Sunday, April 29, 2007

Dearest God,

Forty five children came to our Sunday morning programming at church today. Sixty are registered. Probably not more than a dozen or more children have been showing up for Sunday School the last few months. A dying program. But Catch the Spirit is "catching on" and the enthusiasm was great! New life, like a new blade of grass popping its head through the soil, is rising up in our church. A church in a transitional township is finding a new wealth of passion, hope, excitement. God is very present.

People came early. Children, workers, parents gathered early to prepare, to get ready for our new program, a new experience with Jesus. Wow!

I find myself in sweet contentment as I see what you are doing all around me. I remember when I first came to the church in 2000. It took a long time to really understand where the church was. We had some hard work to do, some painful work. But together we trudged through our pain. We suffered and grieved. But we came through it together. And then we began a new work of recreating ourselves. When Jesus said, ..."the old creation is gone; you are a new creation," he was describing our church. We are a new creation; the old is passing away."

No work, no idea arises idly out of our own minds. God is planting seeds, then finding the workers, giving us the joy. As I look forward into the future when the church and I will diverge on different paths, I will celebrate our time together. But more importantly I will give praise to you, especially for the time of our suffering, because in it we have found a new way, a better way. "Unless a grain of wheat falls and dies..."

So much is happening. Your favor has come upon us. This is our time in the light, your timing for us. We could not get here without you. You are leading and we are following. Joy overflows.

In the stillness
I hear your sweet voice.
I know this voice
of the Master.
I feel the gentle breeze
of Your Spirit,
blowing upon us.
We are in your center,
looking around,
amazed as we gaze
about in your heavenly presence.
How can we bring enough praise
to you?
How can we adequately
glorify your name?
How can we sing enough songs,
dance enough dances,
stay in silence enough
to offer you
our humble thanks?
You are our God!
And with everything
that we are,
and everything we have,
we offer ourselves
to you in faith, love, and joy.

Gratefully yours, Andrea

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Dearest God,

A television blares, Musak plays all in the same room as I write here in the motel lobby. People sit feet away eating their continental breakfast. Other persons gather at the front desk to check out. Life is happening as I share my most intimate thoughts with you.

There is something uniquely beautiful about writing to you in different settings. I thought about bringing my own laptop, but stopped short of bringing it. I want to encounter your presence in ordinary places.

In the universe I could dance this morning as I think about your presence in high and low places, among the wealthy and the not-so wealthy, among people of all color and culture. In my little spot here in the corner with an Autumn picture of a forested water scene on the wall above me, my thoughts are of you only. You are to be found anywhere, everywhere. Any place can be the site of your revealed presence. I believe I will ride with you from Kentucky to Indiana. You and I will talk, hopefully I will spend more time listening than talking.

I have needed this time away, although it has been hectic. Getting lost, wedding rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, late night going to bed, breakfast, preparing a bulletin, a bride's luncheon, foot massage and pedicure for my friend Susan, wedding preparation, wedding and reception, with work on the treadmill this morning, packing and preparing to go home, breakfast with Zac, friend to Steve and a member of my former church. Aah! But it has felt good to have a break from the ever-growing work of ministry. All good, just lots of good!

I began my second blog with an ever growing interest in discovering God in the ordinariness of life. I realize more and more that God is discerned more easily in ordinary daily living than hunting for God in great big ways, big events, high mountain top experiences. Learning to find God in simple ways is far more rewarding than expecting an annual giant moving experience, like going on vacation with God for a few days once a year. When you and I find each other daily, life is sweeter. I don't have to wait a long time in between "visits."

Like St. Paul I am content to be in God's space every day.

Simple things
are my pathway
to you.
A sunset,
a grandchild's laughter,
a choir singing,
two people helping one another,
an unselfish act,
a spontaneous dance,
an insight,
a candle burning,
hope rising out of ashes,
a turning back,
trust
lead me to You.
Wondrous
and revealing.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, April 27, 2007

Dear God,

I needed a United Methodist hymnal. So I had to go searching for a United Methodist Church. When I was lost coming to the small town of Lebanon, Kentucky, population 3,000, I had driven by an Assembly of God Church, a Christian Church, a Church of Latter Day Saints, and a United Methodist Church, but where any church was, who could remember. I have problems with direction!

I started driving and lo and behold, I found it. I walked into the office area where a man in shorts sat typing on the computer. I identified myself as a UMC pastor and he stood up and greeted me in his Kentucky drawl, "Sister, welcome. I am happy to help you." Pastor of the church he lead me upstairs into the 1930's Akron-style sanctuary. A gigantic stained glass resurrection window rose high above the back of the sanctuary. Reds, golds, yellows, and blues cried out, "He is risen. He is risen indeed!"

Handing me a hymnal he urged me to stay as long as I wanted. "God bless your ministry, Sister." He said to me as I sat in the front pew. Then he turned and left me alone. For several minutes I sat quietly taking in the beauty of God's sanctuary. I prayed for Darren, the pastor, and the ministry of their church.

Then I took out my legal pad and started writing, leafing through the hymnal to select hymns for the Sunday morning bulletin. I hadn't had time to complete the bulletin before I left for the wedding.

As I wrote down everything I needed, I sat back once again to drink in God's own house. It was then that the realization came to me. There's always a church close by to help out. I can enter any church and ask for prayer, get directions, use the bathroom, talk to a pastor, cry, or use a hymnal. I felt comforted in that knowledge and knew that the church was there not only for me but anyone who needed it. That's why the church exists, to meet people where they are, to usher them into your holy presence, to stir their hearts, to challenge their souls, to peak their interest in a loving God, and to direct them into holy living.

I prayed once againfor Pastor Darren and his congregation and gave thanks for the ministry they offer to those who enter through their doors. This could be my church, I thought, I could worship here and find God. Every few blocks in any town a church sits waiting for pilgrims, seekers to sit with God, to lead them to a more joyous life, to give them sight of peace and hope.

Hours later I stood in the chancel of St. Augustine's Catholic Church. Packed with people who had gathered to celebrate the union of Steve and Dana, the priest Father Chuck and I bowed at the altar, then climbed the steps to stand before it. We then turned to look out among the faithful. What a grand sanctuary, Mary poised high above on the right side, Joseph on the left, Jesus behind us. A trumpet sounded with the organ. It could have been heaven. In fact it was heaven at that moment. I closed my eyes and smiled as I prayed, giving thanks for your presence.

We were Protestants and Catholics together, worshipping. Steve, United Methodist, Dana Roman Catholic were bringing their faith together in the liturgy of the church. My message to them, to all gathered, was one of unity and responsibility "to bring an example of living faith to a world fractured by conflict."

As we moved once again to the altar to declare this union I looked into Steve's eyes remembering his confirmation years ago. And just over his shoulder I could see his mother, my beloved former covenant group member Susan, tears streaming down her face and I realized I was in your loving presence. Paradise.

Anywhere, anytime
can be a wondrous occasion
in your presence.
"Where two or three
are gathered,
there you are
in the midst."
The gospel writer wrote.
It is true.
You are present
and the reality
of faith
is once again observed,
a tangible moment
in time,
a magnificent moment
where God
and God's people
stand together.

Humbly, Andrea

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Dear God,

I found Spring yesterday. On the drive to Kentucky, I gazed at lush green rolling hills, magnificent colored tulips, and pink and white flowering trees. Puffy white clouds dotted the blue sky, except when the rain clouds passed over. Highways carved through rock hewn hills took my breath away. But it was when I got lost that I met the Great Artist painting a spectacular rainbow of red, yellow, blue and green. Arched over the rolling hills, I couldn't keep my eyes on the road. Spring was rolled up all in one. I kept whispering, "Oh, my God, my God."

Sometimes I am blind; I simply can't see. Oh, I can see, my eyes do work, but the images do not stop me in my tracks. My senses are dulled when I am too busy to look, to witness life's great and wondrous mysteries. I miss so much.

The drive to Kentucky revived my ability to see. And how grateful I was, am. I will make the return trip and witness it all over again. Perhaps I'm a hard core case and I need things in doubles in order to get the point. I get it; I get it!

Allow my eyes
to open constantly
to the beauty of your grace.
Make me to breathe
the air of expectancy.
Help me to prioritize,
prioritize, prioritize
so that I will see exactly
what you want me to see.
Forgive me
when I grow numb
to your presence.
If life is filled with anything,
it is filled
with your great love.
I desire nothing more.
Master Artist,
all you paint
is wondrous.
May I see
and give praise.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Dear God,

I am missing Spring. I think I have missed most Springs. I am usually so busy during Spring that I miss the new life that is cropping up here, there, and everywhere. When I do take a minute, I realize that I missed the birth of a purple tulip, the opening of a star magnolia, a water lilly poking out of the water. When they do catch my eye, I feel sad having missing the best part of nature. I didn't even know that the tree in my contemplative garden had blossomed. When I noticed it today, some of the blossoms had already withered and died.

I am filling up my life again. Whether at work (which is pretty overwhelming itself), inside the house (new carpet, oiling wood that is cracking) or tending to the garden which is crying out to me for attention either to show me its beauty or pointing out its weeds, I am filling up my life. I don't like it one bit. And today I leave for Kentucky for three days to do a wedding and rehearsal. By the time I return I will only have time for sermon preparation, then Sunday will emerge once again.

This is an old pattern. It begins late winter and moves into Spring. I designed my contemplative garden with all its array of flowers, bushes, trees, pond, and ornamentation and I miss its unfolding in the Spring.

Today as I drive down the highway keeping my eyes on the road, my mind will be thinking about Spring and what it has to offer and what I can do about my present predicament.

Your gentle reminder,
a flowering tree
just beyond my window
call me to stop.
Stop and think.
Evaluate.
Examine.
Hello, soul,
you in there?
What do you think
about this old pattern?
If you don't like it,
what do you intend
to do about it?
You're in charge
of your own life.
Your own words to me,
dear Lord,
your loving words gracing me
to stop the old pattern,
think new,
and reflect
upon what is presently present.
Please help me drink in
your beauty today.
My heart gives thanks.

Thanks for loving me when I do stupid things, Andrea

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Dearest God,

Courage comes from a sense of well being, a real trust in God. Women's Sunday is scheduled for May 6. The women of our church will lead our worship service. Traditionally lay women share in place of the pastoral sermon. Persuading women to speak is not easy, especially when they are afraid of speaking in public.

The name of a woman came to mind. She can do it, my small voice told me. When I called her, she almost immediately said yes. "I will do it if you can help me." She told me. "Sure!" I affirmed her.

This woman's story is not her own story. It is your story working within her. A life of abuse has become a life of power, spiritual power. Overcoming, conquering the pain of the past, she has risen up like the first flower of Spring bursts forth from the hard-crusted winter soil. She is now ready to tell your story.

Courage has given birth in this woman. She has reached for this power and found it accessible. Your hand has given it to her. Like a new outfit she is trying on this newfound power because she believes God has the power to transform human lives. She has seen your face, felt your hand upon her life. Just days ago she realized for the first time that you were with her all during the early sorrowful years. She has a new strength about her.

Giving birth is hard labor. At times you want to hold back, stop the whole process. You want to stop all the pain. You want to scream and shout, "It hurts too much. Give me something for the pain." Sometimes you just want to be numbed out. Forget it. Stay where you are. But the baby keeps coming. Something natural inside is at work, pushing, prodding, giving way, releasing. Suddenly after a seemingly long time you begin to work with it, a natural rhythm of give and take, breathing and pushing, working with it, allowing it to happen. And then out of nowhere, the child is born, taking a deep breath of Spirit air, hollering out, "I'm here, I'm here, no longer invisible." Sweat, blood, and tears come together in faith and new life comes forth.

There is a well of joy that follows a new birth. Arising out of the ashes it cries out in rich happiness. A cleansing of the soul takes place as new life is emerging. God is being birthed.

You are the power,
the only power of the Spirit.
You enter our lives
at the beginning,
giving us all we need
to give birth.
You are the coach
reminding us that
we can do it.
You show signs
of your presence
and tell us
we are not alone.
You are the midwife
who works gently
beside us.
A natural flow
of loving energy
guides us
in the birthing process.
Courage is born.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, April 23, 2007

Dear God,

I entered a new phase of my spiritual life. Always before I have carried with me a personal burden to retreat, some part of my self discordant with other parts. Perhaps a loss, a grief, a disappointment, anger or resentment. But this time it was different.

When I engaged in my Covenant Retreat two weeks ago, I felt a quiet calm in my soul. Yes, there was the troubling art card that drew me among many other beautiful cards...self-assured women beside water (living water I thought), confident women, beautiful women, one woman on each card. Colorful, full of life, and peace. The one card drew my attention to my sharp edge, another card with scissors reinforced it.

I did carry one unresolved issue. The art cards pointed that out to me. No, actually God raised the issue. I worked on it with my covenant group. With a better perspective I brought it with me to the women's retreat. On Saturday you raised the issue again. In my face I needed to address it. By grace only I wove the woman and her two brothers into the sacred weaving we were making. I didn't have to...yes, I did. But I wanted to. I wanted to weave them deeper in faith and love into my life. They are already in God's divine design.

By Sunday morning I felt free of the burden. In my prayers that night I named them as I always do and I did not feel that anger, bitterness, or resentment. I tested myself. I named the woman several times and I felt the calm of living water. I prayed today too and the same thing happened.

The test will be the living out. I do feel I have moved from a position I have held for some time. Forgiveness and grace are the next steps. Forgiveness and grace. The second hardest part. I want to forgive because I want a clean heart. I don't want to carry dark smudges on my soul. How can I feel at peace before God if I am carrying resentment and bitterness?

I know you have great power, dear God. I also know you give me the power to be transformed, to change myself. If I don't like the skin I am in, how can I feel good beside you? And so I have changed the look of my mind and soul. I like this look much better.

During a call yesterday someone said to me, "I told my husband he was treating me like _____ but I was not going to return evil for evil. I was still going to be nice to him, even though he is treating me poorly. 'My own change in attitude toward you will not change.'" She told him. I thought about her words as it pertained to my own situation. I realize this needs to be my modus operandi as well. I am going to wear this one and pray for strength.

It's Spring; new life is popping out all over the place. I hope my new life will show as well.

Your grace
is all I need.
Trusting in you
for a very difficult situation
is all I need
to heal, walk forward.
Perhaps my own healing
will lead to the healing
of others.
But I cannot stake my own healing
on the healing of others.
They will have to make
their own decision
about wholeness.
I have to leave
that up to you,
Great God.
My heart is grateful
for the sudden shift
in my own soul.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, April 22, 2007

My dearest God,

Sometimes you just have to return to your roots to remember who you are. Following the retreat I visited the graves of my parents and grandparents. I knelt by Mother and Daddy's grave, moving my fingers across their names etched in marble. Tears suddenly welled in my eyes. How can they be gone, I wondered in my mind. How can they really be gone? Not so long ago we sat as a family at the old harvest table, laughing, eating, and playing cards. Mother died seven years ago. Daddy four. I wished I had brought flowers. Didn't think of it. I will the next time.

Then I went over to Grandpa and Grandma's plot. Again I knelt down, touching the stone, the names. You've been gone so long, I told Grandma. Twenty five years. Two days ago during a spiritual exercise I wrote about your faith, how it helped give shape to my own. You still live inside me.

Violets grow on my farmer grandparents's small piece of ground in the tiny cemetery. Fitting. Grandma grew flowers, the old fashioned kind, peonies, iris, lily of the valley.

Driving away I realized once again where I came from, who nourished, nurtured, and taught me. My tears dried up as I savored the memories of my past. On this gorgeous sunshiny day I breathed in the air of the present, acknowledging that someday I'll return here to stay.

Life is filled
with experiences
of highs and lows.
Beautiful memories
of your loving presence.
Past, present and future
live together
bringing peace, joy
and contentment.
I give thanks for them all,
for in the past and present,
I see you so clearly,
in the mountain tops
and in the deepest valleys
where I have visited often.
And because I know you
wherever I am
I am confident
I will see you in my future.
I am blessed.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, April 21, 2007

My dear God,

The manifestations of your presence go beyond the thinkable. I have seen miracles. A life without direction now knows exactly where she is headed. Another with a bitter past of abuse now stands clean and powerful, the chains broken forever. One without a sense of creative talent now dreams dreams.

A holy place, the site of God's own leading, can become home to miracles anytime. On this ground once stood a girls' school. Teenage girls walked these grounds and found God. They became nurses, teachers, leaders. And now spiritual pilgrims gather searching for clues to life's greatest questions. On the way they stumble into God.

A calling to lead a national workshop, a calling to publish, a calling to tell the story of God in her life happened here. Women seated firmly in God's hands have said yes to the call. Literally "mine eyes have seen the glory of the Lord."

On this retreat we've been weaving a spiritual web of unfinished lives looking to God for the rest of their story. One woman weaver wove a painful experience into the web, capturing for always a life undone by suffering. Another selected a sacred thread of those least likely to feel the sacred hand of God upon them. She asked me to weave for her, a variegated thread representing a tormented family. I wove them into the arm bars of a solid brown cross I had woven earlier. At rest in the arms of God, finally.

Today I came to realize more fully the power of ministry. Servants of God working together to cleanse, guide, lead, enable, empower persons to find God, following His footprints, etching their own place in history. The sacred sounds of joyous hope ring through the halls. I selected a beautiful golden thread to weave ministry into our tapestry.

My life has made a difference. By your faithful guidance I have opened doors to the sacred. Many have walked through, found their own way. They have allowed me to walk beside them, witnessing the majesty of God's intervention, God's incredible love, God's peace. Strong, resilient, determined they walk into the light ready to bring change into the world.

At age 60 I know I am fulfilling your purpose for my life.

Thank you
for allowing me to partner
with you.
The glories of your power
are visible
to those whose eyes
are open.
I am humbled
by your trust
in me.
As I walk
in this autumn time
of my life,
I pray your will
will be done in my life.
Make my heart,
my soul, spirit and mind
ready to praise
any day, all day.

Love, Andrea

Friday, April 20, 2007

My dearest God,

As I prepared for my renewal leave, I purchased a laptop computer to use for my writing. At the last minute I realized my space was limited and the computer, although one of the lightest on the market, (which is why I bought it) was still too heavy. I left it behind.

As I write this letter to you, I recognize why I did not carry my computer with me. I know now what you had in mind. I had to search for places in which to write. Just like I searched for signs of your presence, so did I have to look for ways to communicate with you. I had to visit unlikely places in order to have a computer on which to write. Bars, coffee shops, hotel lobbies, libraries, restaurants, Internet cafes, basements all became sites of your presence. In the daily living of ordinary people, I discovered you.

Even a smoke-filled bar became a place where I found you sitting beside me. I heard the sounds of Italian persons singing, talking, laughing with one another. I had no idea what they were saying; I just know it was a friendly place where God lived. Writing in a cold basement lead me to a conversation with persons who were traveling around the world. Trying to get online in an African business office taught me patience; life is not instant at least technologically in Africa. Sitting in front of a computer in a very small lobby in Paris showed me how life is lived through the eyes of a front desk clerk. Life is not always easy, especially with demanding Americans.

You wanted me to see life from a different perspective. A quiet moment of writing became a learning experience...every day. The people around me became part of me, had something to do with what I was writing about. Their reality became part of mine.

Today I'm writing from a library in my hometown of Tipton. Sitting in the back corner of the computer room, I look around to see people who are generations away from the generation of children I grew up with here. I'm sure some are related. I'm blown away by the genius of your spirit who puts me in places that take me back home.

And home is where I find you, every time. Home is wherever I find myself and discover your presence. I'm home here. I'm home at home. I'm home now and in this place. Grateful.

How is it
that I always
wind up at home?
Even when I am away?
Perhaps
it's because
home is where you are.
It seems
I have not given up
my searching,
my journey,
my pilgrimage.
My trek
for your presence
continues.

Love always, Andrea

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Dear God,

After nearly three years he sorted through 70 boxes of material representing 47 years of ministry. Bulletins, stewardship campaigns, committee minutes, programs, correspondence. With help he refilled the boxes, toted them into the back of a pick up truck, and drove away. Standing beside the archives clerk he signed a paper authorizing DePauw University to discard any papers they could not use or store. Then he walked away.

Last night I talked with my pastor husband. He told me how sad the day had been. "I let go of my life today." A tone of sadness in his voice. "I know." I responded.

My husband is a historian. What happened in the past is vitally important to him. He believes a record needs to be kept so the past is not lost. Sometimes I worry that he will get lost in the past. He is a very bright man, filled with love for the church, and deeply concerned for its future. He has always had lots of ideas how the church can be remolded in order to secure the future. For some reason he has not been appreciated for his ideas. Those with a status quo mentality can't see the same vision Harold sees. He is generally frustrated. I understand most of the time.

I could tell he was feeling great loss. While realizing that we have no way to store all the materials he has accumulated through the years, it was still difficult to part with ministry he has been part of for many years. I feel sad for him. I once told my hubby that he was far more valuable than the sum total of all his papers. I'm not sure he believed me.

An era has passed for Harold. He is so comfortable with the past... known, appreciated, respected, valued. But letting go will allow him to move forward into the future, never surrendering the memories he helped create. Transitions are hard. Part of you dies, never to be retrieved again. Hopefully lightening the load of the past will enable him to see promise in the future.

Thank you for my spouse,
my minister husband.
A man
who saw my potential
years ago
and urged me into ministry.
Today as I engaged
in a spiritual exercise,
his name came up
and I recorded my thoughts
regarding him.
He may be one of the greatest reasons
I am in ministry.
The second, no maybe the first,
who truly believed
I was called of God.
Today I am
most grateful for him.
Ease his pain,
reward his loyal commitment,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Dear God,

Sometimes joy arises out of trust during a chaotic situation. Friday my computer crashed. It took hours to resolve it. Haven't got the bill yet. Monday a mason told us we needed a new chimney costing $7,000. An hour later a neighbor told us our basement had flooded big time in Maine. Boiler, washer, dryer, assorted camping gear, etc. etc. etc. Hmm!

Now, it seems to me that a decision needed to be made during the crisis. Response? How will I respond? Like Chicken Little, "the sky is falling, the sky is falling?" Go ballistic, striking out at others and shouting like Geraldene, "the devil made me do it?" Or pray like the psalmist, "I lift mine eyes to the hills?" I did none of these. I danced in the grass.

When I got home Chicken Little assured me that the sky was indeed falling, reminding me that the roof already needed repair and now the bricks would come falling upon our heads. Realizing the severity of the situation plus the fact that Chicken was so distraught, I decided to dance. I forced Chicken to move his feet from the patio to the grass. "The neighbors will see us," Chicken cried. "Don't worry; they will want to join us." I tried to assure him. We began dancing as Clementine hummed, "Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling, Clementine! Thou art lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine."

Within minutes Chicken and Clementine left for a meal of sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, and cole slaw. Chicken had liver and onions. They laughed for a time; Clementine a little more freely.

Now the moral of the story is chaos can give birth to greater chaos or chaos can give birth to trust. In any case God, you are present in both. One leads to peace, the other to high blood pressure (Chicken and Clementine both suffer from it anyway. Imagine the high numbers if number two is selected as a response)

Trust is always an appropriate response. I can't trust, of course, unless I trust in you. You bring the advent of peace, of comfort. Your compassionate care gives us other options tried and true. We can weather (no pun intended for the nor easter that ravaged Maine, thus our home) life's storms and the money it takes to make the repairs trusting God to guide and help or we can turn away, be angry, insecure, blame, shudder and cry. Trusting this time brought my body to dance.

Not bad, God,
you jumped
into a tense situation
and you turned lemons
into an outstanding lemon pie.
(Well, maybe not quite outstanding,
but you did change the moment
for the better.)
Learning to trust
teaches me to turn to you.
No situation is too big
or small
for you.
They are the same
in your sight.
Thank you for the dance today.
Believe me,
I am grateful.

I'll dance with you anytime, Andrea

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Dearest God,

Today I will make choices that uplift, do not tear down.
Today I will decide to love instead of hate.
Today I will determine to be compassionate to all around me.
Today I will pray for those hurting anywhere, everywhere in the world.
Today I will offer hope, instead of hopelessness.
Today I will forgive, instead of harboring wrongs.
Today I will listen, instead of doing all the talking.
Today I will care for others, be attentive to their needs.
Today I will be Christian, only forming words that begin with love.
Today I will see every person as a child of God.
Today I will give to someone else.
Today I will be an offering to God.
Today I will learn more about being a peacemaker.
Today I will commune with God.
Today I will try to build a better world.
With your help.

Love, Andrea

Monday, April 16, 2007

My dear God,

My daughter called to tell me about the horrible tragedy in Virginia. "Mom, where is God? Why didn't God stop this? Where is God?" Reasonable questions, especially for those who faced the gunman and his bullets.

What makes a perfectly sane individual lose his/her sanity and turn to murder? Why kill? Why destroy? Why traumatize? Even when this is over, it won't be over.

I thought of terrified parents rushing to their children, pleading prayers lifting up, of siblings screaming, crying, of friends sobbing, of teachers, neighbors and friends who ever loved these precious kids and their teachers distraught. Of a neighborhood who thought their families were safe.

My heart was broken for this community. Tears welled in my eyes. I prayed too. What has happened to us?

I told my husband we aren't prepared for such heinous acts that can happen anywhere, anytime by anyone. And then I thought of war zones. These acts happen randomly daily and have now for years. What has happened to us?

Exactly, what has happened to us? We have the capacity for good and evil. Why does our goodness turn sour, eventually into evil? What hurt can be so devastating that we would turn our evil toward others? Destroy lives, including our own.

I turn back to my daughter's question. Where is God? I suspect God was the professor who stayed in the classroom holding the door closed while his students crawled out the window. He was shot dead. Perhaps God was the student who turned over desks in the classroom, then stood too holding the door while the gunman kept shooting at the door. God was the students who carried their fellow students to get help. God in the form of an African American woman wrote a note on the VT sign, "love never dies." God will come to parents through friends, supporters, even strangers who will write notes, make calls, do generous acts. Every hug, kiss, condolence, prayer will be an act of God.

We want free will from you God. We don't want you messing in our lives much of the time. But when horror visits us, we want you to protect us and those we love. We want to hide in your bosom. Tragically we can't have it every way. Our hearts are conflicted. Right now we just want you to comfort us, especially those whose loss is so great.

O God,
come to us
like a shepherd
comes to a hurt lamb.
Pick us up.
Place ointment on our wound.
Secure us in your arms
until our injury has healed
or at least scabbed over
so we can function again.
Turn our evil back
into goodness once again.
Make us to sanctify human life
once again,
not just in Virginia
but upon the whole earth.
Cleanse us,
purify us,
make us holy
as you are holy.
Mold us into shepherds
like yourself,
so we too can
heal, help, hold.
Cause us to remember
we have been made for one another.
This is not a solitary journey;
we really are caregivers
of one another.
Those who died are our family.
The shooter was our brother.
Breathe into us your compassion,
Great Compassionate God,
breathe into us,
we pray.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Dearest God,

A new day. Sunshine! God laboring to give us Spring.

Sunday is such a day of praise for me. The weaknesses of my week give way to the power of God and I realize that no day is a truly black day, even when it feels like it is. I give myself, my sin and failures to you as I enter your church. I feel the blackness washing away into the light.

The music delighted my soul. I swayed as we sang, recognizing that the music I had selected was not "stand still" music. I wish I had been in the African Church; we would have moved into the aisles and chancel, dancing to the Spirit. And the joy, well, it would have filled the sanctuary to overflowing. So I had to rely on my movement to be an indication of my joy in the light.

Not only was my personal moving a symbol of God's presence, but also what was happening in the church was another sign. Thirty one children signing up for a new Sunday morning program. The aroma of thoughtfully prepared food for missions wafting in the air. A newly renovated chancel allowing the melodious sound of the piano to lift its praise high. A member weeping with joy because this was her first day without pain in her knees. Women excited to leave on retreat this week. Happy people greeting one another. Ah yes, God the Light was present.

The light danced today.
Laughter,
singing,
praying,
hugging,
praising,
glorifying,
celebrating
God.

Always, Andrea

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Dearest God,

Today was a "black hole" day. Everything I put my hand to didn't work. I tried writing my letter, then lost it. I tried again, my computer slow, gummy. Finally, I was able to publish it. I tried changing my airline flight, but spent nearly two hours on and off the phone with Expedia. Still didn't work. Now I hve to call the airline directly. "Don't call today, too many calls coming through." She told me. "Call Sunday morning." "I'll be in church." I responded back. That's still hanging. I tried to clear my desk, but too many things need my attention. I tried online banking, but my computer wouldn't work. I tried going over a long list of "to do's" before my husband leaves. I spent an hour explaining how the airline thing works. We were both frustrated. Later I tried talking about trips to Maine, who, when, where and how many trips. Another hour passed and nothing accomplished. I washed a load of laundry only to discover my husband had washed oily rags with good towels. A ring of oily gunk encircled the inside of the washer. I had to clean it out, then wash the white clothes I had just washed. Don't want to walk around smelling like lemon oil. I did get the oil changed in the car. Then my computer announced to me, "physical memory dumping", followed by "physical memory dumping completed." Crisis! My retreat, 85 creative pages, locked away. More frustration. I got hold of my techie who will work on it Monday morning at 5 a.m. I did work on my sermon.

A couple times I got angry. Frustration more than anything. I could see the hours ticking away. So I cried, released some tears. I just felt I was in a black hole all day. Couldn't grab for the light. Felt badly.

I write this, looking back. I had had two and a half beautiful days living in the light, witnessing the "Light of the World." Conversing, trusting, sharing, so much light, then I dropped off the dark edge. Sometimes this happens after a valuable spiritual experience. The darkness jealous of the light. Conflict in the soul.

One thing for sure. I held on to the thread of prayer. "Dear God, help me." I cried out. I refused to let go even in the midst of outbursts, confusion, paralysis. No one at fault, just a black hole experience.

Modern conveniences sometimes become gummed up, making life a little more fitful. The trick is to trust all day long. Reaching out to you, again and again brings to my mind a great need to walk with you daily, to not give up on the relationship when craziness occurs. I need to hold on to your hand even when life gets messy. In fact that's when the true test comes. Can I trust you in the midst of the chaos?

I would give myself a D for the day. I didn't lean as well as usual. I was tired. The best part now is knowing that black hole days do not have the final say. Even in the midst of the darkest day, the light does still shine, even if you can't see it. And God, well, you were always present even when I couldn't see you.

Ever-challenging God,
my life without you
holds no purpose.
Blackness may frustrate me,
the darkness
sucking the light
right out of me.
But you do not let go,
like an umbilical cord
holding a baby
to its mother.
You hand on tight
while I feel my strength slipping.
May my trust grow
when my strength weakens,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Friday, April 13, 2007

Dear God,

There is deep trust in my covenant group. We can literally turn our insides outside in front of one another. We can bare our souls, knowing we are perfectly safe. We can weep alone or together. We can roll on the floor in laughter. In any case the action is one of God.

There are few truly safe places in the world. I can be loved by others but the secrets of my life can be revealed, my confidences blurted out, my dark side uncovered. In such cases I am emotionally warned that while I am embraced, my soul is not secure.

My covenant group is a gift, people who carry Christ to each other weekly. We call one another to higher levels of living. We are honest, authentic, open. Our promise to one another is that of Christ.

During this retreat we each have found our self. With spiritual tools we have been digging down, deeper and deeper. Moving away the stones that long have stood at the door of our hearts,we are able to access the tunnels, chambers leading to our core. While there exposed, we examine our intentions,motives, attitudes, emotions. We find the hard spots, perhaps a calcified belief that needs to be released to the past, opening the way to new beliefs, hope, and joy. The work is hard, risky. But the spiritual activity of digging reaps great rewards. All of us have entered new pathways to the soul.

We hold two retreats a year. We talk, plan, prepare. We know our spiritual work ahead of time. We come together, bring out our tools, then begin chinking away the carefully covered troubled areas of our lives. We hit pay dirt because we trust one another, because we bring Christ with us, the fourth member of our group.

We know how to celebrate our victories. Singing alleluias, doing the bunny hop, group hugs, and prayers all serve to give thanks to you, our Creator. We recognize this is not our work alone; it is the work of the Spirit, the living activity of God. We give praise to you over and over again. Sometimes we reminisce, going back nearly 20 years, remembering and giving thanks for conquering fears, eliminating destructive behaviors,chucking bad feelings, forgiving ourselves or others, overcoming troubled pasts. Every time you have been present to help, guide, cajole, heal, forgive, and love. We keep saying thank you.

We will head home in a few hours. We will carry our memories with us. We will hug one another, giving thanks for the gifts each one brings. We will remember God's faithfulness and we will climb yet another rung of faithfulness ourselves. Free.

Living God,
our life in you
is a great mystery.
We say so often.
While we are perplexed
by the ways
you work,
we are grateful
to be at your side,
digging together.
Our hearts are filled
with gratitude
as we enter
new realms
of spiritual living.
When we discover
great caverns
of hope,
we realize again
the greatness
of God.
Our love overflows.

Eternally yours, Andrea

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Dearest God,

Peering into one's own soul, revealing its truth is a risky act of vulnerability. Yet, the hidden secrets of the heart can become visible, making the soul aware of treasures heretofore not seen.

It has been years since I have engaged in the spiritual exercise with art cards. Postcards of famous art purchased over the last 25 years in Russia, Israel, Greece, Africa, Turkey, France, Italy and America offer interaction between the psyche, emotions, spirit and soul. Spreading hundreds of cards on the floor, then sitting among them, being drawn to particular ones is an activity of trust. The cards call out, "pick me," when in reality the drawing is one of God. Then sitting with the cards, allowing them to speak is an intentional act of listening. 'What do you wish to tell me, dear God?"

I drew the cards first upstairs in the small, beautiful chapel in the old Noddfa House, then downstairs in the cold, damp basement during a tornado warning. My spiritual parters and I returned to the chapel following the storm.

As I felt the leading I placed my cards in an order from left to right. One card seemed to want to float, a card that could be placed anywhere along my pilgrim journey. The card is a picture of dough being kneaded by well-worn hands. This card symbolized my life as the dough, the hands the hands of God.

As I truly listened to you, Most High, I became conscious of changes in my life during the last few years. My cards were more solitary and contemplative than ever before. I have found myself, am content inside my skin. I enjoy time alone, in silence and contemplation. The silence leads me to deep waters, living. I meet myself or at least the best of myself in the deep places. I am enabled to let go, to release. I stand erect in self confidence, not as an arrogant statement of pride, but rather as one who has after so many years established her self in the spirit, looking toward the light. The colors, textures of the cards are rich, beautiful and warm. Each one tells me of my growth.

I was surprised as I passed up cards drawn so many times before. Isolation, separation, darkness, grief, loss, disappointment, severance. No longer was I pointed to these. I am different now, my inner spirit reaching daily to the one Great Spirit. My cards spoke to me of joy, peace, love of God, God's love for me, my love for myself. In one card, I am wildly happy standing in the center of a rock circle. My arms are reaching upward. I am in the center of God.

But not all my cards were positive, uplifting, joy filled. One card sat off by itself. A black and white drawing, three figures, one crying, another downtrodden sitting in a chair with another bending over shouting, angry. The card is stark, without color, a vision of unhappiness, of sorrow, disappointment. Something in the card has black lines, like sharp edges. This is my dark side. While I wished not to select this card, it called out to me. It is part of my self. I had to pick it up. It had to be part of my presentation.

After sitting with the cards for a time, I drew my friends to my display. I talked about my life, using the cards. My "floater" moved as I spoke. "I am always in knead of God reshaping, remolding my life." Especially was this so as I got closer to the black and white card. As I finished telling my story, they asked questions. Then we moved on to their cards, listening and asking questions. Each one of us discovered a revelation. We will continue to allow your voice to speak to us during our retreat.

I called my husband before retiring to bed. I told him about my cards, particularly the black and white one. "I want to show you the card when I get home," I told my husband. I want to share with him my learnings and listen to him. He may have more insights as to the nature of this card, its meaning and purpose. You are surely speaking to me and I want to hear your voice, dear God.

Cards,
postcards,
famous art
bring up truth,
revealing
who I am.
The many sides,
the beauty
and the ugliness.
The connections,
color,
texture,
water, living.
Settings that call me
to the center
every time.
Even the black and white.
You sit with me,
revealing
my true self.
Speak
and
I will listen.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Dearest God,

A computer that didn't work. No online banking. No retreat. Nothing. I tried and tried, but failed. I sat here at 5:00 a.m. paralyzed. I was stopped dead in my tracks. Frustrating! But then I tried again and it worked! Not at first; the machine was crippled. Why, I'm not sure.

Perfect day for a computer foul up! I realize that when my computer shuts down with countless pieces of valuable information, I am lost without a rudder. I can't reclaim the thousands of hours of ideas put to paper. Retreats. Greeting cards. Letters. Books. And more. When it's gone, it's gone. Kaput!

And so is the Spirit when a life takes a turn, leaving the spirit behind. Later today I leave for my covenant retreat. It's been fourteen months since our last retreat. Problems in the fall canceled our time together. I need this time away, to take a look inside, peering into my spirit heart. It is time to renew my covenant with you, God. I need your guiding power to release all that holds me captive to an old way. I seek only to take your lead and follow like a trusting dance partner.

The very thought of two days of spiritual activity is enlivening. I breathe fresh Spirit air, knowing that God will be a very present reality. I will have to be accountable to the words, promises I made last year. Why did I fail in some areas, soar in others? What held me back in some, propelled me in others? I so look forward to this prized time.

Leaving behind Lent and Holy Week work, weddings, hospital visits, counselling, retreat work, guests in my home, a torn up house literally with new carpet put down, problems here and there (no crises or catastrophies) housework, laundry, gardening, bill paying, whew and more brings a delight to my tired, weary spirit. This is my time with God and my spiritual brother and sister.

I pray for this time apart
with You and my spiritual partners.
Living up to a covenant promise
is spiritually challenging work.
But the rewards,
bringing joy to the Creator,
the Spirit Maker,
so fills me with joy
that I spill over,
making me want
to sing and dance
for the rest of my life.
Hold my feet to the fire,
the spiritual fire,
the fire of Pentecost
so that I may indeed
be refined,
my spirit aligned with yours.
I hear the angels singing,
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.
Sing it to me....Amen.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

My dear God,

The tragedies of abuse linger on long after the abuse has past. Their tenacles wrap themselves around victims for a lifetime. Only the miraculous healing power of God can finally break the grip of the past.

There once was a baby boy, Lord, who came into the world pure and fine. His promise was great except for the fact that his parents abused him from the time he was born. His promise was beaten from him. His innocence robbed. His mind tortured. And now his actions decades later will cost him a great price. Such injustice.

Let's talk about his suffering, dear God. Memories haunt him as if the abuse is happening now, in this present moment. Never free, he takes drugs to numb the pain. No matter where he goes, what he does, the grip is tight as a vice, and it's getting tighter.

The battered boy now turned man, husband and father will probably take his own life if things don't dramatically change. And he takes hold of the Heavenly Father who can give him another chance at life. He desperately needs a Heavenly Parent who can transform the God awfulness into a model of beauty and purity that he is.

O God, how can we reclaim our lives after such a long lifetime of horror? How do we rid ourselves of unwanted images of the past that suck the life right out of us? How do we rise to a new place, leaving the past, surrendering it, taking hold of the light that has the power to dispel every darkness?

Yes, a valley of dry bones can pick up flesh and air and begin to dance around. A dead man can live again. The blind can see and the deaf can hear. The leper can be cleansed. And so can every wounded soul find hope.

You are the God of love; for you have loved every person into being. A man and woman conceive but the stuff of creation is your work. What is born is your creation. And nothing, not even the worst vile thing in the world can steal away the God that you yourself have placed inside us. No offending abuser can touch it. They can get close, but never close enough. This piece is pure, untampered, lovely. This is you within us, a divine being who is carried inside us always. This reality can transform us, change our present, give us hope for the future. Love drives us to greater heights where hope is eternal.

Oh, how I wish I had the power to change tormented lives. I can counsel, preach, model, pray, love; but I cannot save.

You are the only hope
for many,
Great God.
Help injured souls
see the God-placed beauty
you have placed within them.
Grant them mercy,
that drips into eternity
and courage to
break the back
of the past.
Let your love come forth
again and again
like the surety
of ocean waves.
Make peace their final home.

Always, Andrea

Monday, April 9, 2007

Dear God,

We humans have a need for balance. When we feel off kilter, we work to restore our balance. I have loved ones that want to return balance to me.

Yesterday in my Easter message I shared my Easter tradition of rising early to hear the birds sing of Easter. Every year I stand on my patio listening for the birds singing about an empty tomb, a risen Lord. It's always a grand moment in my celebration of the resurrection. But this year there was no sound, no melodious praise, nothing. I went outdoors three times. I didn't hear even one bird.

After preaching the message I had people tell me that they hoped my birds would return. Another told me not to worry because the birds were at church. Someone else told me they talked about it on the way home and they were sure there was some reason why the birds didn't sing. But they hoped I would hear them soon. Interesting!

The point of all this is that at times balance needs to be off. We need to feel the shift, don't we? You move us, knock us off center so we are enabled to look around, check things out, see what is different, what moved us. We need to cry out, "Hey..." Only then can we see from a ground perspective. When I'm standing upright in my own center, my vision is colored in a particular way. When I'm laying on the ground, the vision changes.

I haven't figured out why the birds didn't sing or why they weren't even at my home. I need the moments you give me to think, reflect, ponder. Otherwise, my life will be the same day after day after day. I will never need you more than yesterday. I need a life ever changing, keeping me at the feet of Your son. I want a life like this. Well, I don't like it always. But off balance days are teaching days. And I am grateful.

My true center
where my equilibrium
is maintained
is when I stand
with you.
Anywhere else
and I'm done in.
I'm dizzy,
light headed.
I'm confused,
lost,
without direction.
My balance
is perfect
when we stand together,
in sync,
if you will.
When I stand alone,
I can't maintain myself.
Oh, I could,
but what do I have?
A life maintained.
I want more.
A life with the Creator.
A life with God.
A life with pizzazz
because that's what a life with God
is.
I have to examine
where in my life
the birds are not singing.
Oh, crud.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Dearest God,

A couple years ago I purchased a CD entitled, Weaving Strands. A Native American tape, it lifts up the contribution of female Native American musicians. I listened to it and could not quite connect. I put it in a drawer and a few days ago I found it. I played it and still nothing really happened.

It was Good Friday. I had tried to prepare myself to get in touch with Christ, to live into the dark period just before the crucifixion. I feel an obligation as a Christian to enjoin myself to this experience as much as the love he offeres. Can't have one without the other. Crucifixion without love is senseless. Love without crucifixion is meaningless.

I had spent time in silence, kneeling in the back pew. I had sung "cross" songs on the way to a wedding. I had performed the wedding, sat at the head table with the couple, enjoyed seeing old friends, eaten a fine dinner.

At nearly 11:00 p.m. I headed into the dark to make the 45 minute drive home. I turned on the CD player, surprised when Weaving Strands started to play. Something happened. The music unexpectedly entered my soul. Each song, the chanting, flute playing, drums and singing were beautiful. In the dark night I felt the deep source, the origin of the music. I hummed, harmonized when possible, I felt myself dancing, my spirit in touch with the artists. The deep tones, especially the drums took me to a different place. That was when I realized I was back at the cross.

You had returned me back home with you which is exactly where I had wanted to be. You taught me to anticipate God's presence becoming visible in unlikely places. You drew me to an experience that I did not expect. What do Native American music, Good Friday and the cross, and a wedding have in common? I might have thought nothing. But I was wrong. They all lead back to you, separately and together. Although I was tired when I walked in the door at midnight, I was aware that I had met God on Good Friday after all.

So often
I am short-sighted.
I see only
what I have seen before.
I don't think
about seeing anything else.
But then you come,
restoring sight to the blind.
Oh, Lord,
sometimes I am blind,
blind to the possibilities
of you.
I can't see
because I'm not looking
or I see something
I don't like.
Take the scales
from my eyes.
Pour into my eyes
the cleansing waters
so that I may
see through your eyes.
Make me to see
You.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Dearest God,

Saturday of Holy Week. Although I will search for Easter eggs with grandchildren, I will carry within me the darkness of the first Saturday after Good Friday. For all practical purposes Jesus was dead in a tomb. All hope was gone. The dreams of a new world, of love, relationship, purpose, joy, light, and peace had dissipated. A day of dread. And fear. Someone may come and find me, a friend of Jesus. I'll get the same.

It was difficult conducting a wedding on Good Friday. How do you celebrate, party on Good Friday? I felt like I was in a vice, being squeezed from both sides.

I entered silence at 6:30 and remained until 7:00 p.m. Kneeling in my pew I closed my eyes, envisioning God's act of love. Then I opened them, sat in the pew looking up at the cross, front and center in the sanctuary. This cross is the symbol, the God-awful symbol of Christ. I still can't completely imagine how one man would die for so many who simply don't care. Do I, really? Does it make a difference for me? Or will I make a mad dash scramble to the cross when I make my own cross over?

As I left the sanctuary, I drew my mind back or did you do it? Back to the cross. I sang all the cross songs I knew, hummed them when I couldn't remember the words. My spirit was at the foot of the cross, remaining with Jesus. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.

A wedding? I gulped in a breath of spirit air, then moved with my robe, stole, bible and book of worship. As I entered the ballroom, I realized that the spirit of joy that one has comes from God. Are we born with it? Do we learn joy? Or does it truly come from a deeper source?

When I walked into the room of the bride, I remembered her mother who I buried many years ago. I recalled the bride's words of faith then and since. She seeks for God, longs to be close, wants to live the life of faith. I know where her joy comes from. I could see it in her eyes. We serve the same God. The wedding is a celebration of God's activity in the world. The truest joy, the purest kind erupts from God, like so much molten lava from an erupting volcano. It flows and flows and you think it will never stop. It doesn't.

I couldn't stop smiling. I had entered the home of God in the midst of the people. The angst I had been carrying was gone. I could only give thanks to the God of love.

A Good Friday love,
that's what I called it.
A man and woman
looking,
looking,
looking
for a Good Friday love.
A love that
offers Jesus to another.
I saw it in their eyes
as they stood before me.
They had found it in each other.
Off to the side
standing close by,
I saw him
quiet, smiling,
wearing an old brown robe
and dusty sandals,
an old beat-up cross at his side.
Not dead in a tomb
but alive at a wedding,
a Good Friday love.

I shall forever love you, Andrea

Friday, April 6, 2007

Dearest God,

Feet. Twelve pairs of feet. I washed the feet of Jesus' friends. I knelt before Jesus and washed their feet. And while I washed theirs, Jesus washed mine.

A simple act of hospitality became a profound model of faith. Wash one another's feet so we're all clean, every one of us. We're about washing feet.

In a dimly lighted sanctuary Jesus walked among us. You sent him? He found us, a small body of people whose feet needed washing, whose hearts needed cleansing, whose lives needed changing. It felt as if we were the only body of people in the world at the moment I stood to wash feet.

I wanted to wash Jesus' feet so I washed the feet of his friends. I never looked up to see whose feet I was washing. He could have been any one of them. I washed, moving the water over the feet and toes, then I held the ankles and prayed. And moved to the next ones. Slim, narrow feet, wide, long feet, feet lotioned and pedicured, just as they are feet, the feet of Jesus.

As a female pastor, I always stepped aside for a male to do the washing. After all Jesus was a male. May not mean as much if a woman did it. After all isn't that what women do every day...wash feet? Baby feet, teenage feet, husband feet, co-worker's feet. All day long, every day washing feet. But these feet were unique, the reason for washing was different.

To step into the role of Jesus is an awesome one, so much responsibility. Humility, love, compassion. I had to carry these with me as I bent down. To wash feet.

Your feet, Lord,
I washed your feet.
What vision of loveliness.
Feet that walked
the path of healing and hope.
Feet that trod
the road to Calvary.
You carried my feet
to the cross,
my feet,
ooh my,
my feet.
My dirty feet,
smudged, smeared
in sin.
You carried my feet
to the cross.
And I knelt to wash
your feet.

Humbly, your child Andrea

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Dearest God,

Thursday of Holy Week. Time shifts like sand; tonight I will bend down to wash feet.

The Holy Thursdays in my life have been very important. I never miss them unless I'm sick. I want to be among the company who dines with the Master, walks to the cross with your son, and rises early to hear the Good News. Faith is serious business. It means God is alive...in me.

Master,
may my own journey
be that of Christ.
May I feel
your tender hand
as I hold
the feet
of your pilgrim people.
May my own soul
be cleansed
as I wash
my hands
at your altar.
Fill me with your Spirit
so I may
offer Jesus
in the Communion.

Humbly, Andrea

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Dearest God,

Someone asked me a question following the worship service Sunday. "What is your passion?" The same question I asked the congregation during the sermon. What is my passion?

I know my passion. I have a passion for God, for God's presence. My purpose is to create a setting whereby people can experience God. My passion came a long time ago. You gave it to me. Spiritual formation, creating settings, ie retreats, worship services, counselling, one on one conversations, guided imagery, any kind of moment set aside, a safe environment where persons can let down their defenses, open steel doors and discover the magical mystery of God waiting. Transformation. Surrender of the unwanted, unneeded, unnecessary things that weigh us down. Renewal. Hope. Joy. Peace. An opportunity to cry away the sorrows and grief. Laughter. Laughing like there is no tomorrow. Joy overflowing. Love all around, the sacred, holy kind that loves from the inside out, circles 'round, then goes back inside, and back out another entrance/exit, on and on and on.

I've been working on this year's retreat, hours and hours. I am in my element when I plan, prepare. I know that every good idea comes from you. Joy surges through my veins when I see something coming, an unexpected happening, a joy that changes things. I can see it, envision it; it plays out in my mind. I am happy, humbled, joyous, even though exhausted. It is wearing to spend so much time in holy time, doing the work I've been called to do. Imagining, creating, building, making a path toward God, and having fun doing it.

We're going to soul weave this year. I love the sound of it. Weave our souls with God and each other. And you, Master Weaver will do it. We will simply partner with you, listening for your voice, follow your leading.

This is holy work,
your work.
And me,
well, I get to have all the fun
doing what you ask.
Ministry that makes a difference.
I am surrounded
by a joyous hope
that leads to transformation
and renewal.
A holy trusting,
of me with you,
of you with me,
of others with you and me.
I love working with you,
my favorite thing.
Indebted.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Dear God,

Tuesday of Holy Week. I do not always know when you will appear. Your presence is always assured. But an appearance does not always become apparent until something happens. A glint in an eye, a light bulb going off, a sudden rush, a physical manifestation alerts me to your visit.

It is probably a good thing that I do not live by rigid plans for each day. I would surely miss the many times you have become visible to me. Flexibility, that's the word, flexibility. Being flexible during my day's activities allows for God to make a move, a power move in someone's life, including my own.

I have had it happen many times before when someone shows up at the church unexpected. I may go about my own business, the work of the church, but then something strikes me, a spiritual awareness that something is in the offing. I truly try to follow obediently, to follow the stirring, aware that God is present is a particular way. I can't explain it; I just know when it happens. Sometimes I ignore it. Too busy I tell myself. But more often than not, I follow the leading, taking the hand of God, walking in His steps.

Holy Week is fraught with possibilities. And why not? I need to be ready to accept God's working, a movement of spirit. God wants to heal, help, guide, comfort, challenge, love. Peace is possible in such moments. I know it. But there is work needing to be done. Digging for truth is hard labor, getting down to the core, carefully pulling back each layer, revealing hope. Exhausting, but beneficial. Changes lives.

One man. Gifts. Talents. Desire to follow, to be true. A pilgrim heart. On a journey. A seeker stopped by. The likeness of God.

The potential for spiritual transformation is always present, in any situation. God can and wants to grow us. A Holy Week transformation can change a life forever, because you, O Lord, desire it. It's not just any week.

I want to remain close,
listening for the slightest sound
of your coming.
I want to be ready
to receive you
for myself
or someone else.
You are the light
in my eye,
the sound in my voice,
the beat of my heart.
Keep me close
and ready.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, April 2, 2007

Dearest God,

Monday of Holy Week. I am conscious of the movement down a particular path. This week is the time to be spiritually alert. God is aware this is a week to be remembered, moment by moment because it is the time of Jesus, not just Lent. It is the time to be aware of Jesus' thoughts, his anguishing love for a spiritually underdeveloped people. I do not want to miss one moment with Christ this week. How I long to know his thoughts, his reservations during the final week on earth. I want to be captured by this loving web of grace.

I want to walk all week down the path to the cross. I want to grasp the importance of a life with God, with the Savior. I want to enter Easter as one who walked all week, not just a day. I want to recommit my life again and again and again. What is life without him?

Shake up my world,
Lord.
Shake loose my preconceived notions,
my short sightedness,
my narrow, small thinking.
Keep my feet in the desert
until you think I'm ready
to discover the oasis.
I need you
like never before.
Not because I'm in trouble,
but because I'm not.
I want a life with you
that carries over into
every arena of my life.
I don't want a Sunday religion.
Useless, almost.
If it's not present on Monday,
how can Sunday mean anything?
Allow me to walk with you,
Most Gracious God,
to the cross.
We'll deal with Easter later.

I love you with all my heart, Andrea

Sunday, April 1, 2007

My dearest God,

A sermon is so many words on a page without the fiery spirit power of God. I always pray for it. Labor for it like a birthing mother.

Dear God, do we live on two plains at the same time, the spirit plain and the psychic plain? Is it possible to be conscious of both simultaneously? Can we move in and out like a train moving in and out of a tunnel?

At times I am very aware of being distant from the spirit plain. I feel far from God. On Sunday mornings I pray for God's power to preach. Some times it happens, sometimes only mildly. Sometimes not at all. I don't know the secret to constant spirit power. But since Lent began in the desert at church and in my heart, I have felt incredible power welling up within me. It doesn't begin that way; it swells up into it.

Today I felt I had a mediocre sermon. This weekend I had painted for hours, spent time with a grandchild who was struggling and needed her grandma's assistance, helped Harold with his new computer, and talked long with my daughter on the phone. I was out of energy when it came to putting the message together. I did read six commentaries to get the historical scoop. I wrote several pages of notes, made an outline and went to bed. At 5:00 a.m. I worked until 7:30 a.m., took my shower and got ready for church. I "rehearsed" on the way. Wasn't impressed.

As I walked down the church halls, I greeted my flock and they greeted me. I was aware of God in my people, but not in myself. I felt ashamed I had not worked longer, harder on one of the most historic days in the life of Jesus and the world. When I stood to pray during the song, I asked God to forgive my lack of full attention. "This message is not about me, it is your message. Help me, guide me, guide me, guide me." I labored. When I opened my eyes and looked into the eyes of my people, I felt something stirring. And then it came, like the birth of a baby. I knew that the words of the message had come to life.

I never before realized this birthing process. At least I never called it a birthing process. But it is. A laboring of relationship, getting my hands dirty in the soil, digging deep for the kernel, the seed of truth for a waiting church, for me. I feel the "false starts", the water breaking, then new life emerges.

Perhaps the spiritual life is like this, not just preparing a sermon and preaching it. We labor to find God sometimes, to get in touch. And when it happens, there is a euphoria of joy that spills over. God is so fully present and we are present to God. This coming together shocks us because it is a magnificent moment of connecting to the deepest part of the soul. A shockwave rolls over us and we know that we know that we know God is alive within us, that we have a divine purpose and God is with us. Everything makes sense for a split second.

This discipline of writing sermons will soon be over. Today as I walked down the center aisle I became aware that I only have two years plus of sermons to write, to deliver, to share. I will no longer stand center stage to offer the message of God. When I looked at the congregation this thought struck me. I didn't like it.

My life is yours,
Great Master of the Creation.
My inner workings
were made
by your great hands.
I do not do what I do
without you.
I am always aware
that I am a simple vessel,
an instrument of grace
carrying a sacred, holy message.
I pray, I work, I listen.
But what comes
is always yours,
even if I do it poorly.
Your word
is the only important Word.
And I know that.
Keep me living on your side.

Love, Andrea