Thursday, March 1, 2007

My dearest God,

I never made it to the office today.

Cindy couldn't make it to the covenant group this morning. She is caring for her husband who had eye surgery. So Bill and I met. There was a candle but no matches. Odd.

Following our period of silence I prayed. Then I raised questions about our covenant. Something had been gnawing at me. That started a meaningful conversation. We were honest. Bill brought real clarity and I appreciated his leadership. It's time for a "dusting off", taking a new look at who we are, what we do. But more than that, we feel a need to look at God's dream for us. Without a spark of light, we had to rely on God to spark the light within us. I felt led. I think Bill did too. As we worshipped at mass, the word "covenant" appeared in our singing. Yes, God is leading.

I headed for the office, even got to the parking lot. My cell rang. A man had just returned home after a month of caring for an ailing family member. He wanted to talk. And what a conversation. At the same time a miracle was taking place at the church, he was living his own, he told me. It was so specific. He had given God the perimeter conditions for his own healing. A pretty tight box. But God entered in a way so sweet that he was swept off his feet before he knew he was going down. Thirty minutes later we hung up and I drove out of the parking lot.

I met Robbie for lunch. Robbie? I really need to call him Rob. After all, he is in his 30's. But to me he will always be Robbie. He was in my youth group 24 years ago. Received a dramatic call to ministry at the Junior High Retreat I lead at Camp Barbee. Rob was in the eighth grade at the time. I remember it well.

The retreat had gone very well. After worship we packed up to leave. Kids were throwing a few last snowballs at leaders and friends before climbing into the cars. When I counted to make sure we had everyone, one was missing. Robbie.

I went into the house and called his name. Nothing. I moved upstairs in the big house we used as our retreat center. "Robbie? Robbie?" I peered into one of the bedrooms. Robbie was lying down on a top bunk. Gazing at the ceiling, I asked if he was okay. "Something happened to me. God has called me to do something." He said, obviously very puzzled. I stayed upstairs as we talked. I could see it in his eyes. God was looking back at me. I knew Robbie would make good on God's promise in his life.

Today he is a senior associate pastor being groomed to take over the leadership of a large non-denominational church. Moving toward 1,000 in worship. He sat across from me at Mark Pi's. I watched his eyes dance as he talked about ministry, family, faith. I looked at pictures of his family, a newspaper article displaying his picture at their Saturday Night at 5:20 service. A son in faith. I am proud, humbled.

Then I drove from the northside to the southside to visit a man recovering from cancer surgery. I found his home. Surrounded by historical papers in every room, he talked about being in WWII. In the Signal Corps. Funny thing as he talked I felt the presence of my father. Tears began to form in my eyes. I was grateful for the dim light. He handed me a copy of Stars and Stripes, a newspaper written by journalists during the war. He was proud to give me my own copy. I prayed for him and his lady friend, who is also suffering with maladies. We three hugged one another.

Driving home I got a call. Donna wanted me to come to a meeting later at her home but I had planned to participate in a Lenten study. I agreed to meet with them. I was home only ten minutes before I had to leave. My beaming husband gave me an account of his misdeeds during the day. So proud he was to create chaos where he had been. (Hopeless case!)

I sat at Donna's table, dining on lasagne with six others. Questions were raised. Doubt was expressed. Old frustration. But something happened. I think when someone entered the house, door open, the wind of the Spirit whooshed in. As we talked and talked things shifted. Seven tired folk became enthusiastic, excited. The direction of the conversation changed. New ideas emerged like welcome clouds on a dry day. By the time we stood to leave, we had a new plan, greater energy, hope. A new day for our kids and maybe even our adults. That's part of the plan. We bid one another goodbye three hours after we said hello.

I crawled into bed at 10:00 p.m. having begun my day at 5:00 a.m. I reflected upon the hours, a day in the life of a pastor, a day with God. I had seen him in the skies on the way to the monastery in the early morning hours, witnessed him in my colleague and in the harmonious singing in the mass, heard his voice on my cell phone while parked in the parking lot, felt him as I ate Chinese food with my Christian son in faith, experienced him in an old soldier's darkly lighted home, in the crazy antics of my spouse, at the table of a member. He gently closed my eyes and gave me rest.

We traveled together
yesterday,
didn't we Lord!
We spoke and sang,
listened, and remained silent.
We gazed into the universe
and the eyes of the beloved.
We dined,
not once,
but twice.
Holy communion,
sacred meals.
In the car
you opened my ears
to the strange humming of angels.
You were closer
than my breath.
The light,
with no matches,
shone all day.
What can I say?

Eternally yours forever and ever, Andrea