Friday, May 25, 2007

Dear God,

I drove the tractor and wagon around to the backyard. Filled with a hoe, rake, dandelion lifter, edger, trimmer, and leaf bags I began working. Two friends sat at the patio table working on an event for later this summer that will involve my garden. I plucked weeds, edged the garden, and trimmed. I walked through the flowers, bushes, and blue spruce when something strange occurred. I suddenly felt honored to be attending the garden. My role as gardener went deeper than my usual work. The reality came to me that I was tending God's garden, your garden, a sacred garden used to bless.

My work slowed down. Each area where I worked, I felt the hand of God on me. I was trimming God's bush, clearing out God's flowers, cleaning God's pond, edging God's sacred garden. The garden became the Contemplative Garden that I dedicated a few years ago. My work became a labor of love, to be in God's vineyard, if you will. My work took on a sacred quality.

I began to look at things differently. Interesting how this year the garden is freeing itself (with a little help from weed killer) of thistles. This year it will touch others, inspire, free up, release, bless those who will come, those who will be lead to this holy site. They will see you, Lord, find you among the blessings. I don't know who. I do know when.

I was humbled to be at your feet, on my knees working in your garden. I felt blessed myself. What miracles will be wrought here? How many prayers answered? How many insights will rise up? What joy will be found here? Tears released? Guidance found. Treasures discovered? Peace experienced? God's garden, yours.

Tending to your garden,
a sacred, holy gardener,
you have made me.
My love for your creation
keeps me on my knees.
I am blessed.
Tending to the soil,
watching worms burrow,
playing in the moist earth.
Butterflies fluttering above,
birds singing love songs.
Breezes blowing,
chimes gently playing
their own song.
God's garden.

Love always, Andrea

Thursday, May 24, 2007

My dearest God,

I sat in the dimly lighted room as the sun was setting. Candle light flickered as we talked about life and death.

The harsh realities of life, demons from the past that continue to want to seduce, have robbed a friend of good health. Like anyone facing a deadly illness our minds focus on the future with wariness.

But it was not on the horrors of illness and death that filled our conversation. It was about faith, the deeper dimensions of spirituality, your presence, the calming peace you afford, the miraculous peace you bring.

There is another world within the real world we live. I have traveled there before. I found myself traveling back in time. Breast cancer. The estrangement of a daughter. Divorce.

I did not focus on the darkness; yet it was the darkness, the despair that first captured me. It was while in the darkness that I found you. Not that I was looking for the light but that I discovered my ability to be content in the darkness because the darkness was God to me.

Opening the great arched wooden door to the darkness and hearing it slam behind me. Standing inside, pitch black, not knowing if there was a floor, walls, ceiling or exit. With a listening heart I relented to the darkness with you, content without the light because you were visibly present.

Another time lying down in the back of the station wagon sobbing, my heart completely broken, giving myself to the darkness when a series of visitations began, all divine. Mothers from the Bible came to me, sharing their deepest sorrow and hope. Isaiah, Mary, angels, the psalmist, a choir visited, one after another, forty people or groups in total. The holiest sacred moment in my life. Faith. Trust.

The tragedies of life, griefs borne through great difficulties have often been doors to the sacred for me. A turning inside out I have glimpsed the glorious realities of the divine. I have immersed myself inside you. And I have found myself not wanting for anything.

Reflections on my life clarify to me that the most meaningful, valuable experiences have not been my home, material possessions, vacations to wondrous places, ministry, not even the relationships with my husband, children, family. The most joyous moments have been my life with you. Not that my family is not important to me. I love and cherish them. But my relationship to you is like no other relationship. The deepest life is one lived in you, with you, breathing in you. Those moments of darkness, sucking in the deep have revealed God, glory, inner joy. This is my life's greatest discovery.

As the room continued to darken, I hugged my friend, imparting my hopeful prayer that she will continue her own trek, having experienced you already in so many ways through faith. We part, each pondering the wondrous mysteries of God.

Sacred One,
we enter your presence
as fragile humans.
Life is not easy,
in the deeper places.
Yet, faith is alive,
trust emerging,
joy deepening.
The tiniest crack
in the soul
can allow room
for God to wander
speaking in a language
known only to the soul.
The human and divine meet,
a wondrous occasion
for celebration,
a humbling of human soul
before the Almighty.
You are powerfully present.
All else is still,
except the quiet praise
that arises.

My life is all joy in you. Andrea

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Dear God,

The brilliant orange yellow ball rose in the sky as I left home early for mass. Mesmerized by the magnificent beauty I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. I looked at the sun, then the road, sun, road. That astronomical wonder kept me gazing.

The sun knows what to do. Daily it rises and sets, providing just the right amount of sunlight and darkness. I know it will come up and go down. But I'm always stunned for a moment as I witness it rising above the horizon. Without it, no life.

As I climbed the rocky steps to the monastery, I witnessed flowers that weren't there last week. Suddenly they stood, their tiny, fragile white heads standing straight and tall. Bunches of them.

Spring continues to amaze me. I feel it in my soul. This newness of life speaks powerfully. I can't stop it. Don't want to. It is happening all around me, all over the place. I expect it, but still am filled with wonder of it all.

Yesterday in the garden I pruned. Those bushes don't look as bright and beautiful as before. But I know they will grow. It's what they are designed to do. They will be radiant with color in just a few weeks.

Spring is in my soul. And I hope my own soul soil is fertile enough to allow fullness of growth.

May I grow
in your light,
Great Master.
May I find blossoms
growing within me.
May the radiance
of your light
spring forth
new life in me.
May the scent
of your own Self
offer new fragrance
through me.
May I
like the early morning flowers
stand straight and tall,
beautiful
for the world.

Lovingly, Andrea

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Dearest God,

I'm nearing completion on my spring spruce up in my home. What a job! Cleaned windows, oiled preserved wood, freshly painted rooms (not quite finished), new carpet, squeaky clean bathrooms, user-ready patio and screened in porch, just a few more hours and I'm done. I haven't cleaned like this in three years. Aah!

I'm working on the garden. I still have most of the edging to do. A lot of pruning needs to be done. But it too is looking beautiful.

But what I've noticed is that my time has been focused more on cleaning and sprucing up than on my writing you. In some ways I've left you in the basement near my computer. Oh yes, I love to communicate with you, but I haven't been as faithful as in the past.

How easy it is to allow other things to take your place. Sometimes it requires no effort at all, I'm sorry to say. I don't like the fact that I can walk away and busy myself elsewhere, leaving you behind. I feel shame and sorrow.

I want to begin my day fresh and new. I want to put you first, again. I want to stay with you in my writing. I want our conversation to be the first in my day.

Dear God,
sometimes I struggle
with my promises
to you.
Please forgive me.
Teach me your ways,
again.
Never let me
stay adrift.
I don't like
being alone
on my raft,
especially during stormy weather.
I want to start again.

Love, Andrea

Monday, May 21, 2007

Dearest God,

It’s been about eight years since I designed and installed my Contemplative Garden (with a little help from my local landscaper). You whispered to me of serenity, peace, a place to rest in creation, a sacred site for silence, prayer, and praise.

I remember badgering my husband for an agreement to put in a small pond. I really had to work on him. Finally he relented. I recall driving home after work, walking out back, watching the water flow over the rocks. I was so happy. What a beautiful garden, a holy space, to be alone and to share with others.

There was just one problem. Remember? The scattered thistle seed. Our son had given us a bird feeder. The seed? Thistle. The birds loved it. Then they deposited the tiny seeds in the garden. Just like the serpent in the first garden, those thistles have been my thorn in the flesh (actually lodged in the skin in varying places on my hands.) I have pulled thousands of deeply rooted thistles these last years. I wanted to do it the natural way. I dug them up, used one of those little forked things. But just inches away new ones popped up. Eight years, eight very long years fighting those prickly invaders.

Well, this year it is different. I got some weed killer. Whoosh, drip, drop. I sprayed and sprayed and the darned things started dying. Brown, weak, falling over, drying up, rotting, disappearing. I can’t believe it. I’ve reclaimed my garden.

The thistles and I were comparable fighters. I ripped them out. They came back. But this year I have the advantage. The ruthless enemy is nearly gone. But that’s the problem. As I cleaned out the garden, pruned, edged, and trimmed, I looked at the last of the little devils. I thought of how powerful the killer is. And for a tiny moment I felt badly.

That triggered thoughts on the spiritual life, my own. I thought about some of the pesky problems in my own life, some things I have battled for a long time. Just can’t get rid of them. On the other side of things, I have some areas that are growing well, appearing to be deeply rooted. Yet, I have allowed some kind of killer to come along, to make me wilt and fall. Drat! How do I ever get it all together, Lord? How do I rid myself of the unwanted weeds and allow the good seeds to grow and grow? My garden is going to look great this year. I wonder if my spirit will fare as well.

Thistles have been my teachers.
My own sins cry out for removal.
Free me from unwanted weeds,
dear God.
Teach me of love,
purity, forgiveness and peace.
Make my heart a garden,
a beautiful display
of joy, peace, and tranquility.
Prune me,
cut me back,
so that the good
will bloom and flower
for you.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Dear God,

A beautiful morning. Your people in your church. A wonderful display of musical praise. Stories of life change. Transformation. There's power here, all of us together.

I've come to know these people well. Oh, not all their stories, just a tip of the iceberg. I know the great mass below has far more to tell. I hope it will eventually show more.

What delight for fellowship to be what it is. To see so many seated at tables talking with one another. We like each other. We enjoy being together.

We are a great body of people, dedicated to God and one another on some level. Our stories entwine each time we are together. We grow. I see it.

How wonderful it is for God's people to be together. We are family, brothers and sisters to one another. We share our lives at table. We enjoy one another's company. You are with us at each table. The joy I see is divine joy. Why else would we spend time together? This is my family too.

What a privilege it is to greet each one, to hug. I was surprised, shocked when I presented my hand to shake another's. Not a hugger I never offer one. But she leaned in toward me and hugged me. Oh my goodness I could hardly believe it. There is strength in divine love. Perseverance. Did I outlast her? Did she decide she wanted more from faith? Was it an element of trust? Are times changing?

Sometimes you have to endure hardship in order to savor growth. You have shown me this truth so many times. I've never liked it much. Yet I have witnessed first hand that the laboring process can be long and hard, bringing so much to fruition. Your handprints are everywhere. They are everywhere. Just as you intended.

O God,
your grand design
is showing.
Your plan
is unfolding.
Your love
is being received
and given back.
Your desire
for us
is evident.
I'm on the inside
looking out.
I can see it.
And I'm trusting you.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday. May 19, 2007

Dearest God,

Life is a circle of adventures, misfires, unfamiliar places. We take ourselves to sites unknown. Life circumstances challenge us with the refining fire of your love. The process of spiritual purification is a difficult one, yet a labor of divine friendship.

I have trusted you. I have fallen back, stepped ahead. I have circled round and round and round. I have known this rut in the road because this road is well traveled. And I can tell you I don't like it. I want to fill this rut, making it a rut no longer. I want to pave this road, making a new path for traveling. I want to move beyond this particular rut forever. It may a rut long to be remembered as a period of growth, but just a memory. I'm not there yet, but I am working on it.

I keep myself in the center of the Songs for the Inner Child. I have long said that mystery is contained in this album. I can't explain it, but when I talked with a close person the other day, she agreed. She has met God through the music as well. And the child within has a chance to rise up and face her fears. Fears and God, God and fears, these two are linked, so you tell me.

I am laboring to be sure. New birth surely wants to come forth. I feel the pains of labor, my whole body working, at times writhing. Do I want this "child" to be born? If so, the rut will disappear, never altogether, but gone nonetheless. A memory.

I know the message in this endeavor. Trust and faith, in you and myself. Sometimes I feel very strong, at others times weak. I am surely in a time of spring, renewal of body, mind and spirit. I know your desire. I know it so well. On one hand I do not want to pass this way again but until I am able to move forward I'm willing to continue circling until I grow past it.

My life
is in your hands.
You have entrusted it
to me,
but I know
the truth
that sets people free.
I am in your hands
even when I remove myself
from them.
I can't get away
from you.
Neither do I want to.
Help me,
dear God,
to break
the crazy cycle.
I am who I am,
a creation
of your own making.
Make out of me
what you will.
This is my earnest prayer.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, May 18, 2007

Dear God,

When presenting my personal covenant to my covenant group a year ago, I told them my greatest desire is to be faithful, faithful to God and I suppose faithful to myself. I want to be faithful in my striving to please you, to reach for your will. I want you to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I want these to be the words that greet me in eternity.

But being faithful is hard. If I am to be found faithful, then I have to live a faith-filled life. I have to faithful in my attitudes, actions, and behaviors. Living life in the light is all I really want. Making decisions in faithfulness will bring me joy. Not doing so brings me pain.

I recently told someone that my life felt really good right now. I feel as though I climbed out from under a dark rock and have found my own footing. Yet, when the winds shifted, I fell backward, hit my head on the rock and I'm laying in the soil pondering my lack of faithfulness to achieve your purposes. So hard to follow you in every case.

And so l wait, wondering, reflecting, trying to trust.

Lift my eyes
to heaven.
Make me glory bound.
Cleanse my center.
Stir in my soul
my greater need
to serve you
than my desire
to serve myself.
I await your power
to do so.

Lovingly, Andrea

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Dearest God,

I listen to the Songs for the Inner Child. My own inner child has become restless, unsettled, needing to deal with challenges that come from within and from without. I listen because I travel to the place of my soul. And my soul tells me the truth, teaches me, challenges me. Do I believe in myself, in faith? Do I believe what I profess, preach? Do I truly believe the tenets of faith that proclaim God as Lord of the universe, that God is as close as the tiniest of my atoms? Is God really woven into my being like a teeny thread of DNA? Do I function out of my beliefs, put my faith to the test and live in that center? Do I?

"Return to who you are, return to what you are, return to the land of your soul," the song says. My soul cannot lie to me. It must speak to me of the deep, of God, my place in the soil of faith. I can only trust in God who I meet there, who calls me to greater heights of faith. I can only operate from this center. I know who I am and what I am about.

All my life my center was built of paper. When the winds blew or the rain came down, I rushed from side to side, trying to hold up my center. But it fell, wet, slippery, damaged. Weakness was at my center. I operated from this uncertain place, never satisfied. Could I believe that God was in my paper? Or was God something more? Was my faith like this paper? Or was it built in some other way?

During my renewal my center was rebuilt with new materials. For three and a half months the paper, my sacred paper was honored for its many attempts to work for me. Then it was laid to rest. I cried, grieved for it. We were friends. We held on to each other. No, I held on to it. It simply fell at my feet or stuck to my skin. There was no strength in it. I guess I was always alone, or so it seemed.

But my renewal, ah my renewal. You entered my backpack. You traveled every day with me. And I, I carried you. You took me around the world in faith. You showed me faith in people. At the grotto in Lourdes, the sick in body came in wheelchairs, on stretchers. Their faith showed. My God, my dear God, how you showed me faith. You took me to the dry ground of Africa. Persons in mud structures, happy in their poverty, so alive with faith. St. Francis visited me in Italy, reaquainting me with the deepest depths of me. He reminded me of his first visit to me. He came silently, entering the realms of my spirit. Never before had I experienced such a union of spirit. He is with me, although I rarely call upon him. Yet he has been at work within me. Oh my God, how blessed I am. How blessed I am.

I lay down this morning listening, the music filling me, reaching my soul, tears spilling from my eyes. "I am strong," I cried. "I am strong." You have made me strong; I am no longer weak in my center. My center is built to weather any storm. Faith is my pillar, pillars of faith hold it on steady ground.

"I will sing you a song no one ever sang to me," I used to weep bitterly. No one sang me the song as I grew up. I longed for the song. I grieved that I couldn't hear it. I am sure Mother and Daddy sang it. I simply did not hear it. Grandma sang it but I needed it more often. Listening to the song today, I burst into tears. "You sang me the song. You sang me the song! Dear God, you sang me the song every day. I was never without the song. For you are the song.

Rocky times call for a reevaluation. I step into my soul. "What can you tell me about myself?" I ask. "What can you tell me about myself?" And my soul points me to you. "You are strong, Andrea, I have made you strong." And, of course, I weep again, knowing the truth, hearing it spoken. Out of love these words have come to me.

Sing me your song,
dearest God.
Let the tunes
forever dance
in my soul.
May my own center
sing your praise,
dance your glory,
offer you
my deep gift of faith.
I am never alone,
never have been.
You set me on firm ground,
then you built the pillars,
one at a time,
until all were standing.
Then you began to wrap
your spirit around each pillar.
You continued to build
upward
until my center
reached heaven.
This is the truth
that sets me free.

I shall forever honor you, my Lord. Andrea

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Dear God,

I woke up full this morning. I had been carrying weariness, tears from nowhere, some anxiety. I knew I did not want to carry it any longer. So I put on my CD, Songs from the Inner Child. There is a mystery in this album, one that draws me into myself. I find my own inner child and I give her attention. I listen to her, give her opportunity to express herself. This morning as the music played she danced. She danced and she danced. And in her dancing she released her tears, anxiety and weariness. Before I left for work she was calm and so was I.

Dancing with you, before you, prepared my spirit for my day's work. I uncluttered my soul, robbing my soul of its anguish. I let go, surrendered. Nothing bad. Just overwork and lots more to do. I have worked way too many hours at church and home. So many good things are happening and I allowed them to stick inside my soul. Not a good thing. I do have to let good things go once in a while too. Or I get overwhelmed.

My day went well as I trusted you. During the day I met with a wonderful student who wants to work her field education with us. I was excited. You are working this out too. When my work was concluded I drove into my garage at 5:55 p.m. I walked in the door crying out, "Five to six, it's five minutes until 6:00 and I'm home! I'm home! It's grand." I walked into the bedroom and put on my comfy pjs. I cried, "I've got on my pjs. It's grand. It's truly grand!" Then I made myself a 12 minute meal of spaghetti and tomatoes the way my mom made it. I put all my food on a tray and walked into the bedroom. I shouted, "I've got a real meal, a spaghetti dinner and I'm eating in bed! It's grand; it's wonderful!" I realized it was still daylight and I was home. I danced around after I ate and was so grateful.

Today I discovered once again that life is to be lived with you from beginning to end. By listening to you early in the morning I was able go through the day meaningfully. I was able to do my work, minister, think and reflect, meet with people. My dancing allowed me to release pent up emotions. Besides, dancing with you, for you gives me great delight. And that alone brightens my spirit.

When I listen and act, paying close attention to your words, my life changes. My momentary upsets take on a new hue. My transformed perspective allows me to be in touch with the deeper parts of my self who love to tend to spirit causes. And when I act upon your words to me, my life takes on greater meaning and value because I know I have followed your invitation.
I have done what you asked. I have labored in joy.

Glorious Lord,
you have made
my day worthwhile.
You met with me
early in the morning.
We walked together
all day.
Then at nightfall
we shared in celebration.
Simple things
become celebrations.
A day with you
is like no other day
on earth.
I am blessed
beyond measure.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Dear God,

You started a process nearly two years ago when you whispered to me about writing daily letters. The words were out of my mouth before I realized they were even in there. Writing a blog, communicating daily with you was a new idea. But once the words came flying out, it was a permanent plan.

At the time I didn't even know what a blog was. I had to find someone to help me create one. Once it was designed and I left for renewal, I began to write, to talk with you. No, I think it was listening to you, writing what came to me. Intimate thoughts of you, our relationship, your plan for my life, talking with me about hard things, insight, dealing with my fears, reflecting on daily sightings of the sacred. And now writing is part of my daily routine (most days).

I still write because it is the one time of the day when I am certain I am connecting with you. I feel this sense of closeness, every obstacle pushed aside (most times), a time of calm peace, moving into a sacred center, breathing the divine. I could die at those moments and not even have to find my way into heaven. I am already there.

Daily communicating keeps me looking forward, not back. It helps me understand that faith is alive, not static. Yesterday's experience of faith is not the same as tomorrow's. Taking faith for granted diminishes its power and beauty. I am a person of spirit and spirit wishes to be in touch with Spirit. It is that part of me that makes deepest sense, gives my life greatest value, meaning, and purpose. To imagine life without it is to envisage a life without a center, a hole of great dimension. Death comes to mind, spiritual and emotional, maybe even physical.

If the true substance of my life was created by holy hands, why would I turn away from it? Why would I want a life without my Maker? How could I ever daily live in hope? I could not.

I write not because I must, a mandate from heaven, but rather because it is a lovely thing to do. Letter writing between friends. Two, writing one another about the depths of human living. Discovering the sacred in the human. Chewing on the meatiness of life. Asking questions. Pondering. Reflecting upon what is the most vital in being a human. Digging for truth. Loving.

Writing is filled with life at so many levels. On occasion I run into a box, a box of my own making. But I have learned how to dismantle the boxes that hem me in, that stifle and destroy. You taught me years ago how to deal with boxes and I've been tearing them down ever since.

Some boxes had great meaning for me. I held on to them because they gave me life. But the strange thing is that boxes can turn dangerous to health (any kind). They can begin to suck the life out of you. The well known box, the once place of safety changes, turns on you. You can continue to live there. It is after all well known, familiar. But life will turn sour and you can die in the process. Communicating with you helps to identify boxes that need alteration or something more.

Writing you keeps me fresh, challenges cobwebby places, reminds me of who I am, what I am about, how I am connected to a far greater plan than my own. I live in these moments of communication as a dynamic spirit. You and I live on the same plain. We speak a common language. We know one another and we keep in constant touch. That's what intimates do.

Today I simply sit at your feet, reflecting upon the goodness of our relationship. And I am so very grateful.

You and I,
Thou and me,
a divine rhythm,
a pendulum
swinging
back and forth.
We ride
the sacred wave together.
Two lives,
not equal to be sure,
but entwined.
My paltry offerings
become sacred
because you deem it so.
And my sacred offering
makes me one with you.
I live in awe (most moments).

Love always, Andrea

Monday, May 14, 2007

Dear God,

The most gorgeous day dawned in your presence today. I stepped outside for a moment to gaze at the beautiful Iris in my contemplative garden. Purple, yellow, wine, they are exquisite, delicate, fragile. An old-fashioned flower, a remnant of my old garden.

The yard and garden have come to life once again, not unexpectedly of course, but still a surprise of sacred dimension. In the winter time all seemed dead, disinterested. But then Spring came bringing surprise after surprise. It all happened so fast. I missed some things. Flowers blossomed before I realized they are budding.

I live in a little bit of heaven. My back yard and garden look like paradise. Varying colors and textures, a variety of trees and pines. A pond with no fish. I've got to get it cleaned out and fill it up with fish, 21 to be exact, each named after a grandchild. I've got to keep them alive this winter! I'll have to add another in September making it 22.

My soul goes through seasons just like the earth in Indiana. Spring urges me toward new life. My winter tiredness is challenged to liven up and bring forth new birth. Some days I see the results of my labor. Other days I barely drag on, wanting to remain in my hibernation.

I recognize my blessedness. When I am still, silent, breathing spirit air, I see life in all its dimensions. I realize the sacred quality of life in ministry. I know I am adorned with you, dear Lord. I walk in sacred sound, listening for the divine tune. People come to me sometimes tattered and torn looking for a reason to keep going. Somewhere in the conversation the tune of heaven plays and new life begins to want to burst forth. I am blessed to see it, a living birth of spirit trust.

My days in ministry are numbered. I see them passing by, a gentle passing really. But I am still living in joy every day, leading, guiding, listening, helping, hoping, shepherding. I am not one who retires before the retirement. I am busy, way too most of the time. But I'm preparing the soil for even greater birth. I see myself as a sacred gardener tending to the plants, some strong, deeply rooted, others with tiny fingers wanting to root in fertile soil. I am weeding, sometimes painfully, clearing away the debris. I am watering, living water than brings life to everything it touches. I hover keeping away the wolves that would come to bring fear, to uproot what's been planted, plants that will bring fruit. What a beautiful work I have.

Let me live
in appreciation
always.
May gratitude
forever live
within my heart.
May my soul
always give praise.
Master,
lead this small gardener
to help create
a magnificent garden.
Just for you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Dearest God,

A discombobulating day! I felt disjointed, disconnected. My brain and my body couldn't get together! My soul had the desire, but the rest of us couldn't put two ducks in a row.

Some days seem to be more difficult than others when I try to get it all together. I had two meetings on Saturday afternoon and evening. I worked on my sermon until 11:30 p.m. then I couldn't sleep. I probably only slept an hour of time in sequence.

Dear God, how might a day look if lived in your total will? How might my body, mind and spirit be altogether, doing exactly what you intended? Would life be perfect? Would I be still, content, happy knowing you and I were on the exact same page at the same time? Would my body be calm, unstressed, in perfect union with the rest of me? Would I know I was completely fulfilling your will?

I'm not interested in perfection. But I am vitally interested in doing your will. I want to live my days in union with you. I want to be the pendulum that swings with God, swinging back and forth in divine rhythm. I want to live with the still small voice that guides my attitudes, actions, emotions, and decisions. I want to live like you.

My day ended better than it began. My granddaughter wanted to spend the rest of the day after church and lunch with me. I told her I was worn out, that I had to take a nap. So we came home, put on the original Parent Trap video and slid into bed. I fell asleep immediately. I had given her the video as a birthday gift and she'd already seen it several times in the last few weeks, but she loves it so I knew she would be a happy camper. At some point in the movie she woke me up, "Grandma, I'm tired and my eyes are droopy." "Go to sleep, sweetheart, and we'll finish the movie when we wake up." We caught the last fifteen minutes of the movie when we woke up.

We spent the rest of the day in a serene setting, having a snack on the patio and reading books together. She read the left page and I read the right. We talked about important matters to a seven year old.

When I drove her to the funeral home parking lot where we would meet up with her dad, I remained in my pjs, still falling asleep as she read her book aloud. We hugged goodbye and I prayed I wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel before I got home.

O God,
some days
in my soul
are cloudy and overcast.
The grayness
colors everything around me.
I am tired,
weary, without energy.
I can't seem to find
my rudder.
When the fog rises
or gray clouds hang overhead,
help me not to be discouraged,
but to trust totally
in your care.
Make me
a true follower,
one who does not react to life,
but embraces God
in life.
This is my true desire.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Dear God,

I had a little run in with a public restroom paper towel holder. I simply pushed down the lever to get a paper towel to dry my hands when the darn thing blew apart. The front popped out and fell down, a spring flew into my hands, and the edge scraped my arm. Standing in front of the mirror looking at the cock-eyed towel holder and my scratched arm, my whole body burst into laughter. Who else would experience such a thing? It was waiting for me to arrive. I walked out of the room laughing so hard I couldn't even explain to my friend what had happened. When I finally calmed down, I told the server about the broken holder. She responded, "Now, say that again. What happened?"

The story of my life. What is it with me? I experience the craziest things. I had just finished a conversation with my daughter a few hours before. She had been pleading with me not to paint my cathedral ceiling bathroom. "Mom, you're clumsy. You know something will happen. Remember when you went shopping at the huge Kroger store and you found the only square inch with a grape on it and you slid and fell? Don't paint the bathroom!!!"

Undoubtedly I am the only person to have walked into a sharp pencil and had it sticking out my foot. I am probably the only person to have a large cross fall on her. I am the only person to have used my hands to fight off a small fire on a cross where sins were posted to keep a forest from burning down. I am perhaps the only person to run into the ocean and crip out with an injured knee. I am positive I am the only person to have a vein break in my ring finger sending me to the hospital because it swelled up. I am surely the only person to find the only small rock on the church parking lot who fell breaking my foot in three places. And I'm sure if I had a little more time I'd think of at least a dozen more things.

Am I careless, Lord? Am I truly clumsy? Am I an accident waiting to happen? If so, why would anyone want to be around me other than to rescue me? I don't intentionally look for something to do! And I hate the attention my clumsiness brings me. Well, at least they're good for a laugh!

Dear God,
what is it with me?
I can't figure it out!
Teach me
the path toward self control,
except when you need
to control me.
Keep me on the path
of safety.
Make me,
remould the carelessness
or at least
keep me away
from possible
injury sites.
Help me
trust you more.
And keep me laughing,
it keeps me sane.
I love you.

Love, Andrea

Friday, May 11, 2007

Dear God,

A crashing computer. A gummy, slow, problematic computer. A cell phone with a weak signal. An invalid telephone calling card. Lost connections. This was my life as I tried to connect with my office and nearly a dozen people as I made my way to Clifty Falls for a couple days of R and R. Needless to say the R and R hasn't really started yet. The office computer and mine do not seem to want to connect and share information. I have to call to share the bulletin contents. But the phone connections don't want to work either.

Lost connections. Phone, computer, what else? I sit here at a wooden table in the Clifty Falls Inn just inches from a life size Smokey the Bear where supposedly the wireless connection is to provide the route by which I can communicate. It's not happening. The message is loud and clear: Let go! Disconnect!

As I look out the large picture window, fog rises up from the river. A new day is dawning. I can't see clearly but I know the sun will burn it off, leaving a clear view of the water, hills, tugboats, cars, and church steeples. Do I need a little burn off!

I finally wrote you my letter in a Word document, thinking I could transfer it later to my blog. I didn't get frustrated and upset. In fact the whole thing is becoming comical. When I decided to let it all go, disconnect and enjoy my time away, something clicked immediately and I was able to send my bulletin via cyberspace. Whoa! It doesn't usually happen that quickly. Okay, okay, I got the message!!!

Your will is clear.
I know your intent.
Letting go,
releasing
should be so easy.
But no,
it's not.
I am
such a slow learner.
Forgive me,
Lord,
I want to follow,
not lead.
I want to listen,
not talk.
I want to stay
at your feet
instead of insisting
you stay at mine.
Keep me close
and attentive,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Dear God,

I revisited death today. Ginny died unexpectedly. I was calling to find out the result of her tests and Bill told me she was gone. I was shocked. I had just talked with her 36 hours before. She said she would call. She didn't.

Then I went to visit Jeanette who is in hospice care and has taken a downward turn. She had been doing very well. Now she has a pain, fever and loss of appetite. Maybe it's a bug, maybe not.

I whirled into her home. I often describe myself as a tornado whirling in and whirling out. That came from a visit to her hospital room a few months ago when I told her when she felt better we would don pink ballet tutus to whirl and twirl, dance on tables. She laughed and so did I. She always smiles when I walk into the room. Maybe she's imagining us on those crazy tables.

I love Ginny and Jeanette. They are two of my favorite people. I am saddened by the loss each will bring as they transition from this life to the next. I will miss them just as I have missed those I have lost before in my ministry. I had said goodbye many, many times.

Goodbyes are only hellos somewhere else. I don't know how that all works. I don't have all the details. I just know it happens. Like the grain of wheat that falls and dies, a goodbye, and the new wheat that grows from the death some time later, a hello. Life is filled with goodbyes and hellos. A good plan really.

It is my privilege to be on both sides of the goodbyes and hellos. In ministry I help people say goodbye to old behaviors, making room for a hello. I enter into their joy as they move from death to life. And even from life to death to new life as they conclude their earthly existence and take up the new life elsewhere. I don't understand it all; I just know that you make it all happen.

Let my joy,
my inner joy,
be the well of hope
to others.
Let my words
be the language
of love.
Let my faith
be an anchor,
a rock solid anchor
in a dangerous storm.
Let my peace
be the peace
of Jesus.

My hope is in you, Andrea

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Dearest God,

I had to share some hard news with a friend about a friend. I had to talk about the harsh realities of illness with the hope of a miracle.

Daily I realize more and more how much trust is required to live the truly Christian life. To adopt Christ into the interior of one's own heart is to live differently, to take on a new perspective, to walk beside the man of Galilee. It is a radical departure from the self-centered life. I can no longer walk alone. You walk with me. My conversation cannot be one sided for how do you have someone beside you then ignore them when reflecting upon any matter on the face of the earth? Either I choose the life or I do not. Whew!

I speak life, the abundant kind, to others because I believe in it. Oh, not the kind with fancy houses, cars, money. How boring, shallow and non-essential. I talk about life in the center. Walking in faith, taking you places you never dreamed of visitng. Listening to hope that gives new breathing room. Living in joy that erupts from a deep place, not from some "on the surface happiness" that spontaneously occurs and is over in a second. Joy, that intimate knowing life is good at the center where peace, comfort, and contentment reside. Trusting in a Divine source where questions to life emerge to strengthen our center. Knowing that trust is always the best place to begin. Stepping upward into a sacred realm where life at the center teaches holy living. You are here, in this arena, calling out. I hear and come, often. Nothing, no one can provide an iota of what is possible with you.

Moments talking in my study about life and death, death and life always arise from the center because I know that the grand design takes into account all things. Life comes from death and from death comes new life. Connected together I die to myself today in an area where death needs to occur, a selfish behaior, an unkind thought, an ugly behavior. And new life comes forth when I take my instruction from the Center where you call me to higher, more meaningful living.

I met you
at the center
many times today.
I wanted
my language
to be the language of faith,
not doubt.
I wanted to
live in your truth,
not my own,
except when my truth
and yours
intersect
and become one.
Only then
do I have anything
of value
to say.
Death and life.
Life and death.
Fear moves into faith
and peace
is the only answer.

I shall always love you, Andrea

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Dear God,

Patience, learning to wait, going with the flow, waiting some more. Two hours, it was, two hours just to change an airline ticket. Two hours online, on the phone, online some more. I had other plans for those two hours. But time was getting short and I had to make the change.

Frustration gets into my bones sometimes. But you already know that. I have my plan, am ready to orchestrate it when the proverbial wrench comes flying through the air and lands right on my head. Perhaps the wrench has taken the place of the 2 x 4.

I am grateful. There I said it. I am grateful for the experiences that teach me patience. I can't say I felt that way yesterday. But today reflection tells me that I could keep moving about 100 MPH and never stop. You hinder my travel, stop me at little milk runs, you talk to me. I slow down, look around, gaze upon your creation and pray. I'm on your time, forget mine.

Why do I habitually want to follow my own crazy route? I know the way is not scenic, healthy, joyous or meaningful. Yet when I have the chance, my train slips onto another track. And there I am, riding the rails going faster and faster. And that's where I meet you. You're in the middle of the track holding up one of those light lanterns, swinging it back and forth. The message is: Warning: Light is on the track. Stop. Reflect. My train comes to a stop. I see you standing there with grace. My shoulders shrug. My head falls. I sigh.

Such moments are valuable lessons. More so because I now stop. I used to run right over you when I saw a caution light. I know what I'm dealing with now. So I stop, look and listen. I know the Voice, the Light, the Conductor.

Heavenly Father,
my life is in your hands.
I am hardwired
with you.
I do not operate my life
alone.
You are with me.
You are my conscience.
You are my synapse.
You are my control center.
You never
grow impatient with me.
Your love meets me
at the door to my soul.
And I stand humbled,
ever so grateful,
to You.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, May 7, 2007

Dearest God,

I love the seasons of Indiana, Lord. You placed every blessing in our state, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The highs and lows of temperature, mysterious spring budding and blossoming, delectable vegetables growing, magical turn of colors, and winter white. I'm blessed by each wonderful season.

I've spent a lot of time preparing, cleaning, working to get ready for spring. Washing down the screened in porch and patio, cleaning all the outdoor furniture, sprucing up the plants, designing my outdoor rooms. What work and what fun!

The screened in porch is ready. Yesterday I drank my coffee on the porch, looked out over my sacred contemplative garden, prayed and offered you my thanks. Last night I worked on the patio until I was too tired to finish. This morning I will finish it. I will spend time outside eating my meals, playing (sometimes I dance in the yard), praying.

I have been working hard to get ready for my Lilly read. Asked to be a Lilly reader I have commandeered my screened in porch as my reading room. My spare time will be spent on the porch, praying, reading, enjoying. I will savor each moment in your wondrous nature.

I am blessed, incredibly blessed by your grand scheme. The cycles of life prepare me for the next chapter. Spring offers me the opportunity for opening up. Summer allows me to take in. Autumn causes me to grow. Winter moves me to reflect. Opening up, taking in, growing and reflecting all year long. Exceptional plan.

Spring work is labor intensive. Pulling weeds, planting vegetables, edging the gardens, cleaning up, mowing, and pruning take so much time. But I know I am working toward something grand. When I complete a project, I look at my work, offer myself praise and you, then I move on to the next task until all is complete. Then I am ushered into the period of taking in after opening up my small part of the world and myself. It's all a wonder.

I love the moments
of preparation
with you.
Each activity, each task
is a sacred exercise.
A holy working.
We work well together,
you and I.
You give direction
and I take it.
Our lives entwined.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Dear God,

"Earth is the only place where we can praise God with our tears. In heaven all tears will be wiped away." I was struck by the words of our guest pianist as she spoke before she played a piece by the French composer Fauvre. "Earth is the only place..."

I have never considered tears as a method of praise. And yet there have been many times when I have stood humbled before you and tears were a natural outcome of my humility. When I had no words to speak my adoration, tears formed and spilled.

Several years ago I lead a retreat. I had brought with me small, delicate tear vases I had purchased in Jericho. I spoke about the daughter of a biblical character who was sacrificed by her father. She went away with her friends for three months, then returned for her death. She was buried with her tear vase.

In ancient Palestine all women had tear vases. And they were indeed buried with them. The legend was that the tear vases were carried into heaven and offered to God. I still have mine.
God knows I have shed my share of tears throughout the years. Perhaps I will carry mine with me as well.

Tears spilled at your feet are tears of trust. Who would trust just anyone with their tears? Several years ago a woman called me at the office. She asked if she could come to my study to cry. I was a little taken aback, but I told her to come as soon as she could. When she entered my office, I closed the door. The woman moved to the floor where she lay crying for a long time. It was clear that these tears had been held for many years. I just sat quietly while she wept. I did not attempt to stop her or try to comfort her. She simply wanted to cry with me.
Last year another woman called and did the same thing. They were both peaceful when they left my office.

I have witnessed the release of tears brought on by years of sorrow and grief. Unexpressed until that very moment the occasion was holy to be sure. I pick and choose my own weeping.

One time the church was having a very difficult time. I was calm, serene during a gathering of about 100 people. I did not react to the unkind, mean-spirited words that were being spoken. I was, however, crushed by the pain suffered by some. I realized my role was to listen, not react or become defensive. I was silent, praying inside my own spirit. When the meeting was over, I could only drive a quarter of a mile when gut-wrenching sobs poured out of me in a CVS parking lot. Down deep in my gut they rose up. I screamed them out, allowing each cry to express itself. I sobbed for nearly an hour until you comforted me and I was able to drive home. I will never forget that time. I wonder how these tears praised God. Maybe it was the moment when you and I were alone. I trusted you with every drop. I released them into your hands where you collected each tear. I will always remember.

Holy God,
I don't cry
like I used to.
For a long, long time
I cried every day.
You alone were my comfort,
my peace.
I cried until
you revealed my answer,
told me of your agape love.
I trusted you
immensely.
May I remember
that tears are holy expressions
of trust in the maker of tears.
May I recall to mind
each time you have received my tears,
freeing me for my future.
May I always give thanks
for the shed tears
of sheer thanksgiving.
May my love
be yours forever.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, May 5, 2007

Dear God,

Three little girls, 7, 6, and soon to be 3 and I held our own party. We went to the park, Dairy Queen, to the church for a music rehearsal, to Mediterranean Pizza and back home. Dropped into bed at 10:20 p.m. after watching Hanna-Barbera Friends Sing-A-Long. In the morning we were back at it playing Old Maid (I lost, am sure it was a conspiracy), riding around the yard in the wagon behind the mower and swimming in the jacuzzi (no room for grandma). Before their moms picked them up at 6:00 p.m. we turned up the tunes of Teen Idols and we danced up a storm. I pretended to play the guitar and they danced around me. Making memories is exhausting but so much fun. We laugh, giggle, tease and pretend.

Being a grandparent is such a privilege. Perhaps I am making up for being a single mom putting herself through college and seminary, living on the poverty line, working a job and spending very little time with my children. Those were tough days. I regret the time I lost with my girls.

I look into the faces of these precious grandchildren and I wonder what is ahead in life for them. Disappointments and hurts to be sure. When I had to break the news that all my fish had died during the blizzard, they looked at me in bewilderment. Twenty one fish, each with the name of my 21 grandchildren, couldn't breathe when the snow piled up. My granddaughters were shocked to think I couldn't have saved them. Lesson No 1 as a grandparent: No savior here, just a grandma.

Life is changing for the girls. When they used to climb into the jacuzzi for a swim, the big tub was a great play space. But Sophie said as she jumped into the pink swirl, Grandma, the tub is too little. Insight. You're right sweetie.

I look at my life in relationship to these grandchildren and I want to guide their little lives along side their parents. I want to make a difference for them, with them. I want to show them a deeper place to travel, spiritual pilgrimages that will last a lifetime. I want to walk the route of faith with them, ask them questions rather than give them all the answers. They'll figure them out themselves. It will stick that way.

Great God in Heaven,
thank you
for the privilege
of grandparenthood.
For all my mistakes
with my own children,
help me make a mark
where it counts.

Love, Andrea

Friday, May 4, 2007

Dearest God,

I love the sparkle, the twinkle, the sheer delight in my granddaughter's face when she sees me. When she knows I am on my way to her house, she waits at the front door looking out the window. I honk halfway around the corner from her home. She squeals and shouts, "Grandma's here, Grandma's here!" When I pull up in the driveway, she bolts from the door and we run toward each other like those movie scenes. I used to pick her up and twirl her around. But she's seven and tall for her age, wearing a size 12. Now I pull her up close to me and I squeeze the daylights out of her.

Gabrielle tells her mother that I am her best friend, that she would pick being with me over her friends. Wow! It's sorta like being picked first on the team. Now, I know that won't last long. But for now I enjoy the notoriety.

Gabrielle and I have such fun together. But then so do Sophie and I. I just have fun with all my grandchildren (in the double digits).

I have become increasingly aware of my need and responsibility to pass along what I have learned in my lifetime. I have decided to take my seven year old and six year old to the House of Prayer. I grew up in the small town of Tipton and I want to take the girls to visit my old homes on Main Street and Green Street. I want them to walk around the old train station where my dad worked when my siblings and I were very young. I want to take them by the old farm house in Atlanta (population 500) where my grandparents lived for more than 70 years. My father and his three brothers were born there.

I want to take them to the land where the old Methodist Church used to stand. I want to tell them about my miraculous experience of Christmas when I was an elementary aged girl singing in the church on Christmas Eve.

I will drive them to Elwood where I lived from ages 10-16. I'll take them past my old house on South K Street and to my church where I attended, then served when I went to college in my 40's.

I will take them to Arcadia where most of my family is buried, my paternal grandparents, parents, cousin, uncle and assorted greats. I will tell them why the tiny cemetery is important to me.

I want to share why I am a Christian and what my ministry means to me. I will talk with them about retreats and growing in faith. I will introduce them to the Catholic sisters in Tipton and on the way home we will go to the Carmelite Monastery.

I want to share what is important in my life, most of all faith. I want to teach them, guide them, and invest myself in their future.

I will one day be an ancestor to their children's children. What I make of my life today will have an influence on my grandchildren's lives. What I share with my grandchildren will have an impact on their children and their children's lives. I want to do my part to make a difference in the world, particularly in children very dear to me.

With your help
I can become
all you want me to be.
I can change
the course of history
in my home,
in my church,
in my family.
I am not great,
nor will people remember me
long after I am gone.
But what I do now
makes a difference,
here, there and around the corner.
I have a purpose
and I will fulfill it
as I listen and follow.
I carry a history with me.
And that history is valuable
to me
and to those around me.
I am blessed
beyond imagination.
I live a gifted life.

Humbly grateful, Andrea

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Dear God,

When the scales are ready to tip in any direction, my hope is that your presence will help me lean in the divine direction. Often that is not the case. I simply react to a situation. Later my heart sadly tells me of my wrong.

I disappoint you on many occasions. I am sure of it. I dip, pitch, careen, sag, roll and veer with my emotions, then my feelings pass responsibility to my mind who justifies my feelings. But when my feelings and mind are finished making a case, my soul steps in and asks, "What are you doing?" Conviction.

I'm not striving for perfection, waste of precious time. I am, however, aiming for a higher spiritual loyalty. Looking toward you, my eyes fixed on the Great Creator of the vast universe, I am looking for God, for direction, for guidance. I am never disappointed, even when I am given a great challenge, something difficult to do. I may be opposed to the idea, but when my soul alerts me to the joy of believing and following, I work to relent my will to Thine.

My life's task is to synchronize myself with you. Often, way too often, I go off on my own. And then I listen to myself and realize I'm off on a side trip to nowhere. I may learn from the adventure but probably I could learn more by staying on the path laid out for me. It's my life's struggle.

I've learned that when I am tired, bone weary tired, I tend to lean away from you, rather than toward. My attitudes and actions reinforce this movement away. Not only do I delude myself, I fail in my grappling for the sacred prize.

But in the midst of the chaotic soul fight, I hear your voice calling me to return. Thank you for the sweet voice of conscience that calls me home. My heart, mind, emotion, soul and spirit find quiet peace, sacred calm. Contentment.

I love you,
Great Master of the Universe.
My soul is contented
only when in line
with your will.
When I step outside
the boundary
you have set for me,
sin looks me in the face.
I may relent,
falling low,
or I may release,
reaching higher.
Meet me
where I am
so I may rise
to where you are.

Grateful for the vision, Andrea

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Dearest God,

An array of motivating speakers made for a long day but the inspiration never stopped. Persons who figured out their purpose and are doing it very well taught us about fulfilling ours. I walked away affirmed that I am fulfilling mine.

Many one-liners made me realize I am doing it right. "Do things out of the ordinary." "Make life-changing decisions. Put it all on the line." Think outside the box." "Change the rules of the game." "Use innovations others aren't using." "Be yourself." All leadership musts if you want to be successful in what you are doing.

I learned so much, was very inspired, and had fun with 30,000 people singing and dancing to "Surfin' USA" and hitting beach balls that bounced all over the dome. Do it different. Don't be afraid to risk.

But the most poignant line came in the final minutes of the conference. An African proverb. "When you are preparing for the journey, you own the journey, but after the journey, the journey owns you." I wrote it down. Felt it. It's true.

I am sure my journey to God began at the beginning. But my conscious awareness took a new turn during my renewal leave. And since then the journey has owned me. It leads me, teaches me, guides me, gives me insights. It is awake, lively, active. I would say it stole my soul. But that's not true. I gave it my soul, my spirit too. The journey and I are one. There was a uniting of God and myself in a way I had only imagined. I had experienced the journey at peak moments in my life. But when I took those first steps on my Journey to God clergy renewal leave, I had no idea how my life would be touched or how we would merge together. We joined up and chose to remain together for the rest of my life.

I see you in everything. I am conscious of your presence every minute of the day. I don't have my spiritual life on a shelf tucked away where I take it down on occasion to get a "feel good" experience. Instead it is a conscious part of my life. I see through a spirit lens that sees God in daily living.

I saw you in many of the speakers yesterday. A divine plan, often times I heard them talk about the plan for your life. You are the plan giver and I recognize your movement in the speakers whose work it is to help others become aware of God's plan in our lives. I became even more aware of my own, your plan for me. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to do. If you don't take a few risks, you won't be fulfilling your own purpose. And why? Because you have not outlined a dull, boring life for anyone. You expect something of us. We have to move out of the nest; we can't sit in a nest all our lives. And that involves a risk, a true leap of faith because the nest is comfy and warm and there someone else is taking care of us. We have to move out and discover that we can fly, soar.

Today was a grand day with the motivational speakers and with you.

Like a coach
who urges their players
to believe in themselves
to take risks
to play the game
and play it well,
you urge us on.
You encourage
and give us courage.
You remind us
that not everyone
will like what we are doing.
Some will be jealous.
Some will be ticked.
Some won't approve.
But if we are on the right track with you,
we need to keep trekking.
Keep my eyes
on you.
Keep my feet
going in your direction.
Keep my soul
desiring you.
Keep my determination
on your will.
Keep me,
dear Lord,
keep me going
for you.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Dearest God,

I love working in the soil. It has been three years since I last put in a vegetable garden. A small patch at the back of my property, I had to edge, dig, pull weeds, loosen the soil and rake before I could plant my tomatoes and peppers, ingredients for my fabulous salsa. It's taken me a few days an hour or two at a time.

After I planted my vegetables, I stood back and watered them. I thought of how my spiritual life is like this planting process. I have places in my life where I have hard places that need loosening. I have weeds, life's irritations that need plucking. I need at times to know my limitations, the edges, the boundaries. I have to have the soil of my soul raked of unwanted debris. Sometimes I have to dig deep to find you hidden away, like a treasure waiting to be found. I need watering, that living water stuff Jesus talked about. Working in the soil keeps me keen on working on my soul.

Watching my vegetable plants grow is great fun. But sometimes I fail to water them, compromising them to wilt and die. And weeds, they keep coming just like my life's irritations. I really didn't have time to put in my garden but it has a dual purpose. Provide the basic ingredients of my canned salsa and keep me thinking about my spiritual life. Will my plants produce fruit? Will my soul produce fruit? It's the same question.

I'm beginning to see some of the fruits of my labor at church. A long time in the waiting, I am seeing spiritual growth with a determination toward ministry. People coming to life, living their passion, seeking greater interest in what you have to offer. I envisioned this a long time ago; now the vision has become a reality.

Waiting, praying, hoping, believing is part of the spiritual growth process. Trusting you to be the key agent in this transformation is foundational to everything. Leaning on you to grow my vegetables, I lean on you for growth in myself, in your church where I serve alongside my parishners.

The weeks ahead will show my faithfulness in the garden. Will I care for my plants while leaning on God to produce fruit? Will I allow my own soul to undergo this transformative process, finally giving evidence of my own work? We'll see.

Grow me,
dear God.
Take all the stuff
that makes me
and grow me.
May my vegetables
teach me more
about trust in you.
May I learn more deeply
the truth about trust.
May we partner together
in this growing adventure.
Take my hand,
or rather I'll take yours.
I'll see where
I wind up,
praising you.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, April 30, 2007

My dearest God,

A new day has come. A corner turned. Big ideas have taken root in yet another committee. Labeled "a little church in the wildwood" a few years ago by a former member, we've packed up and headed for the city. No more boxes for us!

When you get hold of someone, everything changes. No more status quo! Changing times are are imminent. Your plan begins to unfold. You've gotten hold of us, our church (your church) is moving because you deem it so.

Our missions committee met last night. We want 100% of the congregation involved in mission, from taking mission trips to building homes for the needy to cutting out stamps to building libraries and sending kids to school, we are ready!

Our silent auction and dinner idea is moving along. We're thinking big, kicked that old box out. So many things coming together!

As I sat in the car after the meeting and looked at our old building, I could see God in the brick and mortar. Your face was all over the building, a smiling face, a happy face. Your house is a happy place.

Such transformation is possible when we allow you to run your own church, when we listen and allow your ideas to become reality. You take the clay we are and you begin the process of molding and shaping, then you fire us up. Glazed with grace we are beautiful and others want to be like us.

It's our time, your time. Your hand is moving in and through us and we like it. Hallelujah!

Your church
is the place
of new life.
We are budding
and blossoming.
We are producing fruit,
of the most luscious variety.
We have opened ourselves
to your wave length
and the signal
is strong and clear.
We're listening,
really listening
and we want
to follow your lead.
Our hearts are so full of love
for you.
Our spirits are soaring high.
We know the Wind
beneath our wings
is none other
than your spirit power.
When we need to fly higher,
raise the wind
to lift us.
When we need to be brought low,
guide us gently to the ground.
Power of All That Is,
to you we owe everything.
We are nothing without you.
Praise is on our lips.

Gratefully, Andrea