Friday, January 12, 2007

Dearest God,

Gray days, misty rain, and sinus infections go together. Lounging in my winter pjs has felt so comfortable. A long, warm robe and a book in hand has been my modus operandi all week. Fatigue, headache, sinus face pain, yucky drainage, cough, watery eyes and dry mouth have kept me in bed, on the couch or in the rocking chair.

In the quiet of each day I feel like a little girl, snuggling, keeping warm, drinking lots of water, juice and hot beverages. I'm doing what the doctor says to do. I will get better; I will recover. Before my renewal I simply kept going until I wiped out my last bit of energy, then I crashed and burned. And probably I gave my "yuck" to others around me. This time around I realize my own value. I have only one body to count on. Drag this one down, and I'm bound to fall.

It took decades for me to believe in myself. Recently at the church there was a criticism of me. "She thinks too highly of herself." At first I felt offended, hurt, disappointed. Then I realized that I have come up in the world. I find value in myself, not the puffed up variety, just a valuing of myself as a credible human being. It feels good. Maybe the person saw this new value and mistook it for conceit or arrogance. I suppose there is a fine line. I hope I will hover on the "right" side.

I am allowing silence to take care of me. Silence is a quiet space where spirit winds blow, where God dwells, speaking to his children, one at a time. It is a rest station where the soul does not have to be afraid, to be "on" and working. Silence is a healer, a God spot where body, mind, soul, spirit, emotions relax, taking in the balm of Gilead. Silence is beautiful, a welcome change from the usual patterns of life. There is a part of the soul that comes to life in silence. It relishes the attention that comes when everything else shuts down or at least takes a hiatus. It reminds me of the valley of dry bones when the spirit begins to stir. Normally, this part of the human experience lays dormant, for some never coming to life. But for the wise, the discerning this is where real life takes place, where ideas emerge, where the spirit grows, where the soul relinquishes itself to God. Silence is a dance, partners coming to life like in the movie Awakenings and they wander into each other, take hold, follow. Inner joy and contentment live here, no rushing, pushing, demanding. Luxurious moments for two, God and me.

Illness is a breaking down of bodily systems. It's a warning signal that something's not right. It's a call to care, a time to stop, look and listen. Getting well is not just about the return of equilibrium. It is an intimate meeting of God and God's own, a reallocation of energy, space and time, of love, peace, hope. When these merge, there is potential for something great, even if it means just falling backwards into God's arms and finding a large cushion set to take the impact. These cherished moments are to be savored, remembering again God's attention to our need.

And so I've been resting in big arms, hearing a voice say, "Child, I've got you."

No moment is alone without you.
A child who rests in this knowledge
is one who knows
the way to God's own self.
The path is a good one,
lighted,
particles of the spirit
left behind to follow.
My own footprints
are evidence
of this dance I spoke of.
I follow
and the dance begins.
No great moves or gestures,
just gentle steps
in the arms
of the Loved One.

Always, Andrea