history somewhere with our life. Meandering along the pathways of life do not hold much sway.

My heart is filled with gratitude to memory that still reaches into the depths of my spirit and pricks its way into the deepest part of my soul.

Glorious One,
with my shovel in hand,
I happily dig down,
deeper,
deeper,
ever deeper
to meet The Rock.
The journey is a surprising one,
revealing, always revealing,
uncovering the truth.
The air is so sweet
as I meet you
and know
I have found the treasure,
hidden away
just for me.
I am yours forever.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Dear God,

Days sitting alone with God opens the heart and soul, renewing body, mind, and spirit. I read once that God is a jealous God. Why bother? We spend so little intentional time with God. And God knows we are rarely interested. Our minds are filled with other things. What I'm going to eat, my job, the next shopping jaunt, bills, relationships, my favorite television show...endless worrying, coveting, longing for something that is not yet ours. But...when we stop time with our love and sit at the Great feet, life comes into a balanced perspective. The air is cleaner, hearts lose their polluted spoil, anger is impoverished of its power, and the sweetness of life appears over and over, over and over again.

I still can't quite get my mind around the events of the last few days and frankly, not even in the last several hours. I thought gratitude was, as the dictionary describes, "an appreciative awareness and thankfulness." But it is more, so much more and why? Isn't it enough to have received an answer to a long line of prayers and breathed a prayer of gratitude? It could be. But setting aside time, littering the pathway to gratitude with all our worries and concerns and anything else wandering around in there, leads to something else.

God wants to give us more, not just the answered prayer. And God uses all the senses to show us more, to the point of being overcome. Doesn't seem possible or practical. But it is. Entering a season of gratitude is not about longing for more. It is actually saying what I have is enough, more than enough, my goodness. But God chooses to give more.

The gifts of 72 hours or is it 100 hours now of bringing to mind the wondrous gifts, the blessings of God are unequaled to anything I know. They are still coming.

My husband received an invitation from a beloved family member, not quite sure he would ever hear from her again. And yet it came. Did gratitude bring it, even if it wasn't his own? And did Harold act upon a nagging thought of a colleague by accident, calling his wife and finding out he is in serious physical and emotional trouble? Were the two brought together by a deeper sense of wondering? Are these events coincidences or intersections of God?

Do we enter an unfamiliar realm as we live in gratitude without expectation of anything more? If so, why are we here? It may be absolutely apparent to me that God's love is boldly being given again and again. But is there more to learn, an insight I need to grasp, a truth before me? Am I being remade, my insides changing?

Yesterday as I walked on the treadmill, I did as I usually do. I recalled to mind those who need prayer. Ann who is dying. Dorothea who is recovering from surgery. A child. Mothers, fathers aching for their children. But as I walked, the music played and I closed my eyes. I saw the longing heart of others. And today as I walked, I realized I truly was holding each one, walking them one step closer to God. And the music, it was like God and I were singing the songs to them, words of hope, love, affection, faith. What awesome moments. Here I was walking to better my health, but God wanted to give me more, a privilege of carrying others, singing to them, taking them to God, offering them up. And my arms are light as feathers as I hold each one up to God. And the soft, gentle joy I felt brought not just a smile to my face, but more gratitude to my heart.

It doesn't stop. Gratitude brings more gratitude, startling new discoveries, and inner peace and contentment, joy. I simply cannot take it all in.

Can life be lived like this all the time? Should be. It makes for a nicer person, happier, more free, insightful. It quiets the spirit, brings greater hope and joy. It changes things at oh so many levels.

I think Francis, St. Francis was aware of this experience. His philosophy of offering everything up, every good thing, everything, is like this. The gift received is the gift offered back up to God in gratitude. He kept pretty much nothing for himself except for the joy of receiving God's goodness and living in grateful giving.

Of course! Of course! Why have I been so blind? Francis has been my spiritual mentor for a long time. I became reaquainted with him after a long absence during my renewal. Our coming together, a blending of our spirits, taking his hand, acknowledging his presence to help me has brought his spirit to life within me. And the gratitude, it was how he lived every day. He saw God in everything and he blessed God with his heart of thanksgiving. He knew God's presence even in the hardships; yet he believed he received the gifts of God in the midst of it and he prayed until his heart was full of gratitude. For days on end he would pray, offering what he had to God. His forgiven sin, a momentary pleasure, an answer to a prayer, a hope or the joy of helping another, a human or feathered friend. Francis is teaching me about gratitude. I can't explain how or why, it's a mystical question.

Which only brings me back to more gratitude.

My heart is oh so full,
full of thanksgiving.
Today could be a disaster;
but God will be in it.
And gratitude will follow.
Or today could be more of God,
revealing life
from the well of living water
where ladles of gratitude
will be available.
Profound moments.
God.

Awestruck, Andrea

Monday, November 13, 2006

Dearest God,

As part of my living in gratitude I did something I don't normally do. Generally when I go away for retreat in Tipton, I drive to the retreat center, spend time on retreat, then return home immediately upon its conclusion. But living in gratitude took me another way.

Just as I was driving out of town, Nonie came to mind. Ninety five years old, crusty and cranky, an old complainer for years, she lives at the edge of town. "I need to see Nonie," I told myself. So I drove to the retirement center where she was seated at a table of four, dining on her lunch.
Walking up to her chair I was filled with memories of her.

Nonie has known me all my life. She took care of me when I was an infant. My aunt's mother, she always took an interest in me. When I was eleven years old, I wanted to fly with my younger cousin to Florida to visit our grandparents. I had to save money for one year since my parents didn't have that kind of money. So I did extra jobs. And I made jewelry, corks with beads, earrings, pins... Nonie nearly funded my whole trip.

Through the years we have teased one another. I would tell her she was the grouchiest person I ever knew. (Not necessarily, I've met some grouches in churches) But we would laugh, hug and she always kissed me on the cheek. I really love her.

We visited while she stared at her plate of cut up food. "Now, who are you?" She asked me. I would start with my father and his twin and wind down to me. With tidbits of the past, I tried to refresh her mind. "Oh yes." She said. Then she leaned her forehead to mine. I kissed her, then left, trying to encourage her to eat.

Thinking that gratitude was leading me to my family, I phoned my aunt and uncle who live in Tipton. "Come on over, Honey, we would love to see you." Aunt Jodie told me. It took about three minutes to get there. As always I was greeted with hugs and kisses. My father's twin, Uncle Merrill always greets me like Daddy did. "Hello, sweetheart!"

We talked and talked, fading into the past at times. Laughing over card cheating at Grandma's house. Those were the good old days. We updated one another on our families and too soon it was time to leave. We promised to get together in the next few months (don't we always do that?). At least my aunt is thinking of ways of joining us on an aunts and cousins trip to Maine.

This gratitude thing is good. Next it had me calling my sister whom I rarely ever see. We talked about the trip to Maine and how much fun it would be, a chance of a lifetime, probably only one chance since our aunts are now in their 80's. We hung up with a promise to make a date for dinner with our spouses and brother.

I called my cousin in Cicero to invite her for a meal but she and her husband were having a date today. So we chatted and promised to get together at another time. Suffering with an inherited heart problem, so bad that her grandmother has it, her mother and her daughter. Her brother died at age 50. I love talking with Lori.

Then I called her mother. This aunt lives in Cicero too, on the lake. My uncle answered the phone, then told me my aunt was grocery shopping. I got directions to the house (I always get lost driving there) and I arrived 15 minutes later. He and I talked about 45 minutes before Aunt Caroline got home with a car full of groceries. He took care of the grocery items while she and I talked.

I remember the days when I was a little girl. I used to love to visit my aunts and uncles' homes. We cousins would play and our extended family would enjoy being together. I felt at home in their homes. I felt love and purpose, a real connection to something bigger than myself. We called it family.

As the sun began dropping low in the sky I bid my aunt farewell with more signs of affection. Like all my family, she stood at the windowed door and waved as I drove away.

As I made my way home to my waiting husband, I was filled with the joy of gratitude that had lead me in many directions during my time away. Many experiences later I sang and gave thanks to the God who really does care about us, One who rewards us with "plenty" as we take time in thankful living.

Glorious and Ever-Living God,
you have been my joy these days.
As spiritual companions,
you have shown me the gladness
of days spent with you.
You have disclosed
the many avenues
of gratitude.
You have pointed the way
to persons
who have blessed my life
along life's course.
From habit-dressed nuns,
to strangers in libraries and streets,
from prayer warriors
to family members,
your light has brilliantly shined.
Not only did I receive my coveted letter,
you have taken me on a journey
in thanksgiving,
a wild trip of the Spirit
where your presence
was so palpable
that I was overwhelmed
most of the time.
Your love stretches across time and space,
through generations and chance encounters;
your love never ends.
It's all about capturing the hearts
of your loved ones,
getting our attention,
then opening
the world of love
to us.
These moments are unforgettable,
a lesson in obedience,
in trust and joy.
I cannot find the words,
nor the gestures
to adequately express
my appreciation
or my love.
I will never forget you.

Always, Andrea

Sunday, November 12, 2006

My dear God,

Living in gratitude is a spiritual consciousness of giftedness, an awareness of Divine inspiration, human and sacred leaning toward one another. It is not an out-of-body experience, but an in body knowing God's touch.

I have never taken days away for intentional gratitude. I may say thank you to God. I may feel warm toward God's presence in my life. I may be aware that my whole being is grateful. But to take time away for the express purpose of gratitude, I have not.

But I will again. I have discovered that God wants our attention, not for some selfish gain, but rather God wants us to experience the spiritual reality of life's energy flow. It is what makes us alive, fills us with joy, and gives us greater meaning. It is love's embrace. I can't explain it. It's more than an emotion or a truth known. It is a kinesthesia. Something deeply spiritual is in motion.

As I looked out over the sea of faces in my congregation when I preached, I had a sense of spiritual connection, a kind of mystical power. I could feel it in my pores. It is not something I could generate by myself. Rather it was like living in a spiritual womb where my body's umbilical cord pulsated from God. I can't explain it. I can only describe it.

Is there something more to a life with God than prayer, meditation, worship and thanksgiving? Is there a longing in God's heart for a true, authentic relationship with the beings of earth, humanity? Have we failed to recognize this deeper dimension of life? Have we sought a simple connection through prayer and missed the greater point of living with God? Big questions coming from an even deeper place? Syncretism?

I've always been intrigued by movies that captures a new dimension to life. Like Jodie Foster in Contact. Touching a spiritual source that reveals her father. She cannot explain her experience; but she is different. She knows she has touched a new Source or maybe the Source has touched her. Only 10% of our brain works and that's a high number for some of us. I'm probably a 5 or 6. But what if there is more to experience at a deeper level? Do we aspire to more of God?

Heavy stuff. The translation of "deep" in the Thesaurus is "situated or extending far down, below, beneath, profound, bottomless, extending far downward, fathomless..." Surely a life with God is deeper than we know it in any given moment. It has to be; otherwise, God would simply be a human manifestation of the mind. But if we believe God is eternal, then we still have a long way to go to know God at the deepest level.

Thoughts to chew on, to think about, to wrestle with.

All I know is that at the moment I am living in the state of love in the God I know who has profoundly touched my life.

Swirling stars in the universe
know their place with You.
Humans place themselves
where they want to be.
We practice a religion
without God
when we live as our own gods
and pay tribute to ourselves.
A life with God,
is a soft, open place
where spiritual energy
runs both ways.
Love is its source.
Made in the image of God?
I'm not sure I really understand
the profound meaning
of the statement.
But surely it means much more
than we have understood it to mean.
It is more than looking in the mirror
and believing that we see a dimension
of God looking back at us.
What is God telling us,
really revealing to us?
Much too heavy for tonight.
Perhaps a sacred dance with God
in the universe
is enough for now.
Mystical union.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, November 11, 2006

My dearest God,

A heart filled with gratitude is privy to life lived in the deep. My time at the retreat center has been an awesome wonder.

How do you live Sabbath Days in gratitude? Do you walk around saying, "thank you, thank you, thank you?" Yes. Do you still your own voice, listening for God? Yes. Do you wander expectantly? Yes. Do you live and breathe thanksgiving? Yes.

But it is more than that. It is living in a reality where the invisible becomes visible, the hidden becomes apparent, and the Source of all Living is revealed. God's plan unfolds. Destiny takes on new meaning. Hope comes to life in new dimensions. And love, so plentiful, so abundant as to take away your breath.

I was full when I arrived on Thursday night. But my fullness was transfigured by the events I have experienced in the last 48 hours. I had received a letter I had been praying for for 12 years. And my soul had to find a way to give gratitude to God.

I chose to live in community where God prevails day in and day out, a retreat center where I have traveled when my heart was so low. But also a center where I have lead women one step closer to God, by now perhaps more than 100. I have written covenants, danced my love and praise to God, lay prostrate before God's altar, cried out in prayer, enjoyed holy laughter, toasted to God with spoony fudge, walked the labyrinth, and stood amazed at the holy presence of God in this place. I had to return to offer my thanks.

Yesterday I came to the library to write my letter to God. I walked through the doors to the reference desk. No one was there, just a few construction workers. One told me the library wasn't open for another 30 minutes but I could sit on one of the benches just inside the door. So I did. When you live in gratitude, waiting is not a burden.

About five minutes before the library was to open, one of the librarians opened the door to a 60's, thin, bearded man wearing a ball cap and sweatshirt. He looked a lot like Abe Lincoln. He sat down beside me. In less than five minutes I learned that he was born on a farm in Kempton, Indiana, then traveled to Manhattan when he married his wife who was an actress. He built sets on Broadway and theatres across the US while his wife acted in plays, some that have become famous. He took up carving and building custom made furniture for "upper end" people. He has seen many of those on television. "I wanted to learn about religion, not by reading about it but experiencing it first hand. So I have been in a lot of religious circles." He told me. (I didn't tell him about my vocation) "But now I'm just a serial e-mailer. I read a lot; I am drafting a comedy script, and I write a lot of poetry." "Really?" I asked. "Have you published any?" "No, I just give them away for free."

At that moment the head librarian told us the library was officially open. I shook his hand and told him I was about to write a letter to God. We smiled at one another, then parted.

I got on the computer and started writing. About fifteen minutes later one of the reference librarians interrupted me and gave me a poem Jim had written. I smiled at him and continued my letter. Thirty minutes later he gave me two more. I thanked him and finished my letter. I peered at the poems, then realized that God was right here in the library. I moved over toward Jim, shook his hand and thanked him once again. I left.

As I was walking to my car, a woman who had been checking out books followed me to my car. "God just told me to pray for you." She told me. We spoke for a few minutes then she prayed, right there on the street. "God, Heavenly Father, I pray for wisdom and discernment..." I received her prayer and gave her a hug. I asked her several questions.

She told me that her 22 year old son had recently been killed in a car accident. His auto had rolled over, killing him instantly. She felt secure that he was with God and that she could live with that. I offered to pray for her. I wrapped my arm around her and prayed for her son and her loss. Tears filled her eyes as we prayed together for God's healing love. We spoke some more then went our separate ways.

As I stepped inside my car and closed the door, I read the poems Jim had written.

He wrote,

"When all your conflicts are said and done,
And all your wars are lost or won,
Look deep inside, you'll find the one,
Constant, loyal creative Son.
The one who has always been there,
Non-judgmental, ready to repair."

I thought of my trial for 12 years. How I have found the truth that sets the soul free. I have discovered one tiny piece, then another, one came a circuitous route and others followed not too far behind. The truth set me free until my soul could release the giant hurts. God had been repairing me for a long time. (Still more to go) And now God was repairing my loved one. "Honest Abe" had stepped into my life, teaching me one more lesson about truth.

As I made my way back to the retreat center, I was giving thanks for all the prayers that had been prayed for my family and me for the last twelve years and all those who had prayed them. I was filled with memories of those who promised to pray. Then I wandered downstairs.

As I was talking to one of the staff, Frances walked by tugging her luggage behind her. I gasped in my spirit. Frances was one of the first to say she would pray for our family. She knew the situation and promised to pray often. That evening I walked into the Medaille Room where her group would meet. I stood in the doorway until she turned around. Surprised to see me, she offered me a hug. Then I told her about the letter. Then she gasped. "Praise God!" She hugged and hugged me. Spirit meeting spirit.

She invited me to return for their evening session. I was just in sweats and they were all dressed up. "No matter," she told me, "come anyway." At 7:00 p.m. I returned for an evening of meditation, worship and praise. I had forgotten that I had worn my purple suit here. So I donned my "work" clothes and spent the evening mostly in tears.

The first 40 minutes were spent in meditation, soft instrumental music playing in the background. I was literally overcome with gratitude, praise, thanksgiving for every prayer prayed, for the ways in which God had connected my life with so many others who intentionally wove the thread of their lives to mine in prayer. And God had been so present in the weaving. I just could not conceive that people cared so much for so long. And now they had received the answer to their prayers and mine as well.

We spent about 30-40 minutes singing, lifting our hearts to God, one woman danced, waving a beautifully decorated banner. And then we sat down. The leader giving us opportunity to share anything that had come to us during our meditation, a word of encouragement to the group.

One woman after another stood, sharing their word, their thought, insight or learning. My heart beat so fast, pounding in my chest. When asked if there was anyone else, I raised my hand. I called for Frances who joined me at the front. Overcome with joy and gratitude, I told my very brief story, how God had brought me full circle to the one who had offered to pray and now we were together in this holy place celebrating God's goodness together. What an awesome moment of glory! Frances kissed me on the cheek and prayed aloud for continued healing.

After the group was dismissed, I walked to my room, so filled with wonder and amazement, tears still dampening my cheeks. Filled with joy I sat down on the bed, stunned once again at God's timing.

I fell asleep and woke this morning at 6:00 a.m. Without even washing my face or brushing my teeth, I replaced my pj's with my jeans and T-shirt. I pulled on socks, no need for shoes. I returned to the room where I had "testified" the night before and borrowed their matches. I made my way to the cathedral-ceiling chapel where I lighted the tall white pillar candle beside the baptistery. "O Lord, O Lord, O Lord," I whispered as I repeatedly lifted the water from its vessel.

And then I took the water, placing it across my forehead, round my cheeks and chin. Drinking in the waters of baptism I remembered my own initiation into God's kingdom love. So grateful I stood before God and began to sing, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me." The song echoed as if a choir of angels and saints were singing with me. "I once was lost but now I'm found. Was blind but now I see." The baptism water and my tears co-mingled as I continued to sing. "Twas grace that taught my heart to fear..." I sang every verse I could remember. And then I offered my favorite..."Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with thee. Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not. As thou has been, thou forever wilt be..." I could not contain my praise, my prayerful thanksgiving.

And then I moved away, up the center aisle, the shadows flickering on the walls and ceiling as I began to dance, lifting my arms in praise and love. I sang and danced, uninhibited, free with God, in the darkened early morning hours I was offering myself to God in gratitude.

One heart filled with gratitude
is like heaven singing its praise.
God's own child
recognizing the awesome majesty of God.
Giving expression
with heartfelt joy.
48 hours,
untold joy
and thanksgiving,
gratitude.

I shall love you always, Andrea

Friday, November 10, 2006

My dearest God,

An answer to a prayer brought me to Sabbath Days of gratitude. I tied up loose ends, called persons in the hospital at nightfall, then drove down SR 31 N to the Sisters of St. Joseph Retreat Center. Home, I thought, I am home.

I finished a Christmas novel I had been reading, then fell asleep. I got up 10 hours later. Much needed rest.

When I read the treasured letter I received, I knew I would need to spend intentional time living in gratitude. When you pray hundreds, thousands of times for an answer, you have to take time for gratitude. Since I have failed to take my covenanted monthly Sabbath Days, I determined to take my days off as Sabbath Days, 48 hours of solitude, listening to the voice of gratitude.

Some thoughts have come to me.

My bed is located beneath a crucifix. I slept at the feet of Jesus.

Sister Andrea, 102 years old, a Catholic sister who tended to my birth at Mercy Hospital and the person I was named after, died on October 22. I visited her grave here. I am an extension of her life.

The stations of the cross display those who reached out to Jesus during the process of arrest and crucifixion. I asked the resurrected Christ, "If you thought you would never live again, would you still have died?"

As I walked through the halls on the third floor, silence prevailed. Memories of retreats, God's hand moving powerfully, lives transformed, my own included, this is a holy site. The silence was broken as I heard a man's voice say on a television, "this is a holy site." (Matt Lauer in Jerusalem) Holy sites are where you are.

The mystery of faith can change the most bitter heart.

The light will choose where to shine. In the dining room residents were seated around tables. I was the one to whom the light came as the sun rose above the horizon and shone through the tree limbs.

Faith meets faith. Spirit meets spirit. One knows the other, if only for a moment.

Home is where the heart dwells when it meets God.

Broken hearts are mended when God intervenes with peace.

God sends persons into our life to leave messages.

Gratitude is simply living in the Presence, smiling.

Silence has a distinct beauty. Its words are profound.

Spiritual awareness is living in the deep.

A thorn in the side is not a real thorn. It is the constant reminder of the limitations of the human life.

A ride past a house I lived in as a child reveals my mother who died almost seven years ago.

Gratitude is the soul wandering, listening, looking for the revelation of God, thankful awareness.

An open soul dips down into living water regularly, knows a cup is always waiting.

The threads of time collapse as memory becomes lived reality.

The soul captures every memory. The Spirit releases the memory into reality, feeding the soul, releasing gratitude into the world. The cycle of Presence.

It is true. There is a time and season for all things...a time to talk, a time to be silent...a time to be still, a time to speak...a time to experience, a time to reflect...a time to offer, a time to contemplate...

I cannot walk away from you.
When I step away to this side,
you are there, awaiting me.
When I turn, you are there.
You are always with me.
But I am not always aware.
Steepen my walk,
my journey in life.
Make every path
a direction
that leads to You.
Let my steps
be intentional,
walking, dancing in your footprints,
left behind for following.
Gratitude, circling round.

Always yours, Andrea

Thursday, November 9, 2006

My dearest God,

Today I received the letter I have waited to receive for years. With it came joy and sorrow, ache and rejoicing. I just read it.

Looking back over time there are some things you wish you had handled differently. Decisions, actions you would change. But they are forever carved into history. No revisionist can change it.

Sometimes, perhaps all the time, you make decisions based on what you know, where you are, what is happening at the moment, and the urgency with which you are urged to decide. You weigh the cost factors, sometimes quicker than you would normally do, then you act. At that precipitous moment time literally stands still forever. It's a time marker, a history making moment, one to which you will return hundreds, maybe thousands of times.

Sometimes decisions that you make are right, but they cost you everything. And then, you live life one moment after another. You feel heavy, God, so heavy, but you put one foot in front of the other. You gasp for air praying there will be enough for you to breathe. The darkness is so heavy upon you, you wonder if you will ever see light again. You have not the energy to even cry out to the only One who can help. But somehow inwardly you know you don't have to. The One, the Holy One, God alone, knows everything including your deep pain. You function by trusting that the next day will come and somehow you will move into it and out of it into the next day. You never think of the future. You just breathe in and out, in and out, praying by God's grace that the air is filled with God. You live by trust only.

And then one day emerges into another, then a week, a month, a year of trusting. Life returns, one experience after another. Your tears turn to laughter and joy. The light has won. The sorrow, the deepest sadness of your life, remains tucked away, never to be released because to do so is to let go forever of what you have already lost. God sits with it, holds it forever.

I waited years for my letter. I now hold it in my hand. Trusting.

You answer a mother's deepest prayer.
You teach trust along the way.
You whisper affectionate words
of hope, love, patience.
You stretch us out,
realizing that a situation
can render us helpless,
caught in a web of darkness,
so small
you think
you can never fight your way out,
or have enough air to breathe
in the fight.
But something happens,
you find God inside the black sack
and God says,
"let me help you."
And the crawling out
teaches you.
You never do it alone.
The light wins every time
and inwardly,
in the deepest recesses
of human life,
you know it.
Clinging to sacred air
lifts you out and upward,
another soul captured
by the only one who can.
Alive again.

I remain yours forever, Andrea

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Dear God,

I attended an all-day conference seminar today. When it concluded we were given time to ask questions. A pastor participant asked an off-the-wall question that had nothing to do with the topic at hand. "Whatever happened to "community" in our conference?" Two hours later we were still "chewing" on the subject.

Whatever happened to community? I think Jesus probably did the best job of creating community when he told Peter, "you are the rock and upon this rock I will build my church." The design was to gather people together, share their lives and faith with one another, and go out to serve the world. During those times together and apart trust would be built, people could share the deeper parts of their lives and feel connected to persons who genuinely cared. As a people who felt a sense of belonging, they went out to build community with others.

It doesn't always happen. My sense of community, true community where I feel loved and I can love, where I can bare my soul without judgement or cynicism comes within my covenant group. I have built a spiritual, communal life with my spiritual friends and colleagues. I have tested the waters at times when I was in a crisis and they have never failed to listen, to pray, to ask deeper questions like, "where is God in this?". We sometimes shock one another in our sharing because today too few people trust enough to be brutally honest about themselves. We are able to do this in our group.

I feel a sense of community on a particular level in my church. I feel a part of the church. I feel needed, loved by many and I return my joy, affirmation and support to those around me who are willing to share in community. I lead the church into opportunities for community when I offer retreats and/or small group experiences. However, I am not comfortable baring my soul to just any one person at any time. (Interesting how I bare my soul to you and allow others to peek into this relationship) Not that I am judging anyone, God forbid, I am simply saying that we need to be lead into more intimate groups where a deeper level of community can take place. I believe that God places people in our lives with whom we will naturally begin to relate. The fellowship groups at church are designed to be places for community. Our mission group of eight who traveled to the Hurricane Katrina depressed area in Mississippi to do mission work had no idea they would develop community among themselves and yet that's exactly what they did.

Community comes to those who are willing to trust, confide (and I don't mean to tell every single slice of your life although perhaps in some groups you could) through sharing, and are willing to listen. Whole hearted listening tells someone else you really care. You are interested in what they have to say. A true relationship, when you know community is developing among people, is when you want to listen to someone else, when they are willing to listen to you. When people recognize that they are not in this relationship because they will gain information or become more important or whatever, but rather the gain is in the trusting relationship itself, then a sense of community can develop.

I know what the pastor was asking. I know why he was asking it. Pastors are lonely persons. We don't trust a lot of people, not even our own colleagues. We often feel very vulnerable. We "keep our cards close to our chest." We are afraid of being totally honest about our feelings because we have been burned, wounded, stepped on. We really wonder if people in the church care about us or our families. So we share just so much and carry the lonely pain in our souls. During moments of caring for others time and time again, we are often frayed at the edges ourselves. We give away much more than we take in. It's like passing out vitamins to help build others up, strengthening and caring for them, then forgetting to take the "medicine" ourselves.

A few years ago I was mystified by a group of pastors who got together calling their gathering the "bitch and moan" group. They got together to bitch and moan, (not so bad, you have to vent somewhere) but (as I was told by another pastor who attended some of their meetings) when one of the pastors became terminally ill with cancer, they could not even pray or ask him how he was doing while they were together. It was almost as if the cancer was not real, denial in its purest form. They could be community as long as they bitched and moaned but could not offer their ailing brother compassionate care. My colleague who shared the information with me who has since died walked away feeling more lonely than when he came to the group.

Community is a gift, a camaraderie of spirit. God is present in true community. It is the power by which we become connected to one another. At times it is truly a physical manifestation. We just feel good being in someone else's presence. We feel safe and secure, cared for. We know we have a group to which we can return, especially when our hearts are aching or our souls need nourishment. When we recognize that God is in the community spirit, we rise to higher levels of acceptance, love, trust and joy. We can become better people, enriched at deeper levels in our lives. We have more to offer in other circles.

I am blessed. When I experience community I feel so connected to God. When I shared in retreat in Assisi, Italy with the folks from different parts of the world, I knew this sense of community. We were truly of one spirit. In Africa with the sick people in the hospital I felt a sense of oneness with them. We may have only met once, but the connection was divine, God linking people together. Trust can build on different levels and community can be experienced in long-term relationships but also in one-on-one encounters that are brief, momentary, God developed. Love, the agape kind.

I turn to you,
follow your leading.
You develop in my heart
the desire to connect
with your children.
I know
that I do not exist alone;
rather I exist to be connected to others.
It is community,
it is church,
it is God
with God's own children.
Love, the agape kind.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, November 7, 2006

Dearest God,

Yesterday was an extraordinary day. I woke up with anticipation that God would be revealed throughout the day. I wrote my letter to you, walked on the treadmill, got ready for work and started to leave home when I received a phone call. Our dear member Jane had had another stroke, a massive one. I rerouted myself and headed for the hospital.

When I arrived on the fifth floor, I noticed Jane's room door was closed. I opened it and stepped inside. At that moment a nurse saw me enter and came in behind me. "We took out her breathing tube this morning," she told me. "I know, I am her pastor." I responded. "She knows you, doesn't she? Look at the monitor. She knows you are in the room."

I moved to the bed, sat down beside Jane, and put my hand on her arm. A prior conversation with her daughter was running through my head. "Mom suffered a massive stroke. She has no conscious thought. She cannot recover. It could be a few hours, a couple days." I told Jane I was there. And then I told her how much I appreciate her, her faith, her commitment as a political activist in women's rights, and much, much more. I shared some of my favorite scriptures with her. And then I began to sing, hymns that I thought she might enjoy.

Just as I began to sing, Jane started moving her leg, then she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. She held on as I lifted my voice to God. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..." Periodically she would squeeze my hand harder. She opened her eyes although they rolled back in her head. "Oh Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds thy hands have made..." I kept on singing. Jane was responding to the music, the message. "In the bulb there is a flower, in the seed an apple tree..." Jane lifted my hand and placed it on her chest, holding my hand close to her heart. "Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with thee; thou changest not, thy compassions, they fail not..." Jane pressed my hand closer to her heart. Tears spilled from my eyes. "And God will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of God, make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of His hand." Then Jane slowly lowered my hand, still holding on.

Her son walked in about that time. He looked at his mother. I told him the story of my singing and her response. "When I left at 8:30 a.m. this morning she was totally unresponsive." He reported to me. "Something happened here." I told him. "Jane knew those songs and somehow they reached her." He got on the phone to call his sister. I leaned down to kiss Jane on the forehead, then I left him talking privately with his sibling.

I walked slowly to my car, reverently. I was in no hurry to walk away from the heavenly experience. Jane had seen God and I had seen Jane's response to the God of her faith. I was touched, inspired. This bright woman of faith had responded to God in the only way she could. The massive stroke had robbed her of her ability to speak, to talk, to walk, to move. But her soul was awake, alive to the song of God and she acknowledged God's presence. What a magnificent moment, a God moment, like the picture of Adam and God connecting with one another in the Sistine Chapel painting.

Such encounters profoundly move me. I know that the human soul awakens to a different tune than every day living. I know it responds to something deeper. It desires a rendezvous with the Sacred. Jane has always known this. She was ready, prepared and so was her response.

I am reminded that what is visible is not always all that there is. Within every human life there is the invisible movement of spirit, one we cannot altogether explain, if at all. This is the almighty touch of God, linking, touching, embracing God's own child. It is a divine expression of God's love for His own. This is what gives life its ultimate meaning, purpose and joy.

Deep,
you are deep within.
Your Spirit brings our spirit to life.
It cannot hold back.
You speak and we hear.
We may or not not choose
to respond outwardly
but our acknowledgement within
speaks volumes.
The naked eye cannot see
this coming together;
only God knows
and the human.
One body.

Love always, Andrea