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