Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Dearest God,

The morning Maine air is some of the freshest air on earth. I love waking up to a fresh, clean, crisp morning. Upon rising I looked around me, a bedroom sorely in need of renovation. Some work is done but the trim, that centuries old woodwork needs lots of hard toiling in order to make it ready for a fresh coat of paint. And so, with much thought I exchanged my pjs for dance clothing.

I drove the seven minute drive. Only a couple of cars were parked in the parking area. I climbed out, took hold of my sand chair, then walked to the water’s edge. The sun was peeking over the horizon, the waves were washing ashore and my heart and soul were already dancing. I waited, simply standing by the water, waiting for a sign that we were ready, you and I. And then it came, a simple tune. I had no idea what it was, no matter. This is not Name that Tune. I just hummed and moved as lead. I whirled and twirled, bowed, raising my arms in humble praise. I danced to our hearts' content. And when I was finished, I pressed my hands together in prayer, bowed my head, gave thanks, then threw you a kiss.

I gathered my chair, shorts, and shoes and headed for the car. A man crossed my path, a man who had been sitting in his car working on a crossword puzzle. As I placed my chair in the car, he came around to the back of his and asked, "What is that that you do?" I answered. "I'm a pastor; I do sacred dance. It is my way of expressing my love for God." In his Tennessean accent he shared, "That's the prettiest thing I've seen in a long time. I was so moved just watching you." I thanked him, offered him a blessing and said goodbye.

On my way home the sun reflecting through the trees, I thought about my writing, my dancing, my meditations. Somehow they inspire people. Many are touched by what they see, hear, feel. I just do what I do, express myself to you and in some mysterious way, others are touched by the Sacred. Perhaps it is because they see me or read my words but my expression moves them beyond the visible to the invisible, from the tangible to the intangible, from the human to the divine. What more can I say but my heartfelt thanks to you? Not only is the expression meaningful to me, it has a much wider audience looking for something more.

The mysteries of God, your mysteries unfold in ways beyond my comprehension. Human living is simply human living (a mystery in and of itself) until the sacred peeks through, a potential possibility for every human experience. You are revealed. We may not know what it is, but when expressed, it is clear to me that people are responding to God.

I can't be any closer
to you
than I am
when we are dancing.
I am wrapped in love,
and my body forms
to your presence.
Your desire is to be seen,
witnessed in this fragile, strange world.
My body, mind, and soul
blend together
in your loving presence.
I am so one,
a unity of my own spirit,
lead by the one great Spirit.
Blessing rises up
within me
and I offer it
back to you,
a boomerang of praise.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 25, 2007

Dear God,

Riding above the clouds, viewing the world from the "top" down is a spectacular view. Blue skies, a rising sun, puffy clouds below always remind me that what you see is not always what you get. From the "lower" side all I could see was gray. I didn't know until I rose above how magical the sky really was above the cloud formation. So incredibly beautiful!

I rode on an airplane with four seats across and an aisle in the middle. Felt like what sardines might feel like in a can, if, of course, they were alive. Packed. My "partner", the stranger next to me read the paper until we lifted off, then slept the whole time. I just watched out his window.

Sometimes, Lord, I react to what is visible, forgetting what is invisible so near to me. It's like wearing blinders, knowing the possiblity, yet not acknowledging the potential. I fail to see a whole picture, focusing more on what I am capable of seeing, not what might be. I lose the chance to be grateful, to live in the land of possibilities.

I can daydream like the best of them. I can imagine, put flesh to dreams. I can see what may be, knowing you can take what is and transform it into the what may be. I love roaming the landscape of dreams, hopes, walking in areas not yet unfolded. This world has so much hope. Birth is heavy with possibility.

Some people walk around with their heads in the clouds. Some would argue that they aren't down to earth. But isn't that how the yet unknown becomes known when we allow ourselves to live in a realm where dreams becoming flesh are possible? Is this not the place where inventors, composers, artists, dreamers live with the hope that something new is but a breath away? I tour this unknown scene on a regular basis. I don't let every idea take shape. Not that that's good or bad. But some come through, a spiritual exercise in trust. And when it does, I feel the majesty made in heaven, a divine touch, yours, a moment in time with the maker of the universe and stars beyond.

Anything good that comes of this endeavor is fully yours. I simply anticipate, listen, wait, follow. I carry your dream, give it life, spread the joy. The accompanying feeling is one of simple humility, wholesome respect, reverence and love. You have trusted me to carry out your plan, divine, sacred.

Awesome God,
the colors of the palette
are plenteous.
Possibilities,
potential dreams
await our willingness
to capture them,
to hold with sacred hands,
to offer them to the world.
Standing at your feet,
bowing in humble adoration,
you place in our hands
the keys to the treasure of life.
Let me never forget it.
For together
we will paint sunrises and sunsets,
happy children playing;
we will hum
the tunes of heaven
and make way
for the dancers.
We'll place rainbows in the sky
and waters on the dry earth;
we'll feed hungry, thirsty people
and spread rays of hope.
Master Creator,
release in me the power
to follow every moment,
not just some points in time.
Make me a partner
in creation.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Dear God,

The day before vacation is almost a nightmare. Getting ready, preparing, putting things together, packing, trying not to forget anything, making lists, checking them off. I never question whether it is worth it. It's always worth it to me.

Staying nice, being humane, keeping a calm presence, speaking well to others, I try to maintain this stance during my "day before" routine. Doesn't always work. I get short, annoyed, especially if people just want to talk. Ooh! Drives me crazy.

Patience, that eluding quality of life, or at least the drive for it always pushes me to my knees before you. And praying for it is almost as difficult. I pray and the struggle for it causes me to be more impatient.

Last night I received a voice mail from the airlines. My Sunday flight had been canceled. They had rescheduled me for Monday on a different airline. Scheduled to sit at the airport for more than four hours, however, between flights. I called them back and said it wouldn't work. Fifteen minutes later they told me they had put me on an earlier flight and all would be well. But today as I stood with 120 lbs of luggage, the airline didn't even have me in their system (the new one they were putting me on). Back and forth from Delta to NWA, one said they didn't have me at all. The other had me roaming around their system on eight different flights. "What in the world are you talking about?" I asked the agent who was very polite, yet somewhat green around the ears. "I'm not being charged for all that, am I?" She assured me that I was not, but there was no seat anywhere for me to fly out today.

That was it. I was going nowhere. I stood at the ticket counter stranded, mad, disappointed. I did have a confirmed, boarding pass-in-the-hand ticket for Monday but that was it. I had to pull that heavy weight around nearly knocking people over and my almost tripping. My poncho kept getting caught in the wheels. Pray for patience?

Moments like these are carefully designed, illustrated to remind me that if my life's goal is to be faithful, then I must learn to accept the challenges that come my way. I can expect the daggers to come from any direction all at once, but a faithful pilgrim will take them, make meaning from them, and move forward. I almost failed entirely, but I sensed that a thin thread of trust remained in me.

In the daily trials of life
keep me at your feet
even if it makes me miserable.
I want nothing more
than to remain at your side.
I can holler, shout,
squeal and cry
but keep me there,
Ever-Faithful God.
Otherwise,
I will fail life completely.
Faithfulness
is what I care about.
Teach me your ways,
Great Master,
show me the path
that leads home,
every time.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Dear God,

I like a clean house. And I like to come home to a clean house following vacation. I work hard before I leave so it will be pleasant when I return home.

I cleaned today, the house, the screened in porch, the patio, my desk. I cleaned up some papers and packed what I couldn't clean up. I fell into bed, worked on my sermon and prayed somehow you would "clean" up my life.

Cleaning up is not about perfection. I'm not aiming at that. I did that for decades and I was always disappointed. I could never achieve what I hoped for.

I want you to sweep away all the cobwebs, clean out the messy rooms, do a spring cleaning in my soul. I want you to open the windows to my heart, let the light in. I want you to wash me clean in living waters. I want to sparkle and be bright. A clean vessel will allow me to make a better witness in the world.

There always seems to be the same smudge in me, a virtually impossible place to clean up. A snag in the soul. You can clean that room several times a day but I have a way of cluttering it up again.

I would love to sit down with the psalmist, to listen to his poetry, to understand his arguments with you. I would rally to his side when he says, "Search me and find any wicked way in me. Cleanse me." Lead me into eternity, Lord, by cleaning me from top to bottom. Let nothing stand between us.

Your cleansing power
opens me to new areas
of joy,
dear God.
A moment in trust
draws me closer
until I can see my way.
The cleaner I am,
the greater my ability
to trust,
to follow,
to hear.
Keep me ever near,
Most Gracious God,
a clean heart
always prepared for you.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, June 22, 2007

Dear God,

We met as a staff, drove one hour to our destination, a holy site, Sisters of St. Joseph. The Catholic nuns welcomed us as they have for 15 years.

Eight of us gathered to retreat together, to build community, to plan and prepare for the next two years, to worship, and to celebrate. We are an unusual, uncommon group of people. I told a new administrative assistant when she started a year ago that we are a witty group of people who know how laugh at ourselves and with each other. We know how to tease and be silly. We know how to affirm one another, to help each other and to live out our faith with intentionality. We all love God and feel this calling to serve.

We made dinner together, spaghetti, salad, and bread, all the while chiding our music director because he didn't bring one of his fabulous desserts. After prayer we ate at the dining room table, giving God thanks for the food and one another. Then we gathered in the front room of the Little Noddfa House. I gave an overview of our retreat, what I had hoped we would accomplish, plan, prepare for the next two years.

For the next two hours we talked about the ministry happenings in our church. We talked about new ministries, hoped-for-ministries, current ministries and how they correlated with our church's five goals. Time after time we saw how they were dovetailing and what progress we were making in fulfilling hopes and dreams.

At nearly 10:00 p.m. about half retired to their beds, while four of us spent time deciding what animal we would be if we were an animal and what color of paint we would be and the kind. We laughed until our sides nearly split. The creme de la creme of silliness came out of us. As I unrolled my sleeping bag in the chapel (all the beds were taken) I thought of the many blessings this staff brings to our congregation. With a prayer of thanksgiving I fell asleep.

Lord of laughter,
what joy you bring
your people.
The ability to smile,
to laugh and tease,
to poke gentle fun,
to enjoy one another
is gift to all who receive it.
You have gathered
these people,
these blessed women and men
to serve your church.
You allowed me
the opportunity
to share with them
and I am indeed privileged
to do so.
Thank you
for my colleagues,
your servants,
my friends
and co-horts in crime.
I am blessed.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Dearest God,

I entered the holy space alone. Walking down the center aisle, I took off my shoes and knelt on the steps. Tears formed and fell upon my face. Pausing, I moved up the steps and stopped in front of the altar, the new altar that my husband and I had purchased for the church. “Do this in remembrance of me,” inscribed on the front, I began to sing, “We are standing on holy ground. And I know that there are angels all around. Let us praise Jesus now. We are standing in his presence on holy ground.” As I ran my finger across the letters of the words Jesus said to his disciples, tears continued to fall. I knew the angels, men and women, who had disappeared from the scene, caught by death, retrieved by God.

I walked around the altar, touching the symbols carved in the wood. Grapes. Wheat. The body and blood of Jesus. I ran my hand across the top, wanting to take in its beauty, desiring to leave a blessing behind.

As the tears trickled in the presence of angels and saints, I prayed. “Oh Lord, make this altar a blessing to you. Let every shared moment of Holy Communion bring glory to your name. Let baptisms and confirmations be moments where your name is lifted in hallowedness.”

The altar had just arrived the day before. Pastor Todd had called to let me know it had been put in its rightful place, center stage beneath the cross. I had asked if I could come over and spend a few minutes with it in prayer before its usage. He agreed.

My husband spent 18 years serving this church, hard years convincing the church to move, the votes, 10 years trying to sell the building, false leads and starts, some people leaving when it didn’t sell, hard years. I spent 10 of those years with him. I loved Calvary, still do. But then I love every church I serve and feel blessed, privileged to serve in ministry with the people.

Harold’s heart is still here. His long years of service, connected to these people, some of whom were born while he was here, grew up and went to college. He remembers. He had asked me if it was okay to buy a new altar for the new church. And of course I agreed.

And now I stood alone with it in the sanctuary. I prayed, remembering myself, then I turned, walked down the steps, slipped on my shoes, and left.

Holy God,
one moment in your presence
is like no moment anywhere else.
There is nowhere else
I want to be.
To linger by your altar,
to remember your grace
to savor your compassionate mercy
is gift to me.
May you, O God,
find joy and delight
in the new altar.
May your people
draw near to you
in the years ahead.
I give great thanks
and offer you
my love.

Always, Andrea

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Dear God?

Can the body heal apart from the spirit? Can the mind heal apart from the body? Can anything heal without its parts? The mind, body, spirit connection was not one I grew up with. My parts did not know they had kin who cared. Therefore, when I was ill, distraught or confused, or without direction, I did not realize there were untapped parts of my self.

It was 1997, remember? A September wedding. My daughter married and moved to France. Her leaving left an opening for a chain of events that would forever change my life. In two weeks on a vacation to the Carolinas, our SUV suddenly lost control and crashed, turning over and destroying our brand new 26' trailer. Within a month I failed a stress test. Another month turned up thyroid nodules that would eventually begin to cut off my breathing apparatus and lead to other severe problems. Within weeks I was diagnosed with breast cancer. All this was painful, scary. My whole being felt threatened.

A friend suggested I visit a wholistic chiropractor. The only chiropractor I knew was my grandfather and I always questioned what he did, mostly out of ignorance.

I remember entering the small office. Lots of people waiting. It looked like a typical waiting room. A nurse took some vitals and asked questions. Then I went in to see the doctor.

Over the course of several months I visited the doctor weekly, sometimes more often, twice or three times a week. I began to drink Alpha Green, a yucky green powder in water. I put mineral something or other on my tongue every day. I received a massage to my "wounded" parts. The music playing throughout was soothing, calm, peaceful.

I thought chiropractors just cracked and popped people. I had no idea they looked at the whole person. My time with the doctor began to reveal emotions about which I was not aware. Things began to "come up" that revealed some major brokenness. I still was not fully aware of what was happening at the time.

I began to experience change, transformation. I didn't know how. I still didn't understand it all. My "parts" held a reunion, a reuniting of all of me. No longer divorced from one another, I began to speak a new language, live a new life, pulling together a new reality. When my mind cleared I began to have visions of wholeness. Again I didn't know where they were coming from because I had been "separated" for so long. But soon my life took a new direction.

1997 was the year of change for me. I became acquainted with the body, mind, spirit connection. Through knowledge and experience I called for my whole being to come together in a way that would bring new life to me. I brought my learnings into my work, my ministry. I lead a retreat, a couple of them on the subject. And now when I become ill, I pull out my Heal Your Body book and look at it. And sure enough 9 out of 10 times it will reveal themes in my life.

I have recommended my doctor to at least a dozen people. I am accompanying someone today.

I will return to the scene where my whole being danced for the first time, a vision of loveliness that I will carry with me all the days of my life. A revelation, a picture of you taking my hand and inviting me to dance. At first I was too inhibited, shy, afraid. But you gently coaxed me to step forward, to trust, to move. All my parts shuddered at first. But then, I moved one foot, then another. My hand turned, palm up, an expression of openness. I was shaky in the beginning but when you put your arm around me to steady me, we began a new life dance. And before long my vision took me into the dark universe studded with star light. We danced, and danced and danced. I had never known such beauty before. Frequently I return to that moment in my spirit life.

Healing is a life-long process. I cleaned out the cobwebs of my life, like the woman in the bible who swept out all her demons, making space for God. I still fight with demons who threaten, but God always wins the fight and the dance continues.

Gracious God,
my life-time dance partner,
we return
to my beginning,
our beginning.
I will remember,
savor and cherish
the moments of my new birth.
Today I will give thanks,
praise dancing on my lips.
And my heart
will beat in rhythm
with the Divine.
You are my God
forever.
I am your child.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Dear God,

I don't usually pray daily for hospital patients. I do include them among the sick; however, I don't often pray for doctors, nurses and technicians. Today was different. My friend, a pastor, had become a patient.

Four ministers circled 'round. Our colleague was having a heart catheterization. One emergency occurred delaying her procedure, then a second. It was two hours later that they finally wheeled her in. Her husband was obviously nervously. He's an exceptional husband to Cindy.

Our time of waiting was scary, like any other. But we used the time to reminisce special time together. We recalled coming together as a covenant group, traveling on pilgrimage to France for renewal, inviting our spouses to join us for the trip, going on retreats, challenging one another to faith and growth. Sometimes we were nearly bent over in laughter by recalling funny incidents. I'm surprised they didn't throw us out. But we like other family members remained glued while waiting.

As pastors, preachers and teachers we are taught the art of waiting, listening, attending. Like doctors we learn bedside manner (they don't call it that but you get the point) and how to care for patients. We are taught to set aside our own feelings to attend to the patient's emotions, fears and concerns but Cindy was family. We fell into the same category as family members.

Each one of my covenant group has taken a turn in the hospital. I've certainly had my fair share. And we (they) have always been present for one another. We pray, share, help, love, and care for one another. God knows how I have counted on that. You have been the greatest presence in the room. We have had to wait for word before wondering if our dear friend would be okay.

When I visit patients in the hospital I personally take the opportunity to pray for every employee of the hospital, for every patient, and their personal needs. I pray that you will guide their work, bring comfort, and hope. When Cindy's doctor came to discuss her "case" with us, he shared that he had been walking past her bed after a visit to another patient when we were praying. "That's good," he said, "that was very good." Cindy told him we had prayed for him as well. He was pleased.

I was reminded again today that we all play a part in another's healing. We wanted Cindy to be healed of any malady and we took the opportunity to pray for the healing of those around her as well. In the end Cindy got good news. I can only pray that our prayers helped others as well.

Thank you
for Cindy's good report.
We are grateful.
I continue to pray
for all others
who suffer,
especially those
for whom no one prays.
May your son
walk among all the sick today,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 18, 2007

Dear God,

Mine is the story of amazing grace. Grace that swept me up like a dust storm in Kansas. On days when I reflect upon my life I see grace sweeping over the landscape of my soul.

Some people consider a song to be the theme of their life. Mine is Amazing Grace. I think I must have first sung this song when I was a child. Must have heard the old timers sing it at the Atlanta Methodist Church in the tiny town of 500. It has become a theme song for me.

Weeks ago I was asked to baptize a woman who was struggling. Her church required an immersion. She had been sprinkled as a child but this mode of baptism was not recognized by her church. In order to do any kind of ministry in her church she had to be immersed. After much emotional suffering of what this all meant, she came to me. I knew her sister. Today it was just the two of us at the baptistery. We talked, I in my monk's robe and she in her swimsuit (I forgot a robe for her).

We talked about faith, what we believe and why we believe it. We thought of God's great mercy and sometimes institutional inflexibility. Before I read the story of Jesus' baptism, I told her the story of my travel to Israel in the 1990's.

I was leading a journey to the Holy Land. Eleven members of our church accompanied us. Several wanted to reaffirm their baptism in the River Jordan. But on our first day while traveling down the road from Tel Aviv, the tour guide told us that the schedule was tight and that we would not be going to the River Jordan this trip. I stood up at the back of the bus and moved determinedly down the aisle to the front. "Excuse me, sir, I brought several people with me who came to be baptized. We have to go to the River Jordan." I told him. "Sorry, we are just not able to do it." A little cranky, he apologized. I didn't let that stop the conversation.

We continued to talk until I told him I didn't care what it took to change the schedule but this was a life time desire for people. This was a once in a lifetime chance to stand in the same waters as Jesus and John the Baptist. It had been advertised and they needed to stand by their promise. He gave me a pretty dirty look then said he would see what he could do to change things. By the time I walked back to the back of the bus, I had several others ask me to baptize them as well.

A beautiful elderly African American woman told me that she had longed to travel to this sacred country, to be baptized, to renew her commitment to Christ, her savior. She took my hand. "Honey, all my life I have dreamed of coming here. I was baptized as a child. But I wanted to renew my love for Jesus by being baptized in the Jordan. Fourteen pastors have turned me down. Will you baptize me?" How could I turn down a devoted heart whose love for Jesus had lasted a lifetime? Of course I said yes.

When I sat down in my seat I had agreed to baptize more than a dozen people. The smiles that spread across their faces was nothing short of a heart filled with love for you.

The trouble was that I was wearing a back brace. I had hurt my back years before when I picked up a heavy box. I had been plagued with back pain for more than 15 years. How in the world would I be able to immerse persons in the River Jordan. I figured you would make a way.

A couple days later we stood by the famous river all dressed in white robes worn by saints for decades. I had carefully removed my back brace, trusting you to make all this possible. Standing next to my colleague in ministry, my covenant brother, I asked him to assist me in the baptisms. We stood across from one another as the truly penitent souls stepped into our small circle. One by one we baptized them in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. When all who wanted had stepped forward to be immersed in the holy water, I turned and asked Bill to baptize me so I too could reaffirm my faith. When I came up out of the waters, like the elderly African American woman, I too reached up toward the heavens in gratitude, my heart wholly yours. I had no pain.

I had to make a difficult decision whether to abide by a rigid doctrine where one baptism was celebrated, one time even if it was an infant baptism decided by parents or follow my heart, allowing other hearts to renew their vow standing in the light of your son. I simply could not say no to faith. Days later this created somewhat of a controversy as a journalist riding on our bus told my story on the front page of the Indianapolis Star. A rebel pastor, some called me.

We walked down into the water, the woman who wrestled to do the right thing about faith and her church's requirement, and I. I read the account of Jesus' own baptism. "You too are a daughter of God, in whom God is well pleased." I told her. Then I leaned her backward into the water.

Several minutes later after I had bid her goodbye, I stood alone in the center aisle of The Promise United Methodist Church. I looked up at the cross and remembered all the years of grace poured upon this unworthy soul. I remembered standing in the center of the tiny church at Taize and how after having my thyroid removed I couldn't sing. But there in the town of peace and reconciliation my song had returned. My voice cracking, I sang. And Sunday at the end of my sermon I sang it again. And the song burst forth in me again, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see."

I bowed, dear Lord,
and threw you a kiss.
A kiss planted
on the cross
where your kiss has remained
from the first moment
of Calvary.
A wooden cross
lapped in the grace of God,
your grace.
I could see it,
taste, feel and hear it.
Grace abounding.
Once again
it swept over my soul.
Amazing Grace.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Dear God,

There is a tiny church with 40 worshippers who are taking on the town. Living in a "conservative and fundamentalist" region, they are fighters for peace and justice.

I continue to be stunned, amazed at the wonder of the church making a witness all over America. We are involved in every kind of work. Our ministry is to every person, not just to some. We rally around the lost, give them place, offer them amazing grace and hope, then celebrate. Doing just as Jesus challenged us to do.

Reading about the work of the church has bolstered my faith in the church. Oh, not that I didn't have faith before. I do, I did, I will. But sometimes the church narrows in importance and relevancy. Sometimes all we can see is the political infighting; we fail to see the whole picture. We observe our smallness, without realizing how big we really are in terms of the lives we touch. We are a holy people (acting a little, or a lot unholy at times with our attitudes) doing a holy work. We can't ever forget that.

When an organization or institution invests in a church, there is a hope, an anticipation, expectation that something good, positive, amazing will take place. Why else would they offer grants and/or support? Seems reasonable to expect.

I think of my own beloved church (it really doesn't belong to me, I just get to call it that as an intimate way of connecting). I think of us, our way of being, our joy, our ministry, our work, our single hope and our dreams. We stand beside Jesus, your son and we take our cues from him. I see that so well when we greet one another on Sundays. Those moments of fellowship are a sign of who we are and what we are about. Smiles form when I ask people to greet one another. Arms go out, hands shake. And Christ walks from pew to pew welcoming all.

Sunday morning worship is an exercise in faith. We exercise our faith when we gather, when we give ourselves to worship, when we bring our children for a faith exercise, when we offer one another signs of peace, when we sing songs of faith, when we whisper our prayers, when we become one as together we say, "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed..."

My faith is growing daily, as I write, as I worship, as I preach and serve, as I love. My faith is miniscule when my expectations are low, like thinking the reading of applications would be a singularly thoughtful, methodical process of selection. Not so, my heart strings are being strummed, my emotions are being pricked, my faith challenged, my appreciation deepened. Quite yet, another story of God.

Fabulous God,
awe strikes me
as I read.
Oh, not every time,
but much of the time.
I see your fingerprints
on the pages,
a sign of your presence.
Holy are you
and worthy of praise.
My grateful heart
sings out your praise.
I remain in your service
grace and joy filled.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Dearest God,

I am immersing myself in church congregations and their pastors. I am "listening" to churches telling me about their outreach to the communities in which they live and around the world. Issues of social justice, feeding the hungry, providing microfinancing loans to Africans, helping released prisoners, providing sacred sites for labyrinth walking, making affordable housing to those who need it, funding projects for troubled teens, the elderly, the homeless, international missions projects, including many orphanages, helping people find their own faith story, contemplative silence offerings, help for Aids victims, knitting prayer shawls for grieving people, memorial gardens, sports of every kind, skilled assistance residences, fairtrade commitments, drug rehab support groups, debt counselling, starting new churches in Russia, China, Korea, campgrounds and concerts, peer ministry training, quilts for world relief, shoes for school children, food banks, medical clinics for uninsured individuals and families, friendship dinners and sunshine committees, disaster relief and hospice training, blood drive sites and Habitat building, just to name a few.

We are a group with Jesus. We are caring for the world, not just our own families and building. Where we minister, we are making a difference. We are transforming human suffering with a kindly joy. We are offering hope, saving lives. We are welcoming folk of every color and background. We are light to the world, just like Christ told us to do. It is mind boggling what we are doing upon this earth.

I am privileged. I am afforded the opportunity to hear churches tell their stories and what stories they are. I am gratified to be in their presence, to participate at some level in their faith and work. Jesus walks among the pages of church's stories.
Glorious God,
your church
is an act of faith.
We dare to trust
the stories of the Bible,
then mimic them
in a new generation.
What I see,
hear
gives me renewed hope
in who we are
and what we are about.
Rising above
our own human endeavors,
trusting God to lead us,
listening for the Spirit's voice,
then moving,
acting,
serving,
we are one with you,
partners in the sacred act of creation.
All praise breaks loose,
as your church
sings forth your praise.
Glory!

Love always, Andrea

Friday, June 15, 2007

Dearest God,

I danced to new music today, the sights and sounds of water. As my hands raised naturally toward the heavens, I realized how easy it is to let go, to release one's self into your hands. To let nothing hinder, is to trust God wholly.

I imagined standing at the ocean in the early morning hours, the rhythmic sound of the water urging me to dance, singing me their song of gratitude to the oceanic God of the heavens. I could see myself being drawn to you, High and Holy One, drawn like a honeybee to a flower. Then moving, dancing, erupting in joy before you.

The life of spirit gently moves one beyond our daily life exercises. Another sound, scene calls to something so deep inside ourselves, allowing the deepest part of our soul to step forward, to call out her name, then connect with the Sacred, with you Almighty God. This spirit life is the foundation of who I am, and who I go to as the source of all life. This is the most beautiful part of me, this living place who cries out for me to be the living being I have been created to be. I only wish I had the courage to live here always, live out my life from this call, in love with God and willing to be the divine creature you have called me to be. Not divine in the sense of sacred greatness, there is only One. But the being made in the image of God, living life sacredly.

The second image that came to me was one of other women at the ocean's edge, a sacred playground in the dawn of a new day. Women, free, liberated to be fully themselves, drawn only by a sacred thread to you, dearest God. They were beautiful, dressed in white, pastels, a vision of loveliness because your light shone upon them. And they too began to dance, slowly, moving carefully to the sound of your voice. Mesmerized by the God of the universe they moved with you as you sang the secrets of the universe. Who can do anything else? Who would want to?

This vision is one of tranquil serenity, where persons are one with you, our Divine Maker. And then I could see others from the universe coming from all parts of the earth. All drawn to God, willing participants in the spirit life. Is there love more majestic, joy more full, peace more possible? Your creatures standing in awe of you.

We stand with you
in a moment of rare beauty.
Time stops,
but the sounds of sacred wonder
move us.
Love continues,
confounds us with its generosity.
Tears form,
as we recognize the holiness
of the moment.
Inner joy wells
within us
as we hear
our own hearts
beating to the sound
of one Divine Heart.
And so we dance,
the dance of love
for our one great God.

Forever yours, Andrea

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Dear God,

It was 6:30 a.m. I was on my way to the monastery. I was preparing to turn right on the highway, but I had to yield for another driver. It suddenly came to me that I was grateful to wait on the other car to pass me before I turned. I remember thinking I was glad to yield.

Yielding, yielding to another driver, waiting my turn, being attentive to others, moving forward when it was my time. The spiritual exercise of yielding teaches me patience, making me linger for just a moment while someone else takes their turn. I realize waiting is good. I waited for the man to drive by before I entered the highway. Such a simple exercise, yet many vy for the time to go, have their turn, creating conflict.

This simple act caused me to think on my drive into town. Yielding, waiting, being patient, moving forward. The spiritual life is all about yielding, waiting, being patient, moving forward. How many times have I not wanted to yield? Times I screamed, "it's my turn!" Other times when I refused to move forward, staying right where I was.

This process of trusting, leaning, and moving is one I am grateful to have learned. At your feet, sitting beside you, listening to your encouraging words challenging me in my life, I have learned the art of walking with God. Starts, stops, and wait a minute have shown me a better way of living life. I felt gratitude to the man who drove past me, the man whose turn it was, the man who moved forward. You stood at the yield sign, reminding me.

Living intentionally in the "light" lane keeps me moving forward with you. I realize the fact that I am in alignment with you when I trust my day to you, follow your leading, go when you say go. I find joy when I listen and move at your word. My early morning encounter at the yield sign was a good one.

Soft and Gentle God,
standing at your side
is such a privilege,
a blessing
and responsibility.
My life is made easy
when I trust wholly
in your care.
My decisions
and followings
flow naturally
when I stand in your presence
leaning in your direction.
Thank you for yield signs,
for stop and go signs,
for caution and warning signs,
all which alert me
to stop, look and listen.
I am yours,
leaning.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

My dearest God,

Laughter, the gut-ripping kind. As I reflect upon my day yesterday a smile comes to my face. Yesterday was the day to laugh. Over just about everything.

The day was not unlike any other. However, several things tickled me. First with my administrative assistant. Second with two women. Third with a committee. Then the end of the day with friends on my screened in porch.

I don't know what was so funny. But I laughed and laughed. I even laughed at myself.

One of the funniest parts of the day was getting ready to drive to an older member's house to pick her up and take her to lunch. I was running behind so I told my administrative assistant to call her to tell her I would be a few minutes late. I unlocked my car, put my papers in the back, sat down in the seat, buckled up and sat for a moment. Problem was that I was in the passenger seat of my own car, ready for someone to drive me. I just laughed and laughed. (I am surely ready for a vacation)

Laughter, as long as it is not at the cost of someone else, is so healthy, healing, and wholesome. I am certain it comes from the soul. To guffaw with others is a genuine display of happiness, joy. It makes the problematic things more bearable.

There is a daily rhythm to life. The scales go up and down like the ocean tides. When I give myself over to the rhythm, life is cool. I trust myself to your care and feel the gentle ebb and flow of daily life. Ups and downs, shifting from side to side, moving with the slightest breeze is a good sign of my spiritual condition. Being inflexible, remaining stuck in one position, unable to move is a condition of lack of trust.

My laughter yesterday was one of trust in you. And besides that I could feel the sense of spiritual spirit that takes care of my inner soul. Laughing was good, usually is, keeps me in balance. And you know how I like balance in my life.

So thank you for my day, laughing with me, not being so serious, giving me a lift.

The eruption of joy
comes from a deep place.
Laughing,
rocking my inner self
to the tune of joy
keeps me in good health.
I can laugh at almost anything
where appropriate
(sometimes inappropriate times too,
sorry about that).
And laughing
gives me opportunity
to restore my balance,
to be renewed,
to release the hard things.
Laughing means
I am trusting my life
into your hands.
Frivolous moments
with friends keeps me going.
Makes everything else okay.
I will laugh with you any day.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Dear God,

One of my great joys is getting up in the dark and waiting for the sun to rise. I love the darkness that gives way to the light. In these late spring days, I know the days will soon grow longer. When I first get up and look out the windows, I can hardly make things out. It's way too dark. But as I go about my early morning business, I begin to see shapes, the sky starts changing, the darkness rolling back, replacing it with light. At first it appears hazy, then it begins to get lighter and lighter until I open my front door and see the first edges of the sun appearing on the horizon. What a great and glorious day, I tell myself.

At first glance all appears to be in order. The darkness from the east becomes whiter, then the colors, pink, orange, yellow appear from nowhere as the sun begins to rise for the day. It's quite a distinctive process, one that mesmerizes the soul. I can stand at the door for a long time admiring your handiwork. The day appears out of nowhere and it shuts down the same way.

The birds take their cue from the light. All is quiet in the darkness. The world, at least part of it is asleep, taking in the necessary rest for the body to function. But when the light begins to appear the music of the birds comes forth. In this tree, then that one, all of them together. The sweet talk of the birds, communicates the reality of life. I hear them sing, warble the truths of the universe. And I must say the loveliness strikes at the heart of who I am. Imagine God creating the language of the birds whose great delight it is to sing the praises of God.

This is the way I begin each day, salivating at the first breath of a new day. Savoring the glory of it all, my own being waking up, every sense coming to attention, using its gifts to take in the wonder of it all. This is the new day, the one the Lord made.

Great and Wondrous God,
every new day
is a wonder to me.
The freshness of dawn
reminds me of new life.
A baby born into the world,
its first moments.
I see each new day
through the lens of awe.
No taking for granted.
This is a new, fresh beginning.
Yesterday has been put behind me;
tomorrow will surely come.
I want my whole being
to shake with praise,
like the birds
in a bird bath,
reveling in the cool waters.
Make me an instrument
of your praise
today and every tomorrow.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, June 11, 2007

Dearest God,

"My soul longeth, yea fainteth in the house of the Lord..." A clip of a song I sang a long time ago. I think our church choir sang it a few months back. I've heard it somewhere recently.

Sacred settings take me to holy places. And anywhere that I experience the holy is the house of the Lord for me. Of course, nothing substitutes the church gathering on Sunday mornings in the holy house of God. At the same time I am close with you in my garden.

This morning I observed a blackish green hummingbird flying through the garden enjoying the purple clematis and bright orange lillies. Two robins playing, sparing together. Heard the sounds of a train clacking down the tracks, a plane flying overhead, cars leaving for work. Although the sounds of life are all around me, I still find my peace in the garden.

The balance of quiet and sound remind me I am not alone in the universe. I am both silent with God, yet I have my place in the human symphony. I live in both worlds. I like both, being participants in each. I find joy.

In my quiet resting place, I will go in the next few minutes to edge the area surrounding the pines. Then I will read an application before I make my way to work. I will dedicate myself to the sacred, knowing full well God is with me. No, that I am with God.

Keep my mind on you,
all day long,
Great and Holy God.
I long only
to be part and parcel
of you.
Make all that I do
a display of holiness,
bringing peace
into the places I pilgrim.
My love is always
with you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Dear God,

Yesterday I began reading grant applications. A holy endeavor. But I sang first. "Have thine own way, Lord, have thine own way." Then I lifted up the name of the church and their pastor. "I pray for your will, dear God." Each time I picked up a new file to read, I went through the same exercise.

Two years ago when I worked on my own application, I remember the hours, the work, the creative stretching, the weariness. An exhausting process. But a holy one to be sure. I prayed then too. No singing. In fact I couldn't sing, my thyroid had been removed and I wasn't able. I missed it terribly during that time.

Now as then I am trusting my work to God. I want to favor those deemed worthy to receive a grant. Every church needs one and so does every pastor. But only those destined by a thoughtful process of creative ideas will gain one. By grace I want to lean toward those.

I feel humbled to be selected to read. However, it is a lot of work too in my spare time. I don't have a lot of "spare" right now. But you have made space for me in my reading room where I have the advantage of looking over my contemplative garden, listening to the birds sing in the early morning hours, hearing the waterfall in my pond and sitting in the quiet space before the world wakes up. My favorite time of the day. Quiet spaces you have designed always move me into sacred places in my soul. Being attentive to the things of God always brings me tranquility, a sacred serenity stolen from the busy distractions of daily life.

I am privileged in my home. My screened in porch overlooks a rolling hill, tall, mature trees, and the carefully placed fences give me a feeling of seclusion. My flowers, bushes, trees, benches, statues as well as frequent butterflies, birds, and bunnies give me exactly what I desire, a natural movement to the holy.

During my vacation time away I have offered my home as a site of holy reflection. On fridays those who are lead will come, gather in my garden, sit beneath a tree, lay in the hammock, stretch out on a blanket, set down on my benches. They will seek God through silence, prayer, meditation and wandering. My prayer is that they will discover the sacred in my garden and grab hold of what it is they long for.

I am blessed to interact with you and still touch the world in magnificent ways. You are the source of all and I am privileged to know you.

Lord and Master
over all creation.
I sit with you
in great delight.
I know your presence,
and hover beneath your wing.
My spirit sings
and my soul sits in silence,
reveling in quiet moments.
I trust in these times
as I am one with you.
Guide me throughout my day
that I will sing your praise,
meditate in awe upon your presence
and give my love
to the world.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Dearest God,

"It was a minor miracle." My husband told me. "Don't you think?" I agreed. A miracle had occurred.

Some things break easily. One snap and the two pieces simply can't come back together. Some are difficult, like trying to break a steel beam that will not budge. In relationships the same thing is true. Relationships built on a shallow foundation will snap and break at the first sign of trouble. But those relationships built on something stronger, like faith, have a much greater chance.

We took a risk, all of us. Not easy. It would have been easier, safer not to. But an event circled us 'round. To stay at home would have been offensive, hurtful to our star graduate. We all gathered. Not certain how anything would pan out, we each took our step forward. No one seemed to mind that first step, much. It wasn't painful, at least not to me. I was ready to step forward, always have been. Well, not always, but most of the time. When push comes to shove, generally I will move positively to mend the breach. Scary sometimes, and sometimes it backfires. But taking a step into the light from the darkness is always good, even if others are not willing to do so.

I learned at your knee a long time ago that life is all about trust. If I trust in you and I trust in myself, then my steps in the right direction will always benefit me even if others reject my step forward. Historically, I have not regretted my steps into the light even though they did not give me what I had hoped for. The darkness is always brooding. Staying in the darkness is easy, no effort involved. But if I really long for a life in the light, then I will eventually move from my dark place into the light of possibility.

I can be stubborn. Okay, there I said it! I can be stubborn, pour my own concrete, step into it, a thick layer and stay right in place. I know how to do that, well. More often than not, my modus operandi is one of fear. If I remain in place, even if it is the darkness, then I don't have to trust, move. I can simply stay stuck in fear forever. But this is not the life I long for. I want the light-filled life. And that requires trust, and a lot of it.

Last night I trusted. I walked in the light. When I saw the darkness, I lingered a bit. I could have stepped inside and wallered. But I chose not to. I think others did exactly the same thing (from my humble point of view, of course). I kept moving forward and forward and forward. One step, then another, another, then another.

As I left the coliseum alone and began the more than two hour drive home, I rolled down the windows, put back the sunroof. The sun was setting in the west and the colors of the sky along with the wind in my face put a smile on my lips. The light of God was traveling with me. I knew inherently that this was my reward for trusting. I zipped down the highway, reflecting quietly, savoring the silence, except for the sound of wheels on the pavement.

Faithful, Constant God,
I am mesmerized
by your challenging presence.
My own poured concrete
breaks into huge chunks
when I dare to trust in you.
When I lean into your bosom,
take your hand,
then begin to walk
the walk of faith,
I discern the best of me.
I am but a skeleton
of rattlin' bones
when I do not trust.
I shake, rattle and roll,
no flesh,
no heart,
no soul,
no passion or spirit.
Dead,
I am but dead.
But trust,
just even a little bit,
I begin to shake in a new way,
life coming into me
like the valley of dry bones.
Living water
is sprinkled over
dem dar bones
and I begin to feel it,
feel it good.
I start to breathe,
breathe right in,
let that Spirit in,
and that life,
she comes right in.
I like it,
I like it real good.

Love you always, Andrea

Friday, June 8, 2007

Dear God,

The greatest joy in my life is searching and finding you. The life of mystery, divine mystery is a life-long pilgrimage. Unfolding the hidden secrets of the divine is an adventure.

At Indiana University, site of our conference, I look for a place to write. I brought my laptop but it doesn't connect in my room. So I hiked through the Memorial Union hunting for a computer. I found it on the mezzanine floor, turn right, down the hall, around the corner, turn right. A line of four computers on a counter across from the Redbud Room. You have to stand to write.

The search for a computer whenever I am away from home is an interesting one. It keeps me freshly anticipating your presence, studying my environment for signs of the sacred, the divine. A computer becomes a symbol, a sign, a way to communicate with God. I always smile when I see it, imagining our time together.

My life with you takes me in so many directions. In the religious life, one may only think of finding God in church. Yet the church is scattered; it's all over the place. The design, I think. When I walk to the assembly hall, the church is there, waiting for me. But it is also beside me, persons living their lives in the light, sharing their experience with others. The friendliness of the church is all about me. I am never without it. Even when I am home alone, someone in the world is praying for all God's creatures. I happen to be one of them. Joy comes to me when I think about it.

Yesterday I heard a pastor share news about the Aids efforts in Africa. I was astounded by what the church is doing. We are not only saving lives, feeding them, but also giving them a way to make a living, becoming self sufficient through microfinancing. The stories enrich the heart. I found myself tearing with joy.

But the greatest story came from an older teenage boy who had been to Kenya, Africa. He stood at a microphone to tell us he had seen the devastation of Aids. He quickly became friends with an Aids-infected six year old boy. They played together, talked, laughed. The boy had lost both his parents to Aids. He was badly infected himself. Before the teenager left to return home to the states, the young boy gave his necklace to the teenager, a beautiful custom in Africa, giving gifts. The six year old died shortly after. The teenager was shaken, greatly impacted by the loss of the boy, his friend. "I wear this necklace every day..." (He took it off and showed it to us.) "...reminding me of my friend and the disease and what we need to do about it." The teenager went on to challenge us to increase our pledge to the Aids effort. So compelling, a teenager wanting to help change the world.

When I watched the young man talk (I was just a few seats from him) I could see his sincerity. I could see his love as he held the necklace in his hand. I could see the face of Jesus. We as an assembly voted to double our efforts toward eradicating Aids in Africa and at home.

My search for God is not over, never will be. Whether I find myself comfortable in my own home, working in my study at the church, traveling half way around the world, standing at the ocean or putting my garbage at the end of my driveway for pick up, I find God. My daily discoveries touch my heart in a way nothing else can.

Holy Father, Mother,
I am yours.
My daily search
takes me in all directions,
just as you would have it.
You are not in some far off place
where I have to travel to get to you.
You are here
and there.
You are beside, around.
Signs of your presence are all about.
Your mysteries,
great and wondrous truths, realities
are always unfolding.
Life is a series
of discoveries,
of wandering,
of wondering,
being awed
and breaking into praise.
I am yours,
truly yours.

Love always, Andrea

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Dear God,

In the old sanctuary we stood shoulder to shoulder on the first level and in the balcony. Hundreds of us, men and women, United Methodist pastors. Singing. Lifting our voices in praise. A thunderous sound of joy. We sang our beliefs in God, in Jesus, in faith, hope and peace. Tired, weary, ready for a summer break from the demands of parish ministry, some worn down by church conflict, others laboring to grow their churches, some dealing with grief and sorrow, others preparing to move, saying goodbye to people they have loved, some uncertain fighting internal struggle, some excited by new ideas, some sad, losing hope, all called by God.

We had gathered for our annual conference to do the work of the church. We had joined together for worship and praise, fellowship and decision making. We had come to strengthen our faith in God, in Wesley's theology, in ourselves as a church. Standing together as one body, singing, we felt the call once again, deep inside ourselves. We knew why we had said yes.

Worship is a bonding experience for us. If at no other time we sense the presence of the Holy. We know in whom we believe. The music comes from the deepest recesses, within our souls. We join with John and Charles Wesley, theologian and composer, and all the saints of the church who have served before us. We sing their songs, the stuff of faith. We are humble because we know we are not stars, simply laborers in a chain of called people who serve the generation before us. Referring to the singing, one younger pastor leaned over to me, "this is why I come." She said.

I am part of a great company of servants, men and women in the field of Spirit serving, loving, listening, sharing, giving, counseling, preaching, teaching, holding, praying, helping, leading, guiding. I do not know most of these servants standing with me. I see their faces, hear their voices, but their names escape me. I do not know their churches, their histories, their stories. But they're kin to me. I honor them.

Normally I do not look forward to annual conference. Administration is not my favorite thing. I don't enjoy sitting for hours listening to reports, voting on what committees have already determined, or waiting for the next thing to happen. But worship straightens me out, reminds me why I am here, why I come.

I am a United Methodist pastor, called.

Loving God,
I am part of your history.
These who stand with me,
they are part of history too.
Shaping, carving, developing ministry
in a broken,
disconnected,
disjointed world.
We are here
to raise our antennae,
to make a better place,
to give hope
to those who have forgotten
that faith fills up the cracks.
All is not lost.
Privilege,
we are privileged
to serve.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Dearest God,

One of my favorite little books is entitled, "Heal Your Body." Five dollars on the shelf it takes a look at physical maladies with an eye on the metaphysical. A wholistic book the idea is that there is a body-mind-spirit connection. When a physical illness is detected, one needs to look behind the symptoms, deeper into the psyche and spirit to see if there is a metaphysical response. Often I have picked up the book to understand my own physical problems. Almost without exception the book has targeted an issue I was addressing. How do they do that? Darn!

Two days ago I started itching. I know the itch, poison ivy. I had hoped I would escape the evildoer this year. On both legs. I'm trying a new treatment. Most years I have to go through at least two rounds of prednizone, sometimes three to get rid of it. Over the counter drugs do not help me. I'm trying something different.

But the greater question is this: Where is their poison in my soul, my mind? Have I allowed externals to enter my internal life with poison? Am I poisoning myself or have I permitted some kind of poison to attach itself to me? Where do I need to do a cleanup, ridding myself of poison?

I find this exercise enlightening, but rarely do I enjoy its message. However, it does help me face unwanted issues that are hidden away inside, not wanting to see the light of day. When I muster the courage to explore deeper pain, I make discoveries that give me opportunity to change my life, be transformed. My physical plight can lead me to greater realms of healing.

"Heal Your Body" does not hold every answer to be sure. But it's been on target so many times for me, it's scary. Often it illuminates my own truth. I see what I need to look at. How I deal with it is up to me. I can use it for my own aid or ignore it.

The daily obstacles of life never cease. I keep tripping myself up. Yet, you have given me spiritual insights into my physical troubles, teaching me the way of transformation. You never leave me alone. Your constant presence is a source of comfort and hope. I still need to learn so much.

Great Physician,
my soul is troubled.
My inward way
is distressed.
Poison
has found its way
into my soul
again.
Like the psalmist
I ask for cleansing.
I want to stand before you
clean,
always clean.
Purify my soul,
rid my body of poison.
Let my mind
be fixed on you.
Great Master of Love,
fill me only
with love from heaven.
Allow your love
to clean me
inside and out.
Refresh me
so I will be a trustworthy vessel
of love and mercy
for you.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Dear God,

I sit here pleased with myself, not in a prideful way. Just simply pleased. I have been so busy at church and two homes that my writing has not been consistent. I was without a place to write for four days. But I could have written long hand. However, my thoughts, your thoughts in me come so fast sometimes I can't keep up. At least that's my justification.

In the last few days I have been nearly a week behind in my writing. I felt it in my soul, but not like a drive to produce something. That was my old self, always nagging at me to do and do more or feel guilty. I wore myself down in judgement, then acted in self destructive ways. But these days have not been that way. A gentle call. A quiet invitation. A call of the soul.

Coming home to the soul is always good. I feel complete, whole. A peaceful eruption of joy, a contentment that comes from you only. Like a child who is welcomed home I am my truest self. My writing is my connection, at least one powerful link that draws me, not drives me home.

I write because I am with you in these moments. If I wander all day, I am at least home with you when I write. Home.

Delight comes to mind
when I think of us together.
My heart, my soul's purpose
is to live my life with you.
Traveling the globe
of spirit
your mystery loosens,
unrolls like a scroll
of great value.
And the wonders
of the universe
are released.
I am one of these
when I write.
I am captured
by God.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 4, 2007

My dear God,

The sound of the waterfall was music to my ears. It had been two years since I had cleaned out the pond, plugged in the mechanism for the waterfall. Today, I closed my eyes, listened as the water flowed out over the rocks.

Once I won my battle with the thistles, I vowed to spend more time working in other areas of my garden. After edging, trimming, cleaning, spraying, weeding, I turned to the pond. Sludge, oh the smell of sludge. I had let the pond evaporate so I could more easily pull out some of the water lilies. But sludge is all that had remained. Although water lilies are beautiful their massive root system can take over the entire pond until nothing else exists. I pulled and snapped, ripped and tore at the roots, sludge flinging, mostly on me. It was yucky but it was dawn. I was in my element in the early morning hours.

I cleaned and cleaned, not nearly enough. But then I filled the pond. And plugged it in. The sound. The sound of heaven. I remember the times I sat in the garden, waiting for God to speak to me. Waiting, listening, anticipating. Every time the garden was a tranquil environment, bringing me to peace with myself as I considered the living water I was receiving.

I remember Judy sitting on the bench near the pond. A gentle, beautiful woman in her 40's, Judy was dying with melanoma cancer. She found such comfort in this tiny piece of heaven. Tears filled her eyes as she faced her upcoming death, yet, she experienced peace as she allowed God to reach her soul in the garden.

I remember Barbara. She so wanted to attend my Open Garden, a dedication ceremony complete with "Holy Spirit" bubbles. She and her husband were the last to arrive. He had to park in the yard up by the house so he could help her to the back yard. Barbara too had cancer. Dave had to practically carry her to a chair. She could only speak in whispers.

There's something about my contemplative garden, so much so that a woman would spend the morning of her wedding in my garden. Others have come for various reasons. I counselled a woman on the bench one day. She was beside herself and I invited her to sit with me in the garden while we talked. When she left, she was more at peace with herself and her situation.

I once sat in my garden for six hours, a challenge by God the night before during a fervent time of prayer. One line came to me, one simple line. "It's time to get over it, move on, and celebrate the good news which is Jesus Christ." That was it, one line but it literally turned our church around. We moved to sharing good news all the time. Joy took over our church.

The mystical nature of my garden is one that I cannot explain. I just know you reside here. You walk and talk here. You speak and listen here. Your presence is revealed here. I share my garden because it is not my own. I followed a not-so-gentle urging. The garden is yours, I am simply its caregiver.

Perhaps my garden is a little like the garden of Eden, an environment meant to give shape to lives hungry for the secrets of creation. Perchance it is designed to draw people back to the womb, that safe, warm wonderful place where all is well, all is held tenderly, where God rocks us back and forth, back and forth, a sacred rhythm in paradise known only to God.

Paradise is not a site, a location. It is the moment of connection with God. A garden is a paradise, a living revelation of God's mystery. Faith can grow in this garden. So can hope, peace, and joy. Love grows here, your love.

Great and Wondrous Gardener,
I'm planted in this garden.
My soul rests here,
is content here
in the garden.
I find mercy pouring out,
flowing over.
Grace grows here
and can be plucked
at any moment.
Faith is a frequent visitor
expressing herself
in so many ways.
Peace reverberates
as the breezes blow.
And joy,
she dances.

Love always, Andrea

Sunday, June 3, 2007

Dearest God,

My daughter is six months pregnant, suffering with pre-term labor so I drove to her home to take care of my two grandchildren. A couple hours later my daughter and her husband returned home. The hospital staff had been able to stop the contractions. I decided to stay the night in the event something else happened.

I had brought two sleeping bags. My granddaughter loves sleepovers so I placed them on the living room hardwood floor. (Boy, was that wood hard!) It was 10:00 p.m. and everyone was bedded down. "Gabrielle, do you want to say our prayers?" I asked my grandchild as we each scooted down into our bags. "No, Grandma, why don't you say them?" She replied. "I thought you wanted to be a pastor, maybe you could pray." I told her. With not a moment's hesitation, that young seven year old began praying. She first prayed for all who had problems, everyone who was suffering (her words). Then she went on to tell God how much she loved him, that she would love him forever and she wanted to help people to show him how deep her love was. I was blown away. The faith of this child rises from a deep place.

As she said amen and we hugged goodnight, I looked at that little girl, amazed by her devotion. Sensitive, kind, and very loving she makes her faith real, no playing around for her. "Lord, you have a hold on her life." I whispered to you.

Was she born with such love? Does her DNA contain a strand of devoted love for the sacred? I remember the first time I saw her, a newborn just minutes old. Her mother was bleeding, hemorraghing really. I didn't know what was going on at first. So I sang to Gabrielle, a child of God. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are blue. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." I put my pinky finger in her mouth, a pacifier to calm her from her traumatic birth. In those first moments did you meet her in some mysterious way? Was her birth a mystical experience? Thank God, her mother was spared although the months following were a nightmare. Was she being prepared for hardship that came too soon?

In just a few weeks at the ocean's edge, Gabrielle and I will dance a sacred dance of praise to God. Dressed in lavender dance dresses that she picked out for us, we will make our offering to God for the baptism of Lucia, her sister whom I will baptize. We will move with your spirit, the two of us, blending our hearts and spirits with yours. A grandaughter and her grandmother moving as one.

What mystery is revealed
when hearts come together,
united by one great spirit.
A sacred, divine rhythm
will flow,
crying out its love and devotion.
God outside,
God inside,
God beside,
below, above.
Purely God.

Humbly yours, Andrea

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Dearest God,

Today is my father's birthday. He would have been 83 had Alzheimer's not taken him from us.

I remember our own special moments. Spelling bees. Spelling Connecticut right and getting $1 for it. Indiana tomatoes. Washing a fresh-from-the-garden tomato in the kitchen sink, pouring on a layer of salt and biting into it, juice running down our chins. Races. We bought 100 tickets in the pit area for the Indy 500. We all wore the same color (bright orange one year), argued over who was the best driver, cheered together. Goodbyes. Whenever I left after a visit with my parents, Daddy always stood at the door waving goodbye until we were out of sight. Grandma did that and I do too. Cancer. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Daddy visited me. Even though he was in the first stages of Alzheimer's, he told me how I handled the cancer would be my legacy to others. He was right. Perfection. Daddy had the most beautiful yard on the street. Whether a little yard or a big one, he mowed it one way, then mowed it in another direction. He didn't want one blade of grass standing that should have been trimmed. I treat my garden well even though I neither have the time nor energy to give it the kind of attention Daddy would have given it. Travel. Daddy collected maps when he was a boy living on a small farm. He dreamed of traveling around the world. He pretty much fulfilled his dream. I travel to experience you in wider, higher and deeper ways. Love. Daddy had a soft spot like his mother, my grandmother. We always knew he loved us. I hug people, it's my way of letting people know they're loved.

Daddy, I miss him.

Heavenly Father,
I'm remembering today.
Reflecting.
Giving thanks.
Sighing.
Missing.
Celebrating.

Love, Andrea

Friday, June 1, 2007

Dear God,

When I left for Maine, I completely forgot to do my bulletin and newsletter articles. I had so much on my mind before I left, a daughter in pre-term labor, a church member dying in hospice, a granddaughter to keep in my home, a worship service, and work at home. I simply walked on the plane without a thought of these two responsibilities.

So I entered my study, busying myself with the work of the church. I spit out the bulletin. I wrote my front page article for the newsletter, editing the rest. I made one call after another all day long. I talked with a lot of excited people, happy about many happenings in the church. The Women's Retreat, Catch the Spirit, two candidates for Student Pastor, Ministry of Creative Arts, Piano Recital, Fridays in Contemplation (probably won't be called that but it's close enough). There's a lot of enthusiasm right now. At the end of the day I drifted on angels' wings into my car.

When I stand back and reflect, I am amazed, astounded sometimes at the amount of transformation taking place in our church. At least forty one people know it because they have increased their spiritual investment. They are banking on growing their faith while enriching the church's ministry. How absolutely wonderful it is.

I cannot begin to fathom the love you have for Bethel. You have loved her from her earliest beginnings. You birthed her, gave her life. You welcomed a people who would care for her ministries of love, care, friendship, faith, mission and discipleship. Throughout the years you established her in the community and made her home to so many. Although she has been war-torn at times, she has held onto faith as a sign of her strength. She is a grateful people.

As her current pastor I am blessed. I look at her, especially on Sunday mornings and I see her in all her beauty, the radiant beauty of your son Jesus. We are our best when we gather to worship, a people hallowing God, remembering grace, seeking faith, investing in the future. We are your timeless people, gently holding the reigns until future generations come.

Glorious and Holy God,
we are your people,
celebrating your goodness.
I see your face daily,
know your love,
feel your grace.
I write to say so.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Dearest God,

Every situation in life is an occasion to be thrust into your arms. We had worked hard on the old house, painting, sanding, cleaning, planting, weeding. It was time to fly home. Working until the last moment we scattered to take showers (no way will the primer paint come off).

We hopped in the car to drive to the airport. We had not confirmed our flights 24 hours earlier. We had a computer but no wireless connection. The library had closed early. So I dialed the airline. I waited in the rotary. Finally a pleasant woman asked to help me. Using my travel summary and receipt I tried to confirm our flights. She had only information on my canceled flight which had not been canceled. We labored to give birth to this confirmation but to no avail. She suggested I call the airline directly because she had us on Delta and we were flying NWA.

Another call got me into NWA but only to confirm that the flight was on time. One of us was terribly distressed. "Should we turn around?" "What if we don't have a flight?" "What are we going to do?" It was during this time that I took a big leap into your arms, jumped right in. There wasn't anything to do but keep heading toward the airport, trusting that our summary was correct and that a seat was being saved for all of us. Stressful, since I had spent two hours on two occasions trying to get these tickets taken care of. No easy task!

When we arrived we checked in at the NWA counter. Sure enough our names were on the roster. We gave them our luggage, got our boarding passes and headed for security. An hour and a half later we were flying to Detroit. We arrived on time but our next 45 minute flight to Indy was delayed. Some people were late and we were going to wait on them. So we sat on the airplane for another 30 minutes. We started to taxi away from the gate, but then we stopped. The next thing we saw was one of our pilots on the runway checking a part on the plane. Very reassuring! Another 30 minutes went by. The captain told us we had hydraulic problems. A maintenance engineer entered the plane. Sitting next to the aisle I watched the drama unfold. Another 30 minutes went by. Finally we were told the problem was too big to be immediately repaired. The co-captain had spotted trouble, a lucky catch, the pilot told us. Good grief! But I was grateful since I was relieved that he found the problem while we were on the ground instead of in the air.

We were told our crew would run out of flying time in 20 minutes so we had to hurry to gate 63 and get on a different plane. We scampered off the plane, into the other gate, and on to the retrieved plane. I did pause for a moment and thanked my pilots for their diligence. (I like my pilots to be happy pilots) Another 30 minutes later we were in the air.

We arrived at our destination three hours late, tired and ready for bed. But I did have extra time in all our waiting to pick the paint off my limbs.

All this is to say, dear God, that life is filled with changes, transitions, unexpected happenings. Some things can be worked through, some cannot. Sometimes we have to trust others with our welfare. Sometimes this is easy and other times, well, let's just say those trying moments keep us at your feet.

Most High God,
we kneel at your feet.
Our destinations
are not our destiny.
We are believers
in a world
that wonders what it believes.
Our covenantal promise
is to trust you
in every situation.
Nothing is beyond your reach.
Today was just another day,
in your care.
Another God-given day,
filled with opportunity
to rise to higher levels of trust.
Thank you.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Dear God,

I poured the paint into my tray. How glorious the color! I swiped the wall with my brush. I love it!

My husband and I are now part of the history of 25 Pleasant Street. My latest favorite color will be revealed 50 years from now after members of our family or some other family paints the walls saying, "What were they thinking?"

I wonder how I could find out more about our home. I feel a little gnawing to know who built this house. Someone told us that perhaps a first mate built it. We know it's not a captain's house. Years ago a fire destroyed many historical records that could have unveiled who, where and when. We may never know.

Recently someone told me that our home was filled with peace. That was nice. But with two nuts living in it, I wonder how that's possible. But the funny thing is we feel it too (most of the time). That's why we love it.

I tripped the trigger of peace today, however. My friend, my neighbor and I lifted up one section of the split rail fence, took it right out of the ground. Oh, so beautiful. But my loving husband walked by the window and the look of terror spread quickly on his face. We had talked about getting rid of it (well, not really, I told him it didn't go with the period of the house and that I'd like to take it down). I'd finally worn him down but today he was just not ready to let it go. A few minutes later he labored to put it back in the holes. "We'll sell it, put an ad in the paper and they can take it down." Sounded fair enough to me.

I really want to put something intangible into the house. I want to breathe spirit life here. I want this home to provide a spiritual center when people enter. I want them to meet God here. I want them to find comfort, hope and that peace I talked about. I want this home to be the place where people will discover solutions to their perplexities. I want them to find joy, to laugh and to pray. I want others to walk through the rooms and see signs of God throughout it. I want love to bloom here.

And so we labor together again,
Glorious One.
I paint color
and you paint life.
I clean floors
and you clean hearts.
I accessorize
and you place your spirit
all around.
A duo,
you and I.
We've created our own rhythm.
I like it.
I really like it.

Loving you always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Dear God,

One of my favorite things about Maine is waking up in the morning. The sun rises, peeking through our master bedroom window. The sound of silence in the early morning air is deafening. How can it be so quiet? I ask myself. I've never lived in any home where it was without noise. I lay in bed, the covers pulled tightly around my head, sniffing the cool Maine air. Aah!

As I pondered, reflected your goodness, I looked around the room I was about to renovate. Old, crappy window frames, badly scarred woodwork and door frames, freshly restored plaster walls but the promise, oooooh, the promise of this old room. I'll bet these walls could tell stories of problems, prayers, praise, and potential. Nearly 200 years of stories.

I feel privileged to restore this old place. We've put a lot of hard work into its restoration. Each contractor has done their part. My hubby has done a lot of grunt work, laboring alongside them. And I, I have taken all their work bringing out its character and I've given it color. "Rise up, you beautiful old house, shine forth your beauty. Let your colors flow out. Stand tall. Tell your stories." I say from my warm spot in bed.

Rainforest Dew. That's the color of our bedroom. Rainforest Dew with Snowfall White trim. I can't wait to crawl out from my warm spot into the cold bedroom air to get started.

One word,
you used just one word.
Create!
You cried out into nothingness,
into the blackness.
And the universes,
all its stars and mysteries
were created.
Every infinite color
was made.
Every possibility
unfolded.
How great are you, .
Lord,
Master Over All.
It is my privilege
to work alongside you.
Say the word
and my hands will begin.
My joy.

Love, Andrea

Monday, May 28, 2007

Dear God,

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep prompted me to leave my bed at 5:00 a.m. The sun peeking into the bedroom I would begin renovating in a few hours, I pulled on my capri pants, placed a sweater around my shoulders, put on my sandals, grabbed a lawn chair and made my way to the ocean just five minutes away.

The sole person on the beach, I slipped on my white dance skirt and stood at the cold water's edge. I looked out upon the hazy, blue horizon that always displays the awesomeness of creation. There my feet felt the first touch of ocean water as your spirit touched my heart and I began to dance. A familiar tune, I danced back and forth, in and out, humming. Inspired by such grace that causes me to dance in the first place, my spirit felt such peace. The sun rising warmed my face as I contemplated the majesty of your loving presence.

I continued to dance, feeling calm, serene. My spirit breath slowed, drinking in every beautiful moment with you. Everything about me calmed down. I was at peace. It was then after 15 minutes that the words came to me. "Bind us together, Lord, bind us together with cords that cannot be broken." Bonding with you, binding with others, my message had come in the dance.

Daily I walk this earth going about my business, only to realize in the early morning sunrise the true magnificence of God. The news of the day, the goodness of God, is breaking and I stand in awe hearing it as if the first time.

Glory fills the air
at the acknowledgement
of your presence.
Conscious,
aware,
keenly so,
I experience you
fresh, new, openly.
Like the first time.

Loving you always, Andrea

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Dear God,

I climbed aboard the aircraft bound for Maine. I was ready to leave responsibility behind for four days. I needed some fresh air, new scenery.

Although weary from weeks of work at church, home, and in the yard, I was prepared to work on our old house, tackling the bedroom, closet and hall. My friend Cindy travels with me every year. We work solid for three or four days renovating, refurbishing a home left in disrepair. I love taking something old, forgotten, and making it beautiful, giving it new life. Cindy is good at just about everything. She will help me paint, install closet organizers, put in new plants. We are good at moving from inside to outside and back.

On the plane things were bumpy, the clouds showing this piece of steel that technology will never dominate the skies. So Cindy and I took our "Sky Mall" magazines and we went through page after page deciding what we would buy family and friends for Christmas. Outrageous gifts, we laughed like two crazy fools. I nearly fell out of my seat when she pointed to my "big" gift, a $2000 mechanized saddle for learning how to ride a horse for my upcoming stint as a circuit rider. I literally rode out the bumps imagining myself on the horse, whisking me from place to place.

You never cease to amaze me with your creative efforts toward conquering my fears. You know what I need when I need it. You provide for me, teaching me to listen, to trust, to observe your opportunities, to take advantage of them when they are presented, reminding me to realize, recognize again your lavish love poured out on me. My lips naturally fall into praise.

As I left the plane in Manchester on a late, gray afternoon, I could only say thank you.

You save me,
rescue me from fear.
You teach me
to trust in greater waves.
You galvanize my spine,
increase my ability,
then push me out of my "nest."
You show me
that I will never gain strength
if I do not weather the storms
that beset me.
Your voice urging me on,
I step out and up.
I am no mere human.
I am human
cradled in divine arms.
Like a baby
I look up
and see the face of God.

Love forever, Andrea

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Dearest God,

Jeanette is near death. Just days ago we talked openly, honestly. She is ready to move on, to leave behind the sickly body, to circle the earth on angels' wings, to push toward heaven to join her beloved husband of more than 50 years. I had promised prayers to usher her into the heavenly realm. I had kissed her goodbye.

Today there was no response. Her hands and feet are cool, an indication that her organs are working hard. Her eyes are closed, breathing shallow. Jeanette will join you in a few hours.

I used to visit Jeanette and Tom. Living just a few yards from the church I made my way into their tiny home. We would talk on and on, laughing easily, joking with one another. I fell in love with this beautiful, elderly couple.

Tom died two or three years after I arrived on the scene as the new pastor. He was in the hospital for a simple procedure when things turned bad. The family gathered at his bedside. He was struggling. The family was desperate to do something for their husband, father, grandfather. I suggested we sing his favorite hymns. Hearing his family sing, he calmed down. Within minutes he took his first step into paradise. None of us have forgotten that sacred time.

Her daughters and I now stood around Jeanette's bed as she labored. "Can we sing?" One asked. "Of course." I said. And so we did. Such a prized time to stand poised between heaven and earth. I hugged the whole family when I left. In the car I cried.

Such moments reinforce my reasons for accepting your call to ministry. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what you have outlined me to do. Although taxing at times, weary from responsibility, I love being your hands and feet and heart. I am humbled, grateful.

You are the light
that I carry with me
in ministry.
Whether at a bedside,
in counselling,
laughing at a restaurant,
leading a retreat,
nudging someone toward you,
I know my ministry,
my call,
my task.
I utterly trust in you
during these moments.
For I am nothing more
than human.
Yet, I have been entrusted
with the sacred divine.
May I be worthy
of this repeated call
to follow, to lead,
to love.

Love always, Andrea