Saturday, December 30, 2006

Dearest God,

Temptation threatens peace. It lurks in corners, cracks and crevices. When least expected, it raises its ugly head to endanger the peace of the soul.

The Advent and Christmas season has been perhaps the best I have ever experienced. My obedient listening to God in early November lead to an uncluttering of my soul. I listened, really listened and followed God's urging. Each day brought peace, calm, guidance. Not one time did I fall prey to the traditional American Christmas frenzy. No matter that I had more than 30 people to buy for, four church services to plan, and four Christmas/Epiphany gatherings with dinner at my home.

I received the gift of peace at Christmas. But Christmas was over when I entered stormy weather. I had a number of items on my list I needed to tend to. I started working early in the morning. It was when I was cleaning up the basement that the gray clouds began to form. The winds began to blow and I could hear thunder rolling in the distance. Before long I had a full blown storm downstairs. My peace shattered, I lost my temper and cried. I was angry. I had to spend more than three hours working on a simple project that only needed about 30 minutes to accomplish. But with the grim reaper standing nearby vascillating about this, then that, unable to make firm decisions, I was caught up in bad weather, trapped. I was trying to help. I had given a very special gift at Christmas and I was finishing up the details when the storm hit. I was ready to take a hike, no matter that rain was pouring. I left the house in a dither.

Within an hour I had locked my keys in the car at a local mall. I called AAA and walked half a mile to do some shopping. It was sunny and fair so I enjoyed the hike. I thought as I walked, reflecting on the ugly storm. I wondered what it is that triggers such turbulence.

I gave up my peace for several hours. The substitute was no good! Making a list of faults and checking it twice did not bring my sweet peace back; to the contrary it kept it at bay. I was disappointed in myself, knowing I was also a disappointment to God. What was at stake? Why did I hold on to the resentment rather than slip back to the peace of Christmas?

I fell, hard. Yet, I know that the God of peace and storm still resides within me and outside of me. I have my own internal battles to fight, a conflict between light and darkness, maybe even good and evil. I know which side God is on. That's the side I'm fighting for.

Illumine my darkness,
O God.
Give me a vision
other than the one
I own.
Let me see
what you see,
the good.
Light the dark crevice,
showing me
the vulnerable places
so I understand.
Help me rise
above the gray clouds
to the place
where the sun
is always shining.
I long to live
in the sunshine
of your soul.
Cradle me in your arms,
lull me to sleep in peace
and forgiveness.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, December 29, 2006

Dear God,

I went to church yesterday. I was carrying three poinsettias, a white, a pink, and a red, intended for church members in the Alzheimer's unit. I saw about a dozen patients gathered in the carpeted area, mostly in wheelchairs. I heard someone speaking but was not aware I was walking into a worship service.

Then I saw my church family, all three of them, Max, Francis and Lillian. I greeted each one with a smile since I had no free hand. I placed the flowers on a table, took off my coat, waved to each one, then sat down. They were ready for worship and so was I. The 70 something chaplain was black, spirited and gentle. He passed out three song books. The wife of one of my parishoners introduced me as their pastor. "We'll have to be on our toes!" He said to the gathering congregation.

We sang familiar songs, "What a Friend We Have in Jesus", "Amazing Grace", "Blessed Assurance". I watched the faces of these aged men and women battling for power over their memory. Lillian sang out as the preacher went around with his mike permitting each one a solo. She knew every word by heart, no songbook for Lillian. I was surprised. The last time I saw her, she was confused. Not today!

The chaplain asked Gary, a middle aged man to help him serve communion. From Chicago he is a truck driver who weekly comes to visit his father, a resident for many years. Most were able to partake in the holy supper. The few who could not had the communion bread soaked in juice brush their lips. He touched their heads with a blessing.

One woman wept during the hymns. I got up and walked over to her, taking hold of her hand. The only thing I could make out was, "You have a nice hand." Her mind is shattered by a disease so tenacious that it will literally destroy every memory or the ability to respond to the memories as they arise. Locked away in a steel trap, tears replace the voiced thoughts. I held onto her tightly.

As the clergyman read the scripture and prayed for us, he wished the congregants the peace of Christ. He touched each one then came over to me. Ron had received his call to ministry when he was in his late 60's. He went to seminary and was ordained when he was 72. "This is a good fit for me." He said. He's right. He is wonderful to his people. They seem to love him too.

I spent the next hour visiting privately with each member of my church family. I listened to wives talk about their husbands who are moment by moment slipping away from them. I talked with Lillian and prayed. As I made ready to leave, the same chairs were being wheeled to the dining area for lunch.

I punched in the security code unlocking the exit. I looked back over my shoulder realizing once again the fragility of life. These vulnerable residents had been to church. They had communed with God. And I had joined them, a rare gift of God.

Each child of God
witnessed your light today,
illumining the soul.
The angels and saints
filled the seats and floors
around these precious ones.
They sang
the songs of faith
to those
who could not sing.
They breathed
their spirit into them,
the air of the God.
And God himself
was present.
I know;
I saw him
in their worn faces.
I walked
into worship
and drank
in the spirit
of the Living God,
a testimony
of God's faithfulness.

Love to you always, Andrea

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Dearest God,

I went to see Bubba (pronounced Booba) yesterday. When I walked into her nursing home room, I couldn't see her. She was completely covered with stacked blankets, just the top of her head poking through. She was wearing a pretty blue, green and cream striped cap and a bulky blue sweater underneath all those covers.

"Bubba, are you in there?" I asked. She pulled the blankets down around her neck. "Hi, it's Andrea." She recognized me so we began talking. Because she falls easily, her foam rubber bed lay on the floor next to her regular bed. I had to move it to the side so I could sit in a wheel chair beside her.

I took hold of her hands. "I'm 100." She told me. "Are you sure? I thought you were still in your 90's." I responded back. When one of the nurses came in, they reminded her that she hadn't hit 100 quite yet.

We visited for quite a while. She was lucid, remembering church and friends. She talked about Charlie, her husband who died some time ago. I took his picture down from the wall and we talked about him. "I always thought he was handsome." She told me proudly.

"I came as a Christmas caroling company of one." I shared with her as I placed the beautiful poinsettia on her table. "I thought we could sing your favorite Christmas songs." Trying to think of her favorites, she told me she loved them all. So I began singing as tears welled in her eyes. I sang all I could think of, then we talked some more. As I was getting ready to leave, I sang, "Silent Night, Holy Night." She squeezed my hand hard.

"Do you ever feel forgotten, Bubba?" I asked. "Yes." She replied back. I realized that it had been too long since the last time we visited a few months ago. Even though she said she had had a number of visitors, I know she gets very lonely spending most of her days in bed. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her I loved her and waved goodbye. "Tell everyone I said hello." She said as I walked out the door.

Now it was my turn for tears. I felt sad as I walked down the hall filled with lonely people. I always greet persons with a smile, trying to bring cheer where I can. As I punched in the numbers on the security system to let me out the front door, I thought that perhaps in retirement I could visit people in the nursing homes who have no one to visit them. I could do that, I thought.

Life is not always easy for our elders in the nursing home. A warehouse at times for people who cannot live alone, it's the last stop. When I heard two nurses lift the woman next to Bubba and place her in her wheelchair, she cried out so loud, "Oh Lord!" Was she hurting? Did they lift her properly? Were they loving? I didn't know because the curtain was pulled. So many things can happen to our older population and no one would know.

I am grateful for homes who provide loving care to the vulnerable. I am grateful that there are nurses who work hard lifting, feeding, helping, cleaning patients. Without them there would be nowhere to go if family cannot take care of them.

Lord, my heart
was sad today.
I wanted to hug
the whole lot of them.
I wanted to say
words of encouragement.
But time was running short
and it's just not possible.
Undergird your workers
with compassionate love
so that all they do
will bring peace, comfort and joy
to those in their care.
Make your love known,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Dear God,

I called him Chief. One time while dictating a letter to me, he was toying with a rubber band. Inadvertently, the band went flying, striking me in the eye. I dropped my steno pad and pen, bringing my hands to my eye, tears flowing down my face. He felt so badly but didn't know what to say.

When I told the Chief that I was quitting my secretarial job after three and a half years because I would soon give birth to my first child, he was disappointed. A couple weeks later he hired a young 18 year old chick (I was 22) who complained about the manual typewriter I had used my whole career. I loved that machine and told the Chief that this girl would never love it like I did. At my "retirement" party he handed me the machine as a gift.

I loved this man, a sales manager of a local construction company. I loved his family. I knew two of his three sons whom I knew working at the same company. I was friends with his older son when we lived in northern Indiana. His middle son was a member of our church. I married one of Bob's (Chief) granddaughters to a fine fellow in Texas. I did the memorial service for his 18 year old grandson who died of a brain aneurysm. Our families have been woven together throughout the years.

Bob's wife died of cancer on December 22 after a two month diagnosis. When Bob, who had been put in a nursing home about a year ago because of dementia, was told of Betty's death, his family watched the color drain from his face, life fade from his body. Three days later Bob died. A real love story. Their caskets are beside one another. I bid them both goodbye while his family and I all hugged one another. Bob would have been pleased we were together.

Several years ago I brought the Gerows and Hughes/Leiningers together at a picnic at our home. My mother and dad came. Daddy was suffering with Alzheimer's but knew Bob and was able to talk with him a bit. My uncle (my father's identical twin) and aunt came too. My father and uncle both worked with Bob and me at Reid-Holcomb, a now defunct company. We laughed as we brought to mind some silly stories, crazy antics in the office. It was the last time we were all together. Now Mom and Dad, Bob and Betty are gone. I miss them all.

Some people make a mark on your life. You don't really know it at the time but they do. Bob made a mark on me. He etched a place on my heart. His family are fine people and they will carry their own marks with them long after the burial of their mother and father. I will always remember him.

God of the Cosmos,
your plan for life and death
becomes more of a reality
as each day passes.
We are not designed
to live forever;
we are formed,
however,
to live a good life,
with purpose.
The people you weave
into our lives
shape and reshape us
throughout the years.
As long as we are open
to the moulding,
we can get better with age.
Thank you
for Bob and Betty,
for the love
they shared between them,
for the model they were,
for the ways
in which they exhibited love and friendship.
Thank you
for that etched place.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Dear God,

The day after Christmas. Remnants of gift wrappings. Drooping, dead Christmas tree (sucked up all the water, dry as a bone). Trash bags filled with toy boxes. Half eaten Christmas pie. The sparkle of Christmas is gone. Yet, I found myself humming Christmas tunes, hymns really, several times during the day. "Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes, I love the Lord Jesus..." "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright, round yon virgin mother and child, holy infant so tender and mild, sleep in heavenly peace..." The spirit of the Holy is within me. Christmas is not yet over in my soul.

I'm looking toward a new year, a year God has fashioned, shaped. I don't know the future but the future has been planned, but not every detail. There is that thing of free will. God is, however, creating the setting. I don't know how it will go. It can hang like a gray cloud in a distant sky or I can walk into the sunshine knowing God is God of fair and stormy weather. We will walk through the "weather" of 2007 together.

Living with the unknown, the unpredictable can be frightening. My need for control can kick in, redoubling my efforts at manipulating my environment (as if that's really possible). I can fight to plan my life, leaving little or no room for God to penetrate, interrupt or I can hang loose knowing that God shall indeed guide me.

I want to be a delight to God in the new year. I want it to be The Year of Trust, a time when I greatly trusted in God's providential care for my own life, my ministry. I want to follow Christ and I want to accompany him on his travels throughout the unfolding year. I want to see what God wants me to see; I want my heart opened to God's rule. I want to follow the footsteps of Jesus. And then I want to lead my church to greater heights of love, trust, and service. When I look back, do an inventory of the year 2007, I want God to smile, knowing I was obedient to his will.

There is always a lot at stake in a new year. People are watching us; they know what kind of person we are. They have preconceived notions of how we operate, who we serve (ourselves, God or someone or something else.) We can make a witness of faith or live self-consumed lives, making ourselves god of our own universe. We only get one shot at life and I want my one shot to count for something.

I need to listen for God's voice during the next year. Listening and following can keep me out of trouble except at the point of risking when I am asked to risk. Risky decisions made by God and kept by God's children are important; they lead somewhere, God's somewhere. I want to lead my church into greater service. I want Bethel to be known as a mission church, a church that cares about its neighbor, truly cares. Caring, loving is always good business because it makes God known in the world. Nothing else much matters. There's a lot of ways to care.

As I am ending this old year, I place my hands in yours.

I cannot walk alone
into a new future
without you.
I choose to travel
the spiritual path
with you.
A year ago
during the time
of my renewal,
I did that best.
I was deliberate,
intentional.
I walked with you.
And what I found
changed my life forever.
Ever-changing God,
I'm with you,
for a lifetime.
Lead me.

Always, Andrea

Monday, December 25, 2006

Dearest God,

The man in the manger has changed my life. I sought life during Advent. I hoped for illuminating light. I looked for signs and sounds. The man in the manger gave me everything I longed for.

It was after midnight on Christmas Eve before I fell into bed. I wished my husband the first greeting of Christmas. There we parted. My granddaughter from Michigan had earlier prepared a sleeping bag on the living room floor. She slept next to it. I snuggled into my makeshift bed, receiving it as a gift.

The morning came six hours later when I quietly wiggled out of my bag to write. Filled to the brim with Christmas Eve I needed to release my feelings and emotions. I began typing when just a few minutes later my five year old grandchild walked sheepishly into the basement. Sleepy, she climbed onto my lap. I held her, stroking her hair, no words spoken between us. She wakes up slowly so I wait until she is ready for the day. Finally, "Grandma...can we open presents?"

The rest of the household was sound asleep so I urged her to wait, watching a Christmas show while I finished my letter. Soon we ascended the stairs together. I turned on the Frosty mantle and the lights on the Christmas tree. I lighted the Yankee cedar and something candle. Then we sat down on the couch. I tucked my wine colored afghan around her small frame.

We counted Frosties while we waited. I told her about a baby born in a stable and the joy of shepherds sneaking in for a peek of the new king. I sang Christmas carols. I held her close as we watched the new day dawn.

It wasn't long before her baby sister awakened, bringing new sound into the room. The rest of the family soon joined us. We sat in a circle, the lights twinkling, the candle sending its aroma wafting. We did what we always do; we began by talking about the birth story. Then one by one starting with the children, we shared the most important things we are grateful for, the gifts of 2006. The six year old was appreciative of her family, of being at grandma's house. My daughters and their husbands were thankful for their spouses, family and faith. Harold shared his delight in the family and the new church facility just around the corner, a church where he shared 18 years of ministry. With a cracking voice I expressed my gratitude for increasingly better health, for a letter from my daughter, for letters I had written when God lead me, for my writing. We ended in prayer as my granddaughters helped me pass out one gift at a time, our tradition, watching a person open a gift, then clapping in appreciation.

We called December 25 the "Day of No Food." My husband was in charge of meals. We were out of food, mostly and I had told him on Christmas Eve that he needed to go to the store. But he was certain some store would be open later. Later did not produce food. We did, however, have pancake mix, milk and eggs so we had blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Lunch would not materialize on its own. We all laughed many times. Out of it my youngest daughter "borrowed" food from her in-laws: appetizers, scallops, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, crab ragoon. From her own home Jill raided the pantry: frozen chicken and vegetables. The mashed potatoes came from our own kitchen along with three day old cranberry sauce, tired cauliflower and even older "retired" cottage cheese. It tasted pretty good and it was all great for a good laugh.

At 5:00 p.m. a son in law and daughter turned on a football game. The girls and I went into the bedroom to watch a new movie entitled, The Christmas Shoes. A young boy works to earn money to buy his dying mother shoes for heaven. My five and six year olds kept asking, "is she going to die?" "Yes, but see how much the little boy loves his mother?" We agreed the red shoes were beautiful and we were sad she was dying. But it was what followed that surprised me.

One of the granddaughters began to cry, not because of the show but because of an incident at school. She had gotten into trouble for doing something a friend "forced" her to do and she had lost her recess privilege. That lead to a discussion on the lack of friends and never winning at "Duck, Duck, Goose." She is a whiz at math and reading but sports is not her thing. "I never win and the kids never pick me for their team." "If your friend tells you to do something you're not supposed to do, tell the teacher." My other granddaughter shared wisdom. I hugged that little girl while she cried.

After checking to see if the new Baby Alive had pooped her first poop, (what will they think of next?) we made our beds in the living room. In minutes the household was "snuggled in their beds, visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads..."

The day had been a mixture of gratitude, laughter and total and utter destruction of my clean house. It had been another beautiful day of Christmas with persons so dear to my heart. Prayer was still on my lips as memories of the day lulled me to sleep.

Some days
I realize the limits
of human language
to express gratitude.
This Advent
was far more
than I had hoped for.
Everyday blessings
came my way.
The sights and sounds,
the scenes of Christ
were all about me.
Like Scrooge
who witnesses his past life,
I see all the miracles,
the wondrous events,
the visions
of God in human living.
I know love,
the agape kind.
I have seen Jesus,
the man
who didn't linger long
in the manger.
Rather I have witnessed
his movement
all about me.
I pray
for the light of his life
to shine through me
into the new year.
Gratitude fills my pores.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, December 24, 2006

My dearest God,

Christmas Day comes once a year but the spirit of Christmas is available anytime. I drove to the church early for the Christmas Eve service. It didn't begin until 6:00 p.m. but I wanted to be alone with God, to give my offering. One car sat in the parking lot. I may not be alone, I said to myself. I walked into the sanctuary. Our music director had beat me to the church. It's okay, I thought. He and I needed to meet anyway to go over the service.

After a brief conversation he began rehearsing, playing our new Estonia piano. Something came over me. I felt such gratitude in my heart. I simply could not hold on to my offering, waiting for a better time alone. And so I danced. There in the sanctuary candles glimmered, music played, and I danced in my black lace dress. I had dressed up, wearing my best for Jesus. Tears formed in my eyes as I realized God had provided music for the dance, another gift of Christmas.

I had dimmed the sanctuary lights and as night fell upon the church, the glow of a single white candle against the dark stone wall was exquisite, a rare form of beauty, its aura spreading. We sang the songs of Christmas, moms and dads, black and white, the hurting and the celebrating. God was ever so present in God's own house.

Harold read the birth story. "And there was in the field shepherds abiding over their flocks..." I heard the story I had been waiting to hear all month, the familiar story of God's coming. The star shining, the angels singing, the shepherds running, the baby crying. I followed them all the way to the manger. I was just as mystified as they when we entered the stable, quietly creeping to the feeding trough turned bed. With my own eyes I saw the holy couple, Mary nursing her newborn infant. We fell to our knees, imparting honor to the Holy One of Christmas. "And he shall be called Jesus."

The eyes of the people were fixed upon me as I shared the story from the perspective of the innkeeper who was too busy and preoccupied to join the celebration. Didn't even know it happened at his own place. Could we relate to this merchant whose busyness kept him from the manger? I urged the crowd to make space, to clear away the clutter, to meet Christ at the creche. I was inside the story, crying out to the others to join me in the holy space I had longed to visit for a whole year.

Later when the people began to come down the aisle, they walked toward the holy family sitting on the bale of hay. Dad rocked his son as mother gently patted his head. At the manger they received the gift of Christmas, the body and blood of Christ, the sacrament of Holy Communion. Hungry, like me, they were hungry for the food only God can give. We ate until we were full.

I held my white pillar candle in my hand as I spoke of Jesus as the light of the world. I took light from the Christ candle, then began to light the candles of others. The lights were turned off as our own lights began to shine. "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright..." We sang as if we were the only people on earth witnessing the cosmic event.

Later we held our lights high above our heads. We were no longer a single light, but a magnificent display of God's light shining into the world. We were the light, lightbearers of Christ.

The hugging began as we offered seasons greetings to one another. We all felt something inside ourselves. What we were offering was something much more than a greeting, a hug, a handshake. We were giving Jesus to one another.

As the sanctuary emptied, I moved up in the darkened room lighted only by the Advent candle and the single lone candle on the altar. I thought of how much one light can penetrate the darkness. I stood offering my thanks. Filled with wonder for all the gifts I've received, not presents tucked under a tree, but gifts of the spirit, I was amazed. God had replenished my spirit. I was indeed full. And so, I made my last offering of the night. Since morning I had carried my own song to the manger. Now I wanted to sing it. In the silence my voice echoed out, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see..."

Clearly, I see you so clearly,
my dearest Savior.
Your light penetrated my own darkness,
relieving me of burdens past.
I listened, followed your leading.
I wrote letters,
I spoke,
I gave myself
to others
by giving myself to God.
I gave
exactly what God had asked me
to give.
I need nothing more;
I have received it all.
And so I blew out
the last candle,
walked into the darkness,
Christ and I.

Love to you always, Andrea

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Dearest God,

Early yesterday morning I called my friend inviting her to have breakfast and do a little shopping. While we were eating I called my husband telling him I would pick up a honey baked ham for dinner since he was in charge of meals. He was delighted to have me do it.

After purchasing an IU T-shirt for my husband from Dick's, a queen set of white checkered sheets (they remind me of snow) and two turquoise blue Christmas tea towels (they match my bathroom) from Linens 'N Things, and a book for my granddaughter from Barnes and Noble, I headed for Honey Baked Ham. When I had spoken with my husband there was no one in the store. By the time I arrived there were about ten. Within minutes the tiny shop was filled with people, probably 25 or 30.

The line wound around a gold garland. Three clerks were taking the orders while two checked out the hams and rang up one register. I knew I was going to be in the shop a while. I helped myself to the samples, mango salsa and ham. Yum! Yum! Realizing how many shoppers had joined us, I passed out some pretzels, telling people how many more were to come.

I felt festive being in the store. My spirit is in Christmas, I thought to myself. I am blessed, so incredibly blessed. And because my blessings were so full, they began to spill over. I wanted to give a blessing to this group of patient shoppers. I wanted to sing to them. Not wanting to be too obnoxious, I just spoke with people, talking about ham and dinner and Christmas and waiting. I smiled a lot, hoping my cheerful spirit would help pass the time.

When it was finally my turn at the register, I handed over $55 (with a coupon, can you believe it?) and then I gave an extra coupon to the clerk instructing him to give it to someone who didn't possess one. Then it was time! I felt like the boy from Christmas Story who waits for the perfect moment before speaking. I held onto my 9 1/2 lb ham and sang, "I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year." Beyond the shock of someone unexpectedly singing a Christmas carol acappella in a store, people smiled, one person thanked me. I smiled, sharing my blessings as I walked out of the store. Some people undoubtedly thought I was crazy. Maybe someone thought, I wish I could do something like that. I felt good.

My Advent days have blessed me. I have walked with the Savior, listening, opening myself for the spirit to dwell. And, my how I have seen God. Yesterday as I stepped out of my car to deposit a check in the outside deposit, it was raining, the music was playing and I felt like dancing so I did, right there in the rain. Liberation, spiritual liberation allows for spontaneous moments of joy. I'm taking them!

Today my joy will be sorely tested. A family is coming for a visit. At the moment they are carrying some animosity, hostility, left over pain. We're serving them dinner; I hope the ham will help. I have to trust in the same Spirit that has been blessing me.

Everything in life is not perfect. We don't live in a perfect world. Joy and pain often live together. But God is in both, not just the joy. The pain, unexpected or expected, can lead us to God where joy is made possible. Courage and strength can wed allowing God's own resources to help us. I will have to trust God today to keep my blessings full so they can be poured out on others. (I don't think I'll sing, however.)

I am grateful,
oh so grateful
to You,
Mighty God,
Loving God.
My life with you
is my life's greatest joy.
Test me today,
to see if I am fit
for the blessing.
Let your joy
be mine
that mine
may be someone else's.

I love you, Andrea

Friday, December 22, 2006

Dearest God,

I held her hands in mine, gingerly cutting each nail, careful not to knick her skin because she is on Coumadin. Then I washed them in a basin I placed on the bed, allowing her fingers to soak, then drying each one. I squeezed a dime-sized drop of lotion in my hands, then massaged her splotched, bruised, worn 90 year old hands. Her eyes were fixed on mine as we spoke.

Evadene is one of my favorite people. She's been moved to a nursing home in hopes that she will learn to walk again. She stood this week for the first time in a long time. She was really proud. She wants to walk. It will take every bit of effort she will be able to muster.

I brought her ice cream. We always eat an icy treat, this time Breyer's Pineapple and Coconut. While we were delighting in our favorite dessert, I read the label aloud, 13 g of fat, 8 g sat fat. "You're not supposed to read the labels." She told me. I put it down and we ate away, enjoying every biteful.

"I came to sing carols to you," I told this bright, well-traveled woman who still has all her faculties. What are your favorites?" She had to think. It's been years since she's been in church singing the hymns of Christmas. "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." She said. I hadn't expected that one. "Up on the housetop reindeers pause, out jumps good old Santa Claus..." In the next 15 minutes or so, I sang her beloved songs ending with "Silent Night, Holy Night." I sang that one with my eyes closed. Too holy to do anything else.

Then I prayed holding her hands one last time. We hugged and I kissed her cheek, she kissing mine. "Merry Christmas, Evadene." I cheerfully spoke as I waved goodbye.

Tears filled my eyes as I walked down the hallways filled with people living in their last home. "Merry Christmas!" I offered words of friendship. One African American man in a wheelchair smiled. "You have a wonderful smile." I told him.

What a privilege it is to visit a nursing home. Delicate, fragile persons who can no longer care for themselves live together, dependent on others. They are away from their own homes, their belongings and family. They are in the final stage of life. But they are not dead. They share what they can with one another.

They always teach me humility when I call upon them. Their simple lives remind me that we don't have to have all the things we have accumulated over a lifetime. We don't even have to live in a fine home or have to travel, own a car or eat the finest food. They have learned to live with just a few items, usually pictures of precious loved ones, a piece of furniture and a TV. Their little is much in their eyes.

Evadene will be 91 on her next birthday. She can hardly believe she has lived that long. We won't have many more years to visit. So we share like it is our last time. I tell her we at the church love her and she likes that. I hope she will walk so she can go back home. We've got more ice cream to eat. I love her.

Gracious God,
your children
are so precious.
The older we are,
the more beautiful we become.
We are rich with wisdom.
Simplicity keeps our minds
on the important things in life.
A brief visit
can last for weeks.
Memories hold us
until we meet again.
Love happens
in the nursing home.
Love captured me
once again.
I find Emmanuel
everywhere,
in the smiles of the elderly.
I don't have to go
to a mall
to see Santa
when I can see Jesus
in a nursing home.

Love to you, Andrea

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Dearest God,

Someone recently said, "Christmas is Hell, Christmas is Hell!" "Christmas is Hell?" I asked. "Yes!" I felt really sad when I heard the words spoken out of anger, loss and grief. Is Christmas really Hell? Christ's birth? Angels singing? Divine mystery unfolding? Silence bringing life?

It's not really Christmas. It's other things, rejection, hurt, disappointment, disbelief. Pain and suffering have entered the heart; the soul is reeling. Christmas gets the brunt of the situation. Can't blame it on your own inability to cope or others who are perceived to be the culprits. Christmas is Hell.

This person is not the only wounded soul right now. Others are feeling it too. The black hole gives way, allowing the sorrowful to slip even further into the abyss. Grief enlarges, becoming so enormous that persons are overcome by the trickery of the spirit. Christmas is Hell.

Keeping an eye on the prize is difficult when the dark fog rolls in. Engulfed in what is unseen leads one to believe they are not safe, that devils are present seeking to overtake them. Giving in to the fear, the darkness seems the only likely option. That's when the skidding begins...the hole is only too ready to receive them.

But! But, darkness can never win the day because even darkness leads to the light. And the light leads us to God. Our souls do have to adjust to the light in the darkness. Unexpected, we look around, open and close our eyes, not quite sure what is happening. That's when the holy spirit mist o'ertakes the darkness. The battle is won. The light wins, reclaiming its own child. God has God's own way. Nothing can ultimately keep God's own.

We step into the light, that awesome light of the Spirit. The stale, stagnant air of death is replaced by fresh, clean, crisp air of God. And God allows us to breathe his air of love and that love fills every pore. She who was lost is found. He who was blind now sees. The crippled walks again. The dying takes hold of its own Creator. And the voices of saints and angels...sing...God brings God's lost children home, into his own bosom.

Christmas is not Hell. Pain, suffering, loss, grief, sorrow, anger, resentment, bitterness is Hell! Christmas is the antidote to all these. Hope is the gift of Christmas, a hope arising out of faith and trust. A tiny baby's cry captures a wounded soul. Tears dry up, leading the wounded to cling to hope. Not a hope that has unrealistic expectations but rather a hope that is eternal where God whispers loving messages. We are not dependent on what others think of us, what they give or fail to give to us. We are part and parcel of Someone greater, a child, a revered child, much loved. We need only take a baby step into His waiting arms. God's word heals, reconciles our inner self. We are not lost there. We are found.

Christmas is the prize the eye wants to see, the ear wants to hear, the hand wants to touch. It is Christ we ultimately want because He has what we need, peace. Let it be, I pray to you.

In the Holy mist
of your Spirit,
I stand
bringing the wounded.
Where else can they go?
Into your arms,
your loving arms
where everything we need
is present,
just waiting for our arrival.
Bowing before you,
we reach for your feet,
the feet that have carried us
in our sorrow.
Our lips dare to kiss them
in gratitude.
Stillness.

Always yours, Andrea

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Dear God,

My longings for God in Advent began before December. And now Christmas is five days away. I had envisioned myself at the manger kneeling, the star shining, the angels singing, the sigh of a mother, wise ones. Musical notes, the humming of instruments, children's voices, my own voice declare, announce God's arrival. I remain in the spirit of Christ.

I was aware once again of the blessing in my life of my colleagues in faith and ministry at Bethel. We laugh so easily together, share our difficulties with one another, serve beyond the expected, and live out our faith daily. They are beautiful people God has brought together for a purpose. We are family, friends, sisters and brothers.

God always knows what God is doing when God brings people together. We may not see the deeper meaning of the relationship until later or until a situation occurs; suddenly it becomes clear.

One of the reasons God has combined this staff is what I call the growth edge. By our faith we are constantly pushed, gently, but pushed nonetheless to grow the faith we have. We recognize that faith is always the size of a mustard seed and our desire for God plunges us into growth patterns. We may not always like the pain of growth but we have a passion for it; therefore, we lunge forward into growth, taking the risks, the steps of multiplying the pockets of faith in our lives. We see one another growing like a flower that breaks through the ground, parting the soil, letting the world know they are on the move, then budding, flowering, then even letting go, dropping to the ground, seeding itself for the next season. The cycle of faith.

I could not do what I do alone. I need these growing blossoms around me. I need the challenge of breaking through, rising up toward the light. I need to see, to witness the beauty of emerging faith around me because I am reminded that faith is not stagnant, stale. It is alive just as God is alive.

Yesterday we stood in the office laughing nearly til the tears popped out. A comical incident tickled our funny bones. And we guffawed. Then we had dinner together (we were working late) and we shared ourselves, a couple dreams, friendship, the hope God offers. When we ate, we dined on spiritual food.

At Bethel I munch on the food of the spirit. In down times and high ones I still find God walking the halls, praying in the classroom, dancing in the sanctuary. I hear the music of faith, the sounds of saints humming, the love of Jesus.

I am blessed, incredibly blessed this Advent.

Blessed God,
your presence reveals,
illumines, loves.
I find the light
or maybe the light finds me.
We come together,
unite.
I can feel it
as much as
I can feel
my chest rise and fall
with the air
around me.
The gifts provided me
this Advent
are more than I could
have ever expected.
And Christmas has not yet arrived.
Wondrous God,
my spirit sings and dances,
making my offerings,
a love relationship
bound by faith.

Always, Andrea

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Dearest God,

Christmas is a mixture of nostalgia, memory, hope, anticipation, sorrow, and love. All rolled up into one package. On any given day I can be wrapped up in memory, childhood recollections of days gone by. Of Christmas morning stuck upstairs in our bedrooms until our parents turned on the tree lights and set out Santa's unopened gifts. Receiving my walking bride doll and Christopher, my big pink dog. My favorite gifts. Mother receiving every conceivable kind of underwear...slips, panties, bras, nylons and thinking she probably wouldn't be able to keep them to herself with three teenage daughters in the household.

Or sorrow, the losses of my grandparents and parents and all the very special moments we shared at Christmas time on the farm and in the city. Of favorite food aromas wafting through the houses to be devoured by hungry children and grandchildren. Of hugs and lots of them. "I love you's" and "Merry Christmas, sweetheart's."

Or anticipation, the joy of my own grandchildren gathering at Grandma and Grandpa's house, of laughter and fun. Selecting the one story to be shared before we open the gifts and the reading again on Christmas morning of the birth story of Jesus. The prayer of thanksgiving. We have much to celebrate and thanks to give.

But this year I am living in the hope of Christmas. With hope is faith and trust in God. I don't hope for gifts or a white Christmas. I live in the hope that is daily coming from God. It is the love that came at Christmas to every home, stable, village, refugee camp, hospital room, ghetto, under bridges and on the streets. It is Jesus. He is not wrapped up like a glittering package, although he does have to be unwrapped by each of us who wishes to receive him.

Hope keeps me connected to God and to those I love, even to strangers half way around the world. Hope is another word for love and love links all people together. I am sister to starving children in Africa, mother to the dispossessed, daughter to the unloved or forgotten. We are family, especially at Christmas because Jesus came for all equally; we are all his children.

Christmas brings out the best and the worst in people. We rise to give love and we fall in despair, hurt, disappointed, isolated from those we love. Christmas reminds us of our severances, pushing it to the forefront of our minds. We feel our separation and the loneliness we shoved back out of the way. We can't get away from it.

But Christmas is more than all these. It is a spirit, a calling of loveliness, of goodness, of beauty and agape love. Christmas is the coming of God into every darkness, bringing light. Even the vilest offender can receive Christmas. It will never be about the food or the presents, the famous chocolate fudge or Christmas carols. It will always be about God and humanity together in one place, in love, in peace.

I come willingly
to the manger,
to live the hope
you speak.
I come, not alone,
but with all the others,
my family,
your whole family,
and there is a space
for each of us,
at the front.
Caution us against
focusing on what
we want to receive
from others
and the disappointment
we sometimes experience
when we don't get it.
Open us to Christmas,
God with us.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, December 18, 2006

Dear God,

I have longed to see the Christ during the Advent season. I have listened for his voice. I have looked into the skies waiting for the sign, the star crying out, "this way, this way, over here." I suddenly realized this morning that Christmas has already visited me. I have heard the distant cry of the babe in a manger. I have witnessed the shepherds running. I have seen the wise ones making their way to the Savior, the Messiah. I have seen the faithful gathering, one, then many to the stable, home to God. I have stood by the crib. I have known the Savior. I have fallen to my knees in front of him, daring not to look into his eyes, too holy an endeavor. My seeking is over. My longing fulfilled.

God has visited me so many times. I have seen his face, felt his presence. Known his healing, his love, reconciliation, forgiveness, grace. I have stood in the heavenly realm, known the secrets of the universe. Emmanuel is not some distant, uncaring God. God is indeed with us.

Written two letters to ones who possibly could not heal without them, one an apology, another the beginning of something God is creating. I have heard from my child, 12 long years. We write, not much, but a little. Been with my daughters in the death of their stepmother. Done her memorial service. I carried her home with me last night. I will dance, sprinkling her ashes in the sacred breezes of God's love in Maine. I have purchased gifts without frenzy or overspending. I have greeted people with Christmas, strangers all around me. I offered a frightened woman a cup of water for anxiety medicine on the plane. I've been rocked in the skies. I have entered heaven at least three times in chance encounters, visitations of the Spirit. The music has entered my soul and I danced this morning in the dimly lighted morning.

The mysteries, the Divine Mystery does not come magically on a day, the 25th of December. God calls, visits, speaks daily. Hearts open, open hearts will eventually know. Ears will hear. Eyes will see. Why would God come only once a year?

There doesn't have to be snow for Christmas to get us in the mood. God is doing that, calling us by name, one by one, a gentle voice of love, "My child, my child, my precious child, come..." Several dear ones have joined God this Advent season...Jane, Nellie, Irv, Ruth, Ann. Couldn't wait for Christmas, wanted to join God early. Knew the secret. Bill will make his way soon.

The rest of us walk slowly down the path created just for us. We too can see the not-too-distant star; we move toward it. It's not just one day, a morning, an afternoon, an evening and night. It is all the time. Wanting it means gaining it, waiting, walking, listening, following. Stars, angel cries, love carriers, light bearers, the beautiful Word of God, call out constantly.

My uncluttering, an idea of God, has brought me the peace I sought. Ridding myself of unwanted debris during Advent has opened my own pathway to God. Not getting caught up in extraneous, unnecessary activities, worries, anxieties has kept me open, pliable, flexible, willing, desirous, aware. And God, this glory is more sweet than anything I know.

It won't be the presents around the tree that will make my heart sing. I won't suffer the pain of disappointment of who is here and who is not. I won't be sad because the ground is green and the sun is shining. I won't be worn out from shopping, baking, wrapping. I'll be gently tired because I will have walked the sacred walk, finding what I sought. The gifts of Christ will be all around me.

My daughters, I can't begin to speak of their experience during this season. My youngest at the bedside of her best friend, her stepmother. Giving witness to faith, reading Psalm 31, leading Ann home, the woman whose life and faith lead my daughter to take steps toward her own healing. Saved from addiction. She has visited the manger too. And my middle, her heart open to a person of her past, always coming up short, a new door opening a crack, perhaps healing. And Bill, maybe a new chapter in his own life if he is willing to step into it. The possibilities are enormous. And my beloved Harold kissed by God, angels winging their way into his own heart, establishing Christmas firmly.

Christmas has already come! Christ is here.

My heart overflows
with adoring praise.
I am empty;
I am full.
I am joy.
Peace.
Gratitude,
gratitude fills my soul
with love for you,
my Saving God.
Union.

Love always and forever, Andrea

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Dearest God,

The white-capped mountains of Colorado rise above the horizon in the "mile high" city of Denver. The last twenty minutes of turbulence before landing were a bit unnerving, but I closed my eyes repeating, "rocking in the heavens". I could feel God rocking us back and forth like a mother comforting her crying infant. God with us. Emmanuel.

I've come to conduct a memorial service for my first husband's third wife. Ann died of cancer, but what a fighter she was, exhibiting courage, strength and peace. A beautiful lady. It will be a privilege to say a few words about her life.

Two of my daughters are here as well, one bringing her whole family. We have come together to celebrate this life, 55 years. It's a strange feeling being with my daughters and grandchildren, along with their father. But it is good. We all have one thing in common - we love Ann.

At 1:00 p.m. I will begin the service, a blend of bluegrass, Grateful Dead, and classical music. Words from the psalmist and St. Paul, The Third Step and Serenity Prayers. A eulogy and words of hope.

The past and the present are caught up with one another. Most people don't do what we are doing. Blending families, three to be exact, the first, second and third. And we are friends, strange though we are. God is grace in the midst of this conglomeration of peoples. But we are here for one purpose, to celebrate and remember Ann's life.

What more needs to be said? God is here, in the mountains, in our grief, and memories.

Loving God,
we are never alone.
Again and again,
you remind us.
"Fear not,
for I am with you."
And you are here
with us,
all of us.
And we are grateful.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Dearest God,

Eight hours. Fifteen phone calls. It took eight hours and 15 phone calls (to my daughters with particular questions regarding my list) to purchase gifts for 26 people, each averaging two gifts apiece. I had my list by store. Each item was specific, a DVD, a game, soccer pads, Addidas thongs, jeans, a doll, a book or shirt; it read like Santa's list. I tackled each store, securing a clerk when I needed help. From 8:00 to 11:00 a.m. I was practically the only one in the store, no waiting, no hassle, nothing. Walk in, select gift, pay and walk out. Just that easy.

It was a great day. Determined from the beginning to disallow any type of frenetical behavior, I smiled, greeting people with Christmas cheer, especially impatient people. I talked with clerks, wishing them "a blessed Christmas." In Target a shopper was having trouble figuring out a game, I asked if I could help. She did and so I did. "Anything else?" I asked. "Yes, where can I buy a checkbook cover for my mother?" She asked me. "Go to the bank; they're free!" We bid one another ado, then parted, wishing one another a Merry Christmas.

All throughout the day I was not stressed one time. I had a really good time, "checking my list and checking it twice." I made sure I was on Santa's "nice" list, not the naughty one. I did what I needed to do. No casualties except two broken fingernails and no snow. Even that was okay.
I ended the day in China (that's what I call it when I eat Chinese food) with my husband. Then we watched the "Christmas Story" together after I had organized all gifts by person.

I had a lot to do today; much to accomplish. My usual seasonal attitude is to feel pressure, pop when the lid was getting too close, and become overburdened with responsibilities. By this time of year I would have been finished shopping by two weeks and gifts would have already been wrapped AND I would have been grouchy, complaining that I would be glad when Christmas was over; but this year that was not possible. Why? Because my focus has been on uncluttering my life, letting God in, taking in the holiness of the season, listening to The Voice, and taking care. Trusting God for the work I needed to do was my guide.

What an experience of Christmas I am having! Emmanuel, like the sscripture goes, is with us. I am feeling it. I am allowing only the goodness of the Lord in. It is possible; it really is!

Holy God,
Marvel of Marvels,
you are the Source of all life.
You speak
and when we listen,
"all is calm,
all is bright."
I'm with you;
I'm living the "Silent Night, Holy Night,
and finding the peace
I long for.
Just nine days to go.
Nine more days with God.

Love you, Andrea

Friday, December 15, 2006

Dearest God,

I like walking into the darkness because it always leads me to the light.

I have a real fascination with the skies. I loved my astronomy class in college. The stars, planets, and rubble twinkle in the darkness, leading the mind to reflect upon the order of the cosmos.

I got up extra early this morning (3 something). I had a few things on my mind so I decided to get up to plan my day. I have to purchase gifts for 34 people today and I won't return home until I have them all. (Quite an undertaking) I have my lists made by store. I will leave as soon as I sign off. Want to be at Toys R Us early to avoid the crowds. I already shopped at Wal Mart this morning. Took care of some gifts there.

As I drove out the driveway, I looked up at the skies. I stopped my car for a moment and just gazed. A spectacular view. Who can say there is no God? Tomorrow I will fly into the darkness and on Sunday I will fly home in the darkness. Getting closer to God! I'll stare out the window (got an aisle seat, so I'll have to lean) to see the beauty of the heavenly raiment.

I've flown a lot at night, to the Holy Land, Russia, Europe. Each time I look out the window, I see God staring back. There's something majestic about the skies. Soothsayers read the skies, giving promises and challenging words. Prophets have found answers in the sky. Sailors use the stars to find their direction. Seekers look up, searching for the Divine.

I'll drive into the darkness on my way to the mall. But I'll see the light, listening to the sounds of Christmas sing to me. And while I shop, I'll look for the light among the grouchy. I'll hum my tunes and not become distressed or caught up in the shopping fever. I want to remain uncluttered, listening for God's voice, sharing the Good News. The darkness will lead me home.

Good and Gracious God,
I find you
more often than not
in the darkness.
In the light
it is harder
to see the light.
But in the darkness,
the light glows,
like a lighthouse
in the fog.
I'm searching for you today,
a magical adventure
among the hustle and bustle
of Christmas shoppers.

Love always, Andrea

Thursday, December 14, 2006

My dearest God,

I have two wonderful family members, a brother and sister, but they didn't come to me by blood. They merged with me 20 years ago through a covenant relationship. Bill has been my brother all these years. Cindy joined more than two years ago. She followed Nancy, Jan, and Susan who all moved out of the city, Jan to Illinois, Susan to northern Indiana. These women and our lone man are very precious to me.

We were in seminary together, Nancy, Bill and I. It was Nancy who suggested that we form a group, meeting at the Carmelite Monastery. I loved the idea. So did Bill. We asked the Carmelite Sisters and the community approved our weekly visits both as a covenant group and for mass.

At first we talked together, about ministry, family, church, leadership and the like. But Bill and I grew weary of the superficial relationship with God and each other. We discussed a deeper walk with God. Nancy was not comfortable with the idea so she left our group. Bill and I were sad; but we have not looked back except to say thanks to Nancy for the creation of our group.

We dig deep every Wednesday. We search for spiritual treasure. Like archaeologists who painstakingly brush away debris to find the "jewel" we ask questions, queries that lead us deeper into the soil of the spirit. We spend time in silence, complete silence. We devote, pray and listen to God. "Dig over here, stop there for a moment, reflect, contemplate. Go ahead. Be careful now! Trust me, I'll show you the way." God's voice is heard above all the rest.

If we possessed a chest in which to place all our treasure, we would have to purchase many chests. One would never be enough to hold all our discoveries. Our findings sound like the discovery of King Tut and his vast riches.

Sacred sites look normal to those on the outside. Drive by and it looks like all the rest. But go inside and you find something very different. It's not the same at all. You wander around and happen upon turns and twists, pathways leading to incredible views. Gems of all sizes and shapes are to be found along the way. Grottos, places where you stay for a while, lend themselves to unbelievable experiences. And the dark places are where you detect the greatest light.

This journey is unknown, unfamiliar because each week is different, yet the same. We never know what we will hit upon. We don't know the questions until they come to us as we meet, wait, listen, speak. We are not sure how God will meet us or whether the encounter will be joyous or challenging. We do know that God will join us, perhaps already in the room as we enter the holy space. "Good morning," God may greet us, "have I got a plan for you today!"

There has never been a period in my life when I have walked a truer path of faith. Don't get me wrong. I am no saint. But I do seek a saint's life, one who reveres God and desires a close, intimate relationship where the secrets of the universe are disclosed, where pain and suffering is transformed. Purposes are formed and lead to fulfillment. Joy resides here, like nothing else. Like pools of clear spring water, where rainwater falls down the spiritual mountain in majestic streams, only aaah's and oooh's cling to the earth. The essence of real life is exposed and the wonders of God revealed.

That's why I keep going back. One day I am in the pool. The next day I am falling down the side of the mountain waiting to splash. Some days I am the warmth of the day and others a rain cloud. I've been known to be thunder a time or two, okay more than that. I am constantly being shaped by God, just...what...I...desire.

Wednesday, a holy day on the mountain.

To you,
Most Gracious God,
I find my true self.
The cloaks that hide me
are removed.
I bathe
by the pool
of living water.
I am refreshed.
My thirst is quenched.
My spirit renewed.
The ordinary
becomes extraordinary
as God's hand touches it.
My eyes enlarge,
my mouth drops open,
my heart skips a beat,
my breathing slows;
I am in
the amazing presence
of God.

Always and forever yours, Andrea

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Dearest God,

My daughter sent me gift suggestions for her four children, my grandchildren. So I left work at 6:00 p.m. for a little shopping at Target. I found a Snap and Style doll, a Sorry game, an Operations Game and a Barbie that "sprinkles" (that means she sparkles). I was pleased as I waited in line to pay for my purchases.

I was greeted by a 30 something African American woman with blondish orange dregs. She was cheerful as she summed up my total. "How do you pronounce your name?" I asked Naj. "Just like it looks. I've always had a "larger than life" personality since I was a little girl. So a friend in our family gave me the nickname. It means "shining star." She shared. "How beautiful," I replied. "Well, Naj, if you celebrate Christmas I hope you will have a blessed Christmas." "I believe in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ so I will have a blessed Christmas. That's the reason I celebrate." She announced.

As I drove away I thought of the female clerk, her faith and witness, her smile and the way she conducted herself. She is an asset to Target. If she's a seasonal worker, they should hire her full time. She's the kind of person that makes an excellent employee. Image and service is everything to a business.

I didn't ask her if she was Christian. But I did lead her to make a response to my Christmas greeting. And she was not afraid to tell me what she believed. She was proud to declare her loyalty to Christ.

I didn't share my vocation with the clerk. Didn't need to. But during this holy Christian season I am giving Christmas greetings to people I meet on the streets, in the stores and in chance meetings. I am careful. I don't want to offend anyone, especially persons for whom Christmas is painful or they do not believe as I do. I wondered in my own mind as I drove home what I would say to someone who did not reflect my same faith tradition. "Happy Hanukah!" "Happy Ramadan!" "Have a good day."

It occurs to me that my job is not to convert every person I meet. Conversion is God's business. I share the good news I carry with me. Some will be drawn to Christ and I will celebrate. But in this pluralistic world, I want to build bridges of peace with my neighbors, be they Christian, Muslim, Jews, or atheists. We share the planet together. My "peace" filled greetings are intended to offer welcoming messages to fellow planet sharers. I want peace. I assume they do to. We can be friends, albeit different.

My brothers and sisters
come in all colors, sizes and shapes.
They share their life with God
differently.
But we are family.
What happens to one part of our family
in the world
impacts every other part of the family.
When I hear of Muslims dying in Iraq,
I pray,
likewise for any other group who suffers.
Part of my family
is destroyed in the car bombings.
Other members of my family
did the dastardly deed.
We all hurt.
So why not offer greetings to strangers
during Christmas?
At least my cheerful way,
and Naj's can perhaps improve
the condition or attitude
or someone else.
Bringing peace
to the world.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Dearest God,

The last sun rays of the day spread across the cloud-filled sky as my granddaughter and I raced to the Whispering Pines Christmas Tree Farm. I had gotten delayed at the office so the minutes were ticking by when I picked up my six-year-old Gabrielle. We had just clicked on our seat belts when the sound of music rose in the car. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la." When that little girl and I get together, we always sing. If I fail to start it, she lifts her voice in song.

It was dusk when we arrived. We picked up a saw and grabbed a tree carrier. "Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere..." We kept on singing as we checked out the trees. "What about this one, Grandma?" Gabrielle asked between songs. "Looks like a Charlie Brown tree to me." I told her. "What's a Charlie Brown tree?" She asked me. "That's one with brown branches or it leans with a crooked center, or it's just a sad tree." I answered. We sang our way through the trees, mostly finding "Charlie" trees.

When we did find a tree, we marked it with a plant stalk, then another, and finally a third. With the sun rising in China, it was beginning to get dark. Gabrielle wanted to keep looking. I told her it was too dark so we studied the three we had selected. "That's the one, Grandma." Gabrielle assured me. We looked it over, walked around it, then leaned down on the ground, picked up the saw and started cutting, two sets of hands, big ones and little ones. We placed the fresh cut tree on the carrier and started pulling it toward the barn with just enough light to get us there. "O Christmas tree, O Christmas how ever green your branches, O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how ever green your branches..." Gabrielle kept on singing as we walked into the barn.

While the tree man was shaking the tree, ridding it of dead debris, I got my purse out of the car. "Grandma, put on your hat." Gabrielle shouted. "Are you sure?" I asked her. "Yep!" She replied. So I put on my tall purple and white balloon star hat that was made especially for me by a magician at a Christmas party I attended with my husband earlier in the day.

We walked into the gift shop to select a wreath. A few people, including a couple of children stared at my extravagant head covering. Eyes rolled, people swallowed their laughter as Gabrielle was happy holding the hand of a crazy-looking grandmother. We paid the bill, made ourselves some hot chocolate, and climbed into the car, the night sky black by now. The sweet scene of pine filled the car as I drove down the country road and we sang our favorite song again, "Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere..."

Wondrous God,
the scents and sounds
of Christmas
are all around.
We create them
and they are created for us.
Your joy spills
out of us
when we sing out
our songs of faith.
Your love is in the air;
I'm breathing it in.
And sharing it
with a very special
little girl,
named after an angel.

Love, Andrea

Monday, December 11, 2006

My dearest God,

I just made a long "to do" list. Calls, letters, revisions, planning, visits, etc. Fifteen days to Christmas and I have five gifts, won't go far with 21 grandchildren, 12 kids and 1 husband. I still don't have a tree. Six boxes of lights still sit by the door waiting to be carried outdoors and placed on the house. The rooms all need to be swept. And I will be gone this weekend.

There is the temptation to become anxious, to kick into gear, rush to get Christmas planned at church and home (I'm doing a better job at church than home), to fly to the malls to buy, buy, buy, and to get caught up in the frenzy of the season. But I'm just not motivated to do it. I'm taking in the sights and sounds of Advent. I am listening for the Voice, one that cries out in silence, speaking in hushed tones to the soul. It is the true voice of Christmas.

Yesterday our worship service was beautiful in a quiet kind of way. Our music was somewhat subdued, reflective, leading us to ponder, to lean toward God. In the lighting of the candles to the harpist playing, I found God walking among us, pleased.

Next Sunday we will add poinsettias to our decor joining our Advent banner, Christmas tree with white lights and doves and Advent candle. The following Sunday, a bale of hay will sit in front of the altar, center stage and in the evening the Holy Family will come, joining us, the focal point of communion. Eyes will be fixed upon this beautiful new baby and in that moment he will be Christ for us.

Christmas will come and 24 hours later it will pass. It will be over. The stores will have their "After Christmas" Sale. Remnants of ornaments, seasonal apparel, and winter clothing will be snatched up. Left over goodies and ham will be eaten. The tree will look a little bedraggled, ribbons and paper trapped underneath the boxed gifts. Millions of filled trash bags will blow in the yard, awaiting pick up. Then the credit card bills will start coming in, some the day after Christmas.

Been there, done that! Not this year. I am savoring every moment of Christmas. I am breathing the air of anticipation as I discover God in the ordinary day. Writing each morning, walking to Christmas music, enjoying the frosty yards and trees on my way to work, praying for church, family and the world, watching the Nursery School children get excited, listening to troubled souls, visiting the sick, offering a piece of joy here and there, talking with people at church, in the stores, and at home, reading my Christmas novel, planning my annual Christmas movie night when I watch my two favorites, "White Christmas" and "It's a Wonderful Life" and deciding which 11:00 p.m. service I will be attending on Christmas Eve, all these fill me with the magic of Christmas. And the mystery captures me along the way.

I am blessed. I have the privilege of creating the setting whereby others will experience the Sacred on Christmas Eve. From liturgy and song to candlelighting and bells, I work with a team to prepare for the coming of Christ. We will attend to every detail. And people will come, drawn to the church, awaiting the Promised One. And when we least expect it, God will visit each one.
God will enter each heart, open to his arrival.

A pastor, serene in her own experience of the Savior, will have much more to offer than a harried one who can't wait for Christmas to pass. Emmanuel, God is with us, with me.

Loving God,
the season of Christmas
is intended
to transform the heart,
not empty the pocketbook
and fill the household
with unneeded gifts.
We are meant,
designed to meet God,
on the holiest day of the year.
But not only that,
we can meet God
each day of the season,
taking in the scenes
of his love,
captured by signs
of his peace,
filled with the joy
of his presence.
Lord Jesus, come.

Forever yours, Andrea

Sunday, December 10, 2006

My dearest God,

Jane was 90 when she died, nearly 91. She had wanted to live longer than her mother who died at age 88 or 89, I can't remember. She did it.

Jane was an ordinary woman who did extraordinary things. Her quest for equal rights for all women helped forged scholarships, loans, and help for underprivileged women. She was not afraid to tackle bishops when she thought they were "out of line." She was an ecumenical woman, a devout Methodist who embraced the "religious" in all people.

Her memorial brought joy to my soul. Remembering her life, celebrating her style, faith, and works instilled within us the need to fulfill our own purposes, whatever shape they would take. A life well lived is one to cherish.

I knew several ministers would attend Jane's service. After all, she had been a minister's and district superintendent's wife for many years. She was supportive of each one, yet challenged us wherever she saw need. Her love undergirded every word she said.

At the conclusion of the service, the family gathered in the narthex to greet family and friends. I stood to the other side. Many, if not all the pastors, came to me offering words of appreciation, thanks and support for my ministry. One of my seminary professors stopped me, sharing affirmation of my work. In turn I expressed my gratitude for his teaching. "I carry my professors with me in my ministry." I told him. "Your words of wisdom, guidance, and insight shaped my ministry. Whatever good I do comes from what I learned." He smiled and thanked me again.

All the pastors who came were retired. Many new pastors did not have the privilege of knowing Jane and Bob her husband. These men and their wives have relinquished the day to day reigns of ministry. Yet they still function in ministry through their words, attitudes and actions. All tolled, those who gathered probably represented 300 - 400 years of ministry. They touched a lot of lives, listened to a good deal of pain, preached thousands of sermons, prayed even more prayers, walked with the dying, the sick, and the lost. They survived rough seas and helped part the waters leading to the "promised land." They loved thousands of people throughout their ministry.

I feel pretty good where I am right now. I too have survived the rough waters of church life; however, these men and women offered a ministry of love and friendship as they came through my "line." I was overwhelmed; I'm not sure why.

My husband who is retired himself has been telling me that retired pastors still have a lot to offer. I listened. He is still fired up with energy and misses parish life terribly. There's a chink in his armor, a loss in his heart, and grief in his gut. He's right; he still has a lot to give. I don't know how the others feel.

But an idea did come to me. I had recently talked with Harold about being a mentor to active pastors, maybe even new ones on the block. He is a change agent. He just wants to be involved in churches that want to change. He is willing to serve as an interim pastor. But most churches if not all are not interested in making big changes with a pastor who will only be with them a few weeks or months. He wants it all, a big church who wants to change. Not likely to happen.

But he could offer himself as a mentoring friend, one who is willing to listen, offer ideas, help through difficult times, encourage and support. He has 47 years of experience that he can draw back on to assist other pastors who want it. He could have some fabulous ministry ahead of him.

I benefitted from these retired pastors today. I am still feeling their love as I write. They filled my bucket.

Soldiers for Christ,
they are.
Jane, Jack, Bob,
Jim, Ed, Willis,
Earl, Dick,
Verle, Audrey,
Valerie...
called by God
for service.
Saying yes
to the call.
Worthy of praise.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, December 9, 2006

Dear God,

Well, we trespassed on the property like we said we would. We traveled an hour and a half to southern Indiana. Past Pikes Peak, Indiana (didn't know there was such a place), off a gravel road, onto a dirt road covered with brown Autumn leaves. Rolling hills, creeks converging, downed trees and plenty of tall oaks, cherry, and chestnut trees. The sound of bubbling water making its way to the source. Five friends trooping across uneven ground, claiming this land for the future.

My friends (not the five, just a couple) made an offer on the land today. They hope to build a cabin, maybe even a bunkhouse, a fire pit and a place for campers (by the stream, next to the rising hill) The opening of the house will look out onto a large pond (or small lake whichever way you look at it). The back will view the hills rolling downward into the creek. The sides, well, you get the picture, every view is picturesque, God in creation.

After tromping around on one side, we then drove to the other side (about seven acres) We were in search of pine trees. A pitiful display (we decided if they get the property, we will plant some fast-growing pines), we opened the trunk of the van (do vans have trunks?) and took out the sacks of cranberry and popcorn strings as well as the pine cones squished with peanut butter and bird seed. We scattered, placing pine cones in trees branches and limbs and putting the colorful Christmas "decorations" on the pitiful pines. We did take one silly picture of ourselves wrapped in cranberries and popcorn (making ourselves look like Christmas trees). Giggling, playing and laughing, we achieved our goal for the trespass, to decorate for Christmas, to feed the birds.

And then I offered an open-eyed prayer. That's where you can look around and see all God's handiwork while the prayer is prayed. I thanked God for this magnificent land, for all that would happen here, for family and friends who would live here, sharing their lives and joy. As we concluded, we made our way back to the car and lunch in Nashville.

As we drove home in the evening, the sun setting spreading beautiful pinks across the sky, we were quiet, left to our own imagination and reflection. God with us.

Your voice speaks out
loud and clear.
A vision of your life
among us
resonates;
we feel your spirit.
A life with God,
faith connecting human beings,
draws people together.
We marvel in your presence,
celebrating the glory of it all.
Christmas.
A Son.
A Savior.
Love.

Eternally yours, Andrea

Friday, December 8, 2006

My dearest God,

Ann died yesterday. Peacefully. Cancer had eaten away her body. Her soul remained intact.

My daughter called me when it was over. "Mom, it was so beautiful." She told me. Jill had camped at the bedside for five days. Leaving only to shower and change clothes, she had stayed with Ann, stroking her hair, whispering her support and love.

Only days earlier Jill had called me, somewhat frantic. She was terrified at the prospect of being with someone while they were dying. She didn't want to be alone with a dead body. She was so afraid; yet, she wanted to be with her stepmother, her best friend, the one who lead Jill back to life a couple years ago. We talked; I assured her that this would be a very meaningful experience and that she would be okay.

When Jill arrived in Colorado, she had her work cut out for her. Having to deal with some strange situations, she took them one by one. Although Ann's husband, Jill's father, was present, Jill had been given the responsibility to make decisions for Ann. She had signed a paper giving Jill the authority, the power to do what she thought best.

"Mom, there is nothing in the world that could have prepared me for what I saw when I walked into Ann's room. She is skin and bones. Her eyes are sunken in her head." She relayed to me Ann's condition, how cancer had robbed her of her beauty.

Jill was right. Nothing can prepare you for a sight such as cancer. Yet, during the next few days Jill and I talked probably two dozen times. She would ask for my advice or share updates with me. Her handling of Ann's deteriorating health would become a matter of faith, love, sensitivity, and joy. Jill would find her own peace in the middle of Ann's transformation.

Jill will fly home tomorrow, having settled certain affairs. She and her family, my daughter from Ohio and I will gather and fly to Colorado together. We will spend about 36 hours, remembering Ann's life, sharing with the girls' father. I will lead the service. Ann will be cremated, her ashes sprinkled in the mountains and the Maine ocean.

We are sad. We wish Ann's life could have had more joy in it. We wish she could have taken hold of the truth of her own value to God. Perhaps at the end, she found her peace, discovering in the final moment that God had loved her from the beginning, in spite of her mistakes.

We will celebrate her life in style, recovering her losses with the good news. And Jill is one of those. These two women found their way home from addiction. They helped one another. Faith took them the distance. Truly, this is good news.

Loving God,
one of your children
returned home to you,
one of the beautiful ones.
A humble person
recognizes the great gifts
of God,
realizes the unworthiness
of the human soul,
yet receives with grace
the gift.
Ann found her way home
twice,
once on earth,
now in heaven.
We celebrate her life
and yours.

Eternally yours, Andrea

Thursday, December 7, 2006

Dearest God,

A third entry into heaven.

My time each morning in the basement of my home, in comfortable jammies writing and walking is a prized occasion. I find God amid my Christmas ornament-laden floor, books scattered all about, toys and boxes, papers and magazines. My treadmill is stuck between Fisher Price houses, Harold's mother's ancient couch, the cement wall, and an old table and chairs (sewing machine gathering dust on top). Yet in this messy room, God stirs.

I was walking on my treadmill, eyes closed, listening to Christmas music sung by children. As always I make an opening in my soul, an intentional space where God visits me. At first I see a dusky darkness, then light begins to enter and I feel an opening swell within me. Nothing else resides there at that moment, no clutter, just beautiful open space, foggy white with no top or bottom, sides, just openness. A welcoming scene for God.

A picture of Ann emerged. She is lying on her "dying" bed. The room is quiet. Her brother is at her right shoulder. He is resting. My daughter, Ann's daughter too (Ann is my daughter's stepmother) is asleep, her head laying on the bed at Ann's right hip. A few feet away is Bill, Ann's husband. He too is asleep. I see this picture in my soul.

Then suddenly, quietly, slowly Ann rises up. She is light, no heaviness. She smiles, a very big smile, a quiet smile. She is beautiful as she rises up. Her face is aglow as she looks forward. She moves from her bed toward her husband, then touches his right shoulder. Then she simply rises up while everyone sleeps. There is peace in the room. And Ann moves toward more peace. The scene ends and I thank God.

Later in the morning I called my daughter who is staying with Ann at the hospice center. I relay the vision to Jill. "Mom, please tell Ann." She begs me. "I'll put the phone next to her ear." Although Ann has been totally unresponsive I share the scene with her. I tell her how beautiful she is and how God loves her, how happy her face is as she rises up. Jill tells me Ann blinks her eyes.

Ann is laboring to enter heaven. Her physical body is shutting down; her spiritual body is finding its source to rise up. She has fought to stay behind, to live on earth these last two years. Just a thin layer of skin over a 5'9" frame and about 75 lbs now, she is not capable of remaining.
Joy, the eternal variety, will claim her and Ann will find the love she has sought all her life.

This picture, this scene, this vision or revelation is exquisite in detail. Joy lifting up out of sorrow and brokenness. Peace, silence. So quiet is this raising up that no one stirs. All is peace.

These momentary happenings are moving me toward Christmas. I cannot explain their drawing power, nor the ways in which they are particularly made manifest. I just know God in them, a quiet, peaceful, spontaneous event, brief, just enough to stir my spirit, showing me God, carrying me to the great event. I am ready, I am ready.

Living God,
all is aglow
when you are present.
Time temporarily takes a break.
No need to move on.
Quiet, silence,
peace is pervasive.
I am struck
by the majesty of it all.
My own soul is lifted up;
I too rise up,
to look forward,
to smile
with anticipation.
God is here,
no,
God is not "here";
I have entered heaven's realm.
God is the center
of this holy space;
I entry as if to visit briefly,
momentarily.
I am at peace with God.

Eternally yours, Andrea

Wednesday, December 6, 2006

My dear God,

The day started off beautifully. I did my writing, leaning toward God, listening. At 5:30 a.m. I decided to do a little shopping. (I don't like bustling crowds, well, maybe it's not the crowds, it's the shopping itself.) So I showered, dressed, picked up my lists and left the house, driving into the dark. I took a left turn out of the driveway. Gawking at the Christmas lights, I turned onto Northfield Drive.

Just a few yards away I saw all kinds of trucks, cars, and cement trucks on the road. I turned right into Calvary UMC. Workers were diligent as they mudded walls, swept away dry particles, hung doors, and talked on the phone. I parked in the circle drive and stepped inside the church I lovingly served for ten years. I was met by the superintendent.

During the next 15-20 minutes I walked around the sanctuary, behind the wall, beside the place they will hang the stained glass, under the crossbar where the wooden cross will hang. I was glad when my guide got a call so I could wander on my own.

The choir will sing, the preacher will preach, the ushers will escort people to their seats, hearts will overflow with the love of God, forgiveness and grace will be present together, persons will step forward into the arms of Christ, many will pray. These are people I have loved for a long time. Joy will spill forth as they gather for the first time on December 17, the time of new beginnings, new birth. I was standing in their holy space, God present. I smiled as I took each step.

When the superintendent got off the phone, he joined me once again, taking me through the fellowship hall, narthex, and offices. "When I was young, I never dreamed I would build churches," he told me. "God had a bigger plan for you." I replied. I told him how my husband had envisioned this church and all the pain and conflict that resulted when the church building took 10 years to sell, how it was all worth it, how God's plan had unfolded in due time. I clasped his hand, thanking him for being part of God's plan. We smiled together, wishing one another a blessed Christmas.

The sun was rising from its sleep as I pulled out of the driveway and drove to Wal-Mart, the sight of my shopping. Through empty aisles, I selected the gifts from my list, placing each one in my cart. Then I bought three shoebox size plastic containers and all sorts of dry beverages, nuts, candy, chips for grandchildren in their first year of college. As I drove away, children's voices sang out their Christmas cheer on the CD.

I had seen God this morning, in my basement, at the new church, in the dawning of a new day, at Wal-Mart. Just as it should be.

Your presence awakens me
each morning.
I discover you have been with me
throughout the long night.
A new day
to walk with you,
to see the sights of faith,
love revealed,
joy in the sunrise,
another beginning.

Love always and forever, Andrea

Tuesday, December 5, 2006

Dear God,

It's 20 days before Christmas. A couple weeks ago I grabbed up all my stuffed Frosties. I carefully placed each one on the mantle, larger ones holding small or tiny ones. Some Frosties sit on the mantle, their cloth legs dangling over the side. Some lean against a partner. Today I got up early, putting tiny white lights in and around them. Lights hang over the side edges. When the snow falls, I'll be able to see it from the windows on both sides of the fireplace. Picturesque.

I'm a dreamer, a visionary. I can see in my mind how something will look. After arranging items, I stand back, thoroughly enjoying the beauty of my own creation. (I'm not the best arranger, but I take pleasure in the process)

I have gathered my Christmas ornaments and decor to carry upstairs, cleaning up the littered floor where I sorted and cleaned out things a few weeks ago. I will set them about, all over the house. I will put up the tree, then put each ornament in place. But before that, I will snow my tree. Those blue cans of artificial snow are so fun to use. I imagine putting up a tree that is a snowy fir; the genius is that it stays for weeks, no melting. Before long my home will be transformed into an enchanted lodging where Santa will arrive with gifts for the tree. (I'm also a romantic)

Each day I will watch the weather report, listening for the moment when real snow will fall, bedecking the landscape. I will pour a cup of hot chocolate, put on the Christmas music, and carry my Christmas novel to the living room by the window so I can take in the magic.

Christmas is my favorite time of the year. I pull out all my Christmas pjs, wearing them only in the months of November, December, and January. My Christmas socks find a special place beneath my jeans when I shop. I have a Christmas sweatshirt and a sweater as well as a couple of turtle necks shirts, one with poinsettias and the other of Frosties. It's so much fun "playing" in the spirit during these days.

But while I am making merry, my heart extends outward to others, inward to God. Holding hands in and out, with God and friends, neighbors and strangers, family I keep perspective on the season, on the real reason for the joy. The quiet entry of Christ, the living God who will visit me, reminding me of my dependence, the true source of my happiness, faith that gives meaning to my existence, love that knows no bounds. I remember the decision of God to send a man in the flesh to save my pitiful soul, and others. I recall my purpose.

This is my 60th year to prepare for the blessed event. With my life's difficulties, health concerns, losses and grief, I bring to mind that the one constancy has been the presence of God. In and out of season God is with me, with all of us. My intentional preparation will make me ready to greet the Savior. I will savor every single moment, giving heartfelt thanks. I will hold onto the memory, cherish it, then prepare to offer it to others, a gift too precious and holy to contain. I will give it away again and again, and it will return one more time. Jesus.

Awesome God of Everlasting,
you arouse my sense of mystery
as I prepare my home for Christmas.
The sparkle, the lights,
the embellishing love
fills the air
and I am taken in
once again.
I love the thrill of waiting on you
to be revealed in the hidden,
in the holy,
and the forgotten.
The discoveries are the
true gifts of Christmas.
My joy cannot be contained;
neither can yours.
My love grows like a seed
in warm weather,
watered with hope and faith,
watching daily,
checking the progress.
The season of Advent,
watching and waiting,
waiting and watching.
I am yours.
May I be your gift?

Eternally yours, Andrea

Monday, December 4, 2006

Dearest God,

"Hi, Andrea..." her frail voice trailed off. Ann was sitting near her bed as the phone was placed to her ear. "Hi, Ann. I've been thinking of you daily and praying even more often." Her weak voice thanked me as I continued to talk about her death.

Ann is afraid. She thinks that her behaviors in the 1970's has her stuck somewhere between heaven and hell. Caught up in drugs and disease, Ann is dying with cancer. Now spread over her whole body, Ann weighs about 90 lbs. Diagnosed two years ago with liver cancer, Ann was given six to twelve months to live. She's been through every experimental trial. Nothing more can be done. She is a breath from heaven.

Recognizing that this was our last conversation, I spoke with conviction. "Ann, you will travel into a great light. The light will be so warm and inviting that you will forget your fear. You'll be given a dazzling white gown. You'll be so beautiful. God loves you so very much." "I hope so," was all she was able to mutter.

Months ago Ann and I discussed her dying wishes. I will fly to Colorado to do her memorial service. Then following the service I will carry her ashes with me to Indiana. When the winter frost passes, I will fly to Maine. I will drive to my home, don my white dance clothing, then make my way down the coast to York, an ocean town. There I will stand at the ocean edge. I will dance to the heavenly tune, then scatter Ann's ashes. I will pray and sing, accompanied only by the ocean's rhythmic band.

Ann is my former husband's third wife. Although she has never lived in Indiana and I have only actually been with Ann a handful of times, I liked her immediately and she was struck by the fact that two wives of the same husband could get along. She once asked how I would feel about sharing my children. I told her I would be delighted to share my children with her. She was so pleased because she was never able to conceive.

Now she lay dying. Ann's never felt worthy. She has allowed her past to shadow the good God wanted to give her. She could never imagine a true picture of joy for herself. I think she believes that her wild actions in her youth caused her cancer. I've tried to tell her that that's not the way it works. I have made a few strides; I can only pray that she will discover the peace that awaits her.

More than a year ago I tried to get Ann to fly with my daughter and me to Maine, to drive to York, to dance and sing and pray and laugh, to return to a place she only traveled once, yet made such a great impression. When she was able to imagine the experience, she was so happy and said we would do it. But she could never leave her doctors; thus she never lived the experience. In her mind she always hoped. That's why I'm going for her, carrying her with me to her ashes' final resting place.

I'm not sure why
you select me for
such glorious work,
dear God.
I have done nothing
to deserve
magnificent moments with you.
Yet,
they come my way.
Ann and I will dance
along the wide expanse
of ocean shore.
I'll mingle my joy
with sorrow,
a life cut short,
too soon.
I'll dance heaven's dance
and sing heaven's song.
I'll give back to God
the dust of Ann's life,
a body filled with cancer,
burned, purified,
ready for earth's embrace.
Her soul will watch,
captured by the greatest love
she has ever known.
Joy will meet joy,
hers, mine and God's.
The final frontier.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, December 3, 2006

Dearest God,

My second entry into heaven came at a card game. My husband and I had been invited to a church member's home for a Euchre party and dinner.

When we arrived at our destination, Christmas lights twinkled outside. We were warmly welcomed. We gathered with the party of eight out onto the addition to their home, a spacious glassed-in room that looked out over a several acre woods. Christmas music played from a laptop computer located on top of the white upright piano.

We spent our time talking, sharing and laughing. After we had filled ourselves on soda, cheese and crackers, we moved to the kitchen for the specialty of the evening - chili with rosemary. Delightfully enjoying one another's company, I finished my soup, then ascended the steps to go to the bathroom. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I could hear the hilarity carrying on in the kitchen. So much fun being had by everyone.

But I was drawn by another sound. As I descended the steps, I moved through the living room to the open room where we had enjoyed hors d'oeuvres. A children's choir sang. The sound of angels filled the room. Tears formed in my eyes. I sat down in the brown lounge chair. I closed my eyes, allowing all my senses to take in the music. Beauty filled every pore. I was alone in the sacred space. Yes, I could hear my friends in the other room. But they were far away. Or better yet, I was far away, distant from where I was. I entered the inner sanctum, home to saints and angels; I listened with my whole heart. I felt a sweet union, of God, angels, and myself. The boys choir sang and I heard their call to God.

Within minutes another voice broke in, "Andrea..." One of our party saw me sitting alone. My silence was broken. It was okay. I had followed the call, the sound of angel voices. When I stood to look at the CD, I saw that the song that had been playing was from Norway. In English it was "I am So Happy on Christmas Eve." I smiled, one of those smiles that comes from deep within. I have focused on Christmas Eve, that mystical night as the time I want to hear the angels sing. I want to hear the baby's cry, run like the shepherds, following a light that brightens the night skies. I want to see Christ.

I had experienced a portent to that evening, a timeless experience with God. Ready, open, aware. Entries into heaven during Advent. Moments with the Divine.

You await my readiness
to discover you.
You reveal yourself to me;
the Great mystery.
In brief moments,
unexpected,
I hear the sounds of the Sacred.
My great desire
is fulfilled
as I stumble into your existence,
amazed,
awed,
God in the silence.
I love you.

Forever yours, Andrea

Saturday, December 2, 2006

Dearest God,

I drove home in the dark last night, intermittent snow flurries revealed in my headlights. I had played with my grandchildren (babysitting doesn't sound right) while their parents had a night out. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my six year old granddaughter beside me. Even though it was 9:30 p.m. when the parents arrived home, I was plenty sleepy.

I left their house about 10:15 p.m. The car was cold; I had forgotten my hat, gloves and scarf. The instrumental Christmas music played as the car ignition turned over. I started out, fog on the windows.

The twenty minute drive was scenic. Colorful Christmas lights glowed in yards, on pine trees and inside cozy home windows. In the stillness of the hour coupled with the seasonal music and snow, my mind wandered as I imagined the biblical writer who talked about light in the darkness. When the light penetrates deep darkness, there really is an amazing beauty, almost mystical, magical. As much as one may gaze straight into the light, it's like you can never reach its deepest source. Your eyes want to follow into eternity.

I felt a feeling of calm, like the calm of "Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright..." The calm the composer speaks of is not the absence of anxiety, noise, or people, it is the calm of God, the loving presence, the light in the darkness, the heavenly sound. Although the homes may have had tv's blaring, children crying, husbands snoring, outside it was calm and peaceful. The lights, blue, red, green, yellow, and white (I love the white ones best) lulled me into thinking that all was well with the world. Something symbolic speaks when people decorate their homes with the festive lights of the season. I receive something much more.

I have said it in my letters to you and in brief conversations with others that I want to hear the angels sing this Christmas. Last night the calm was a first entry into heaven.

Quiet solitude.
Darkness.
Tiny, white twinkling lights.
Silent night,
holy night.
All is indeed calm.
And yes, all is bright.
God is present,
on the streets,
in the homes
and in my car.
For a brief moment,
perhaps a very brief moment
all IS
well with the world.

Love always, Andrea