Monday, July 30, 2007

Dear God,

Our neighbors want to use our church facility to teach English to Hispanic workers. They had called to talk about this possibility. I was delighted since these men and women have been serving us at Puerta Vallarta for a long time.

The college professor and children's OR nurse visited with me for about 30 minutes. They are excited about partnering with us. They want to give something back since this business owner and his employees take good care of all of us and constantly give to our community. Along with others they want to teach the course in English.

As they were readying to leave, they remarked about the woods behind our church, woods that have become hallowed ground, a park for all to enjoy. Perhaps, I told them, even a meditation garden. She remarked that they were leaving for vacation as soon as they left the church and that her vacation had already begun when she sat down to talk. "I'll bet this is the first time anyone started their vacation in your office." She told me. "Oh no," I said, "several people have begun their spiritual vacation in this very room, walking into new vistas for the first time." Although this was our first meeting, I took hold of their hands and prayed for this new venture and their vacation.

New vistas. Yes, this holy ground is a doorway to new vistas, spiritual visitations, the beginning of pilgrimages of the spirit. And today I walked with three people to that entry. Persons who need a transformation. Individuals who feel trapped and need a new doorway through which to enter a different realm that will lead them to hope and peace.

The church may be a community of people. It may be a service-related institution. It may be a place for worship and prayer, for teaching and loving. But more than all of this it is your home, a mystical entry point to God. There is nothing ordinary about your home. It may look like a building with Sunday School rooms and a worship center. But it is much more. Sometimes we forget that. It is something much more.

As I drove home at 8:00 p.m. I reflected on the discoveries of the day. The smiles of the people I had worked with who experienced breakthroughs in their depression and despair, persons who discovered hope and a way to you. No longer alone, they entered a "land" where unions are possible, spiritual unions with God where they can breathe easier, be honest and lay down their fears temporarily, picking up hope and peace. A good day.

A day with you
energizes my spirit.
I learn
to trust you more.
I cannot help
ailing people
without your grace.
Together,
you and I,
we sit together
with persons
without hope.
We listen.
We interact.
Then your mystery unfolds,
bringing resolution
at some level.
Lighter,
the burden
is not so heavy.
Thank God.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, July 29, 2007

My dearest God,

I sat on my loveseat at the church, watching, listening to the voice of God. I knew where the words and tune had come from. It was my spirit that first heard and saw the new song. My study was a place of sacred dwelling.

I know the history, at least some portion of the history of these my sisters and brother. Three pilgrims on the path, leaning forward to the Holy. One sat quietly beside me while the others sang and played the guitar. Astounding. Wonderful. Beautiful. I recognized your voice immediately as they offered this song, your song.

Aspiring pilgrims offer so much more than aspiring composer/singers. Aspiring composers and singers desire to make the big time. Aspiring pilgrims seek to fulfill the wonder within them, the gift of God searching to find its way outside, like Michelangelo as he sought to release the figures from stone.

I have watched with quiet observation these three people. At varying levels I have observed their climb to the heavens. I have known some of their pain, their struggle for the sacred, the lean-tos they have built for their pilgrimage. I have seen you in their eyes, heard your voice within them. I have seen God through them, enriching my own life.

I do not know, am not privy to the future. But I do know that your future within them is brilliant and bright as noon day sun. Joy wells inside my own spirit as I think about it.

I heard
your new songs,
Lord.
And I loved them.
I am filled
with wonder
to sit
in your presence,
listening, watching, observing.
I am a witness
to your magnificent grace.
And what am I to say?
Thank you
for opening doors and windows
to your spirit.
Thank you
for the Light
that reshapes darkness
into light.
Thank you
for thirst and hunger
that inspires a journey
for real food and drink.
Thank you
for agape,
a love that never ends.
Holy One,
Great God of Joy and Peace,
thank you.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Dear God,

A purely quiet day is truly a day of joy for me. I spent the day in silence with the exception of a couple of phone calls I needed to make. I did hear, however, the click-click of the ceiling fan.

Thoughts, ideas, reflections and memories have space to appear when quiet is embraced. And this type of quiet is even more than the absense of sound. It is the opening to the divine, that dwelling place of spiritual oneness. Without the monotonous daily sound of voices, television, and computer noises, one can live the life intended for the contemplative.

Someone very close to me teases me about entering the convent, living the monastic life. I am intrigued and find inner joy welling up within me when I think about it. Yet, I do not believe I am suited for this life. I prefer to live in a monastery without walls.

I have always been drawn to the sacred. As far back as I can remember, you have been very dear to me. Whether in prayer, sacred awe, worship, Sunday School or other "religious" activity, I have found my inner self, an inner life of faith that makes even greater sense and meaning of human living. I am certain this is the meeting place of God for me.

When I look out the window of my silent place, I see the beauty of life within and outside myself. This internal-external activity silences sound, allowing only the visual to speak. The quiet allows me to see more deeply the images before me. I can be more fully present with what I see.

I think the same thing is true about people. When I allow my inner life to open to you, I am able to see more in people. I see their great value, their promise and hope, their potential. I can see you within them or their need for you. I see transformation as it is developing. This does not mean I believe I am clairvoyant or of greater value than my human brother or sister, rather I think it means this is my gift or calling in the universe.

When I live out of this sacred space, I find my greatest meaning, joy, peace and love. Our spiritual friendship rejuvenates the very atoms that hold me together, giving me as an image to the world. This vital connection brings a divine dimension to my simple humanity. I recognize my smallness compared to your greatness.

I rest in your care, filled with the wondrous awe of God.

This filling of God,
one teeny particle
of sacred character
delights my soul.
The quiet
gives me space
to dwell
with you,
to reflect upon
the human-divine connection.
My innermost spirit
searches, seeking
for a closer union
with you.
What am I
without you?
Just so much
flesh and bone.
My heart dwells
in gratitude
for our quiet time.

Love, Andrea

Friday, July 27, 2007

Dearest God,

I was surprised when my administrative assistant told me that my doctor was on the phone. I hurried down the hall to take the call. "Andrea, I called to tell you I received the results of your tests. All your levels are off." He told me. "What? Why? All of them?" "Yes." He replied.

I had had my tests run just the day before. We both concluded that I was doing very well. My tests had been normal for the last several months. He told me I could wait three months for a blood draw rather than the monthly ones I normally have. Neither of us expected any changes.

We did know that my cholestrol was way off. It was quite high several months ago when I took an insurance exam. Although I do a pretty good job of eating right, I had to work to get the bad cholestrol down and the good up. The test result was very good; however, my good cholestrol was so low they couldn't even measure it.

So when I heard that my thyroid and calcium were pretty high, we were both surprised. Even though I dare to ask the why question each time, I already know the answer. We don't know why. Scientists haven't figured it out yet.

My doctor changed my dosage and said we would check it again in a month. There's nothing more I can do. I've asked several times what I can do to optimize my health. He assures me I am doing all I can.

I realized that I was lulled into believing that I was fine. And that can be a scary proposition since he has told me repeatedly to be obsessive about my health, my medicine, my tests. But when you begin to feel pretty good, it's easy to feel like you're a normal person. "Do I just have a strange body that does strange things?" I asked the doc. "Maybe." He said.

I feel pretty good. I take my medicine faithfully. I am diligent about my monthly tests. But the one part, perhaps the more important is building up my trust in you. I can only do what I can do, do what my physician tells me to do and the only thing left is to trust more, deepen those roots, make 'em go way down deep.

The moment I hung up the phone, I closed my eyes so I could more easily see yours. I stepped inside faith with you, like two peas in a pod, two people in a phone booth, two persons scrunched together in a small space. Why? Because faith that is too small is a real tight fit. The deeper my trust is the greater the space that faith can fill. When the realization came to me, that's when I smelled the sweet scent of trust and my faith widened and deepened at the same time. My life, my well being is ultimately in your hands. And my trust in you can allow me to live in the realities of the frailty of human life, yet live as though grace is sufficient because it is.

I turned around the corner of faith, drew in a breath and walked beside you.

Ever-Opening God,
trust will always
lead me
to you.
When I am closed off
or I have sealed
the door of faith and trust,
my door is blown away
because your grace
is always greater
than my efforts
to keep you away.
I cannot hide,
nor can I remain alone
in my wrestling.
You open the door
to my soul
and cry out
for my presence.
How can I say no?
Why would I want to?
You know the secrets
to my life.
You know them very well.
You know my hiding places
and my inability
to remain there long.
Keep me ever close.
Make your light
to shine,
revealing every crack and crevice.
Fill those holes
with grace and mercy
that I will sing your praise.
You are God,
almighty, powerful,
and full of love.
May my soul
rise up with resurrection
to offer you
my weakness.
Glorious God,
I am yours.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Dear God,

The storms of life can bend us low, leaving us vulnerable, weak, fragile. A friend called to spend time with me today. Bent by life's ebbs, the flow of his life is fleeting.

Life strength can be sucked away by illness, tragedy, and other life circumstances. And what we are left with can be fear, defeat, grief and sorrow. I have known this demon in my own life with cancer, loss, betrayal. To witness it in another, this loss of life energy is punishingly sad.

And what do I have to offer under these conditions? Normalcy, friendship, respectability, hope, love. Christ. I took my friend with me while I made calls to sick and recovering people. Hospitals and nursing homes, the realities of life, both of which he will no doubt partake. He waited for me as I spent time with my members.

And then I saw Evadene, my dear friend. We share the love of ice cream. Whenever I visit, I take a different flavor. She was too sick this time, her son told me. So I visited empty handed. She wanted to hear about my trip to Maine. I wanted to hear about her health. We talked about both but then we decided to talk about church. We also talked about traveling to Maine together, standing at the water's edge and dancing. Her weary eyes twinkled as she imagined us standing in the sand together, the water gathering at our ankles, moving to the spirit tune. A joyful vision for my friend who can't move from her bed.

The tragedies that strike us, you have taught me, are spectacular moments for spirit interception. Stepping with you into spirit walks, spirit breathing, spirit praying, spirit living has the potential of returning hope, joy, peace, comfort and love. When every bit of our life's energy is taken away by tragedy, we still have you. Or rather you still have us, we are held by you like a net over a dangerous place. Protected, safe, secure, no matter our situation.

Today I learned from these two friends who struggle with their situations.

Intervening God,
my eyes are opened
to your grace
through the struggle
of another soul.
I see
because I want to see
you.
I want to know
that our darkest hours
are filled
with your light.
May my trust
in you
ever grow
stronger, brighter, clearer.
May my life's joy
be a deterrent
to those facing fearful times.
May my hope
be a salve
to those whose wounds
are deep.
May my love
be a breath
of your love
overflowing
to others.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Dearest God,

Years ago it was difficult for me to return to work after a refreshing vacation. Today was not that way. I walked inside the 52nd Street church facility and felt you waiting for me. Your presence filled the hallway. The smile of my colleague Janice sitting at her desk was yet another sign that you dwelled here. Hugs and surprises awaited me. A homecoming!

I found my desk clean, cleared of debris (old papers and stuff) which I had cared for before I left. Aaaaah! My room, my study looked good to me. And the woods behind the church...it's a park, a beautiful park for God. God's park at Bethel! My goodness!

My 1840's apparel made for me by a church member hung on my coat rack, bonnet and all. I tried it on. I look like a preacher lady in the '40's. How fun, all for our 175th reunion.

Then a member called and together we shared faith, faith living in us, abiding in us, at work in the world. God seeping through our pores, sharing life in us and through us. What could be better?

And then someone stopped by, two different people, burdens heavy on their hearts. One has to put her dog down, her only family member. We prayed standing up since I had to get to my doctor's appointment. The other a member wanting to change her life. How beautiful!

And then the fun party group got together to continue planning our 175th. So many wonderful activities, food, music, games, dance, pictures. I saw you wandering all through the church yesterday. What a welcome sight!

I drove home in the darkness reflecting upon my first day back and I was blessed.

Blessed God,
oftentimes we leave
our work to find you
in our "refreshing time".
We are reluctant
to return,
finding the "green grass"
of refreshment
the greater portion.
Yet you did not leave us;
you stayed put,
awaiting our return,
but you also travel
with us,
giving us
new sights and scenes
of your presence.
The fields of green grass,
the still waters,
the valleys
and the mountains
show off
your presence,
crying out
your kingdom.
Do we notice?
Do we stop
and say like a tour guide,
"...and this is God?"
I have seen you,
missed some places
I am sure,
but I have enjoyed immensely
our time together!
How wondrous you are!

Thankfully, Andrea

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Dearest God,

I sing a song of gladness as I reflect upon the gifts of vacation. A week of work in the house, a week with my daughter and family, a week with retreatants (give or take a day or two), two days reading, and a week exclusively with my husband. I'd say I am blessed.

Refreshment. "He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul." I speak the same words as the psalmist. I have been by those still waters myself. I have drunk in the living water I sought with the retreatants. Restoration.

I have seen your face, heard your voice, walked beside you these last few weeks. What is a vacation without you? Nothing, but a box of memories that soon fades. But days with you, seeking your presence is more valuable to me than anything else.

I recount specific moments of joy...baptism of Lucy in the ocean, sprinkling Ann's ashes, sharing my home with my daughter and her family, dancing on the beach, Joseph and the Multi-colored Dream Coat, gazing at the ocean, moments alone with my husband, toasting to new paint colors with neighbors who voted on the color of our house, meals at the ocean, especially breakfast and a candlelight dinner, worship at St. Ann's, the wind blowing through my hair, my solo walk in the rain, reading, sharing the Eucharist with the flock at St. Ann's, a meditative walk through St. Anthony's Monastery, reuniting again with Sts. Francis, Therese, and Bernadette, watching the unfolding of a spirit sorely repressed for years, plucking black raspberries from my own raspberry patch, dancing at the ocean with Gabrielle wearing purple, finding blue seaglass, living my mantra "faith not fear", transforming our bedroom and hallway, just to name a few. My truest joy comes from you, Great Wonder, for you make my every day ordinary experience into a moment of extraordinary goodness.

My life is full when I step into your footprints, when I realize I am lead by you rather than pleading with you to follow me where I want to go. My life is full when I drink in living water that falls from heaven upon a dry, thirsty soul. My life is full when I earnestly trust in you. My life is full when we dance together, my always following you in the generous dance of life. My life is full.

In fullness
I offer my praise.
In emptiness
I reach out for trust.
I am never left wanting.
You, Holy God,
fill me with you
and I am joyous
beyond comprehension.
My prayers of thanksgiving
rise up like incense
to you...

Love, Andrea

Monday, July 23, 2007

Dear God,

I want to sing a love song for my husband. These days since I returned home I have so much enjoyed his company. We have strolled down Pleasant Street holding hands. We have dined out just talking with one another (well, except for the occasional server whom Harold has to gather new data). We have watched movies, my head on his chest. We have selected the paint colors for our home together. We have lain in each other's arms. We have worshipped and prayed, ridden through the Maine countryside and shared fun and laughter with our friends. We have enjoyed croissants at the new Bakery Cafe and sat at the beach just a few feet away from the ocean. Love growing, building, blossoming, enjoying.

Not an old tune, a new one. Not the "lazy, crazy days of summer" but rather a symphonic melody made for two.

We plan to grow old together. We drive one another to distraction at times; yet, we hold a special, interesting place just for one another. When we're doing well, we nurture that environment and find each other again and again. Sometimes we get lost, then finally circle 'round until we bump into one another, glad to be found.

I want to sing a love song to my husband for believing in us.

"and two shall become one."
At our very best
we are one.
When not,
two lonely sojourners.
We "fit" together
and you,
Most Gracious One,
have knit our lives together.
Make us a song
to be sung
for you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Dearest God,

My last Sunday to sit among the crashing waves, floating lobster buoys, sail boats and fishing boats, sea gulls soaring overhead. My final Sunday to offer up my praise by the marble altar situated at the rock edge of the Atlantic Ocean in Kennebunkport, Maine. My eyes scan the scene before me, the drive into St. Ann's, the channel where boats, yachts, and vessels enter and leave, the open water, Walker's Point, the jagged rock shore. I join with the regulars, the visitors, the former president, curiosity seekers, my husband and friends to worship together one last time before returning home.

ML invites me to join him in serving the Eucharist to your own people. We sing and pray. We give our offerings and listen to the Word and we are reminded that your word lasts forever. Together our voices ring in unison, "Our Father who art in heaven..." And then I step forward, joining him at the center of our worship.

ML, in his purple robe, white cassock, and multi-colored stole blowing in the ocean breeze feeds me Christ, then hands me the silver chalice filled with white wafers. We stand before the altar and the people step forward, hands held outward to receive, first the president, his wife and many members of his family, then the rest of the hungry flock. I hold the wafer high before them, "the body of Christ, the bread of heaven," then place it in their hands, my thumb and forefinger holding on a brief moment for a blessing. I gaze into the eyes of each hungry soul while the sun shines its rays down upon us. We stand in your presence. "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me..." we sing as we conclude our time of worship in the outdoor sanctuary, home to God.

By your standards we are universally human. Our beliefs and doctrines, those ideas, concepts that we hold dear may differ slightly but our visitation is by one God only. The God among many gods. My home may be a thousand miles away but next Sunday I will worship this same God, you my Heavenly Father. My own flock will stand to revere you at the same time others in millions of churches will do simultaneously.

Some say one must go apart in silence, to retreat with the One and Only to know one's own deep inner self, that intersection place where you reside. To choose to walk alone until our steps are met by yours. To be in reverence and awe.

Yesterday I stepped gently into awe. I wore black as I danced at the ocean shore. My feet leaving prints in the wet sand, I stood until you sang within me..."In the bleak midwinter...frosty wind made moan...what can I give him...give him my heart." I don't know that my arms ever raised higher, my hands more open, my eyes more fixed on heaven. The wind catching the hem of my skirt, the water rushing in to hug my ankles, the radiant sun rays beaming downward upon me, a smile more wide upon my face. I have tasted grace, the same Christ I received at the altar this morning. The sweet, sweet taste of heaven.

I have found Christ, the same one I came looking for on these days of vacation. Quiet moments dancing alone and with you, sprinkling ashes of Ann, baptizing Lucy, leading women in holy retreat opportunities, playing with grandchildren, sharing in secret moments with my husband, making new from my Pleasant Street home to my own soul's center, I have found you, waiting for me.

Great and Glorious God,
how I long
to remain with you,
my soul
permanently attached
to you.
During busy days
and lazy days,
always knowing
your loving presence.
Vacation days
and work days
working alongside you
reveling in your glory.
How might I say
thank you?
How may I truly
show my gratitude,
my joy,
adoration?
Maranatha,
come Lord Jesus.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Dearest God,

The waves rise and fall. The ocean tide gives its hidden treasures to the shore, sea glass, shells, stones... The earth rocks on its axis. The voice of God speaks.

The dark night of the soul gives way to the new dawn. Lessons learned. Joy returns.

Benevolent God, source of all, you have returned my flesh to its bone. I have seen my insides rise and fall, remembering grace always has the last word.

I awaken to this new dawn within me, a grateful soul. I have ridden the crest of the wave, forgetting that it falls, must fall, its destiny. But just as it falls, so does it rise up in all its glory to crash once again, in tune with its Maker. The rhythm of life.

My soul sings out
its cry,
its praise.
The same God,
you, Glorious One,
hear my prayer
from the inner world
of my soul.
Where God does dwell.
And we unite...
again.

Humbly, Andrea

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Dearest God,

Your eyes are always upon us. We can hide in the darkest cave, but we cannot hide from you. Nothing is hid from your eyes.

I am guilty of poor judgement. Through your own leading my ignorance was revealed. Filled with guilt and shame, I hung my head. My heart sad, my mind filled with self judgement, I wandered through the Detroit Airport, having missed my flight from delays. Moving through hoards of people who had also been delayed, I was wrapped in shame.

I went to bed grieving, sorrowing at the Best Western at 11:00 p.m. Surprisingly, I fell asleep.
But morning returned me to my deep thoughts and sadness. I lay there, gripped in grief.

As I wrestled with my own humanity, I turned and opened the nightstand drawer near me. Nothing. I turned to the other side, opened the drawer and found what I was looking for. Bless the Gideons. I lifted the Bible from the drawer and held it in my hands. I felt the comfort it is intended to convey. Randomly I opened the book. My eyes moved to Job.

"Should not the multitude of words be answered? And should a man full of talk be vindicated?" Vindication, even for me? I thought. I read on. "That He would show you the secrets of wisdom! For they would double your prudence. Know therefore that God exacts from you less than your iniquity deserves." Tears formed. "Can you search out the deep things of God? Can you find out the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than heaven--what can you do? Deeper than Sheol--what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and broader than the sea. If He passes by, imprisons, and gathers to judgement, then who can hinder Him?" I let my tears spill from my eyes. "If you would prepare your heart, and stretch out your hands toward Him; if iniquity were in your hand and you put it far away, and would not let wickedness dwell in your tents; then surely you could lift up your face without spot; yes, you could be steadfast, and not fear; because you would forget your misery, and remember it as waters that have passed away, and your life would be brighter than noonday. Though you were dark, you would be like the morning. And you would be secure, because there is hope; yes, you would dig around you, and take your rest in safety."

I hugged you, for you had seen my error and my sorrow, heard my petition, my need for wisdom, words. My tears fell upon the sheets and I reckoned with grace. I showered and felt the cleansing waters from your hands.

As I left the room in the same clothes I entered it, I walked into the light of the new day, suddenly aware that darkness no longer held me in its sway. Your light had shone, revealing a path of great love.

I bow before you,
human with feet of clay.
You have poured
the ointment of forgiveness
upon me,
until dripping.
I have found
your grace.
And the way
out of darkness.
Humility has visited me.
Wisdom has taught me.
Lessons at your knee.
My well fills
with love and gratitude,
both which I offer back
in sweet devotion.

Forever yours, Andrea

Sunday, July 15, 2007

My dearest God,

Most of us awakened by 5:00 a.m. Eleven of us needing showers, makeup, hair done, dressing in our best, stripping beds, doing laundry, preparing for worship. All women. We had looked forward to today, especially those who had worshipped at St. Ann's a year ago. An exceptional preacher, the ocean, an outdoor marble altar, a gentle breeze and Christ bid us come. We walked out the door at 7:20 a.m. Not bad!

We entered the sacred space, an outdoor sanctuary. The moment my shoes touched the cold stones, I knew I was on holy ground. We took our places on the second pew, same place as always. And we prepared ourselves to meet God. And so we did...in the singing, in the scriptures, the gospel message, in passing the peace and the Eucharist. Worship, for me, always touches that deep place in me, doesn't make a difference whether I am worshipping with United Methodists, Episcopalians, or Catholics. I always find you.

But it was in the casual conversation later when I realized our retreat had touched divine bases. At the ocean, during a walk, sitting on a storytelling bench, digging in sand, laughing at ourselves. We never had to search far. You were present in all our daily activities.

Someone once asked, "If everything was taken from you, what one thing would you need to have faith? Mine was worship. In worship there is praise and petition, there is offering and supplication, there is friendship and fellowship, there is heartfelt secret sharing with you and open displays of rejoicing. There is compassion and comfort, love and sacred intersections. There is grace. Yes, worship, to me is faith.

As we drove away I noticed the flag blowing in the wind and I realized it was the breath of the Holy Spirit.

Holy One of Heaven,
you are constantly present,
although more often than not,
we are not aware.
You are in our churches,
in our communities,
in the streets
and in our bedrooms.
Nothing is hidden from you.
You kindliness spreads outward
where we find you
waiting to greet us
in amazing places.
Forgive us
when we fail
to acknowledge
your presence.
Thank you,
Great Lord,
for our retreat,
for feeding us spiritual food,
emotional renewal,
physical balance.
We lift our hearts
to you.

Loving thanks, Andrea

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Dear God,

I felt like purple today. So I drew my purple dance clothing from the drawer and headed for the ocean. My friends, 11 retreatants joined me in our meditative hour at the beach. We scattered, each following your lead, following our own path, seeking living water. I followed your footprints that lead me to the water's edge. And I stood in prayer, open silence allowing you to speak for me, praying my prayer, challenging my own soul to listen, to be attentive to the movement of your spirit. And I danced in purple.

As the "shoppers" joined us a little later, we sat on the sand incline in the sun, perched on old blankets. We gave thanks to you in an open-eyed prayer for our spectacular view, for the quietude except for the waves brushing against the shore, and for our delicious food, the homemade blueberry sour cream coffeecake, fresh fruit salad of oranges, sweet cherries, grapes, bananas, kiwis and pineapple juice. We ate in the round, nearly in silence as we took in the beauty around us. We all cleaned our plates, some of us finishing off seconds.

Then I passed out our sand buckets, not the shovels, just the buckets. I reminded them that God has designed a bucket for each of us. God has invited us to open ourselves so we can empty our buckets any time, making room for you to fill them. Yesterday we dug in the sand with our shovels. We dug for more than 20 minutes then answered reflective questions.

But today's "living water" exercise consisted of "filling". We moved away from the blankets, each going in our own direction in search of God's filling power. When we were ready we returned to the blankets, silent except for the slight sloshing of water in our buckets. We journaled our answers, finding hidden treasure in the exercise. Then we began to share an amazing array of insights, revelations, spirit happenings. We had loaded up on living water, determined, no, committed, to returning home with the gifts of retreat.

As we concluded we were confident of God's presence, knowing full well that our time was God-lead, God-filling. We circled around Dee, our new friend who has courageously opened herself up in order to share in retreat. And we began our trek back to the cars parked along a spacious beauty just over the hill.

I looked at these women, wondrous journeyers of faith. Each one, so beautiful, so full of faith and desire to be close to the Maker of Living Water. I felt blessed by their deep sharing, for their friendship and wit, for their fun loving and friendly spirit. Well women with buckets.

God of all ages,
I am astounded
by your miraculous work
within us.
Your way,
of leading,
inviting us to follow
is beyond our capability.
Yet you wander
into our lives
and fill us with wonder.
What can we say
to show our appreciation,
our gratefulness?
Our hearts are full.
And so are our buckets.

Loving you, Andrea

Friday, July 13, 2007

My dear God,

A reunion, a spiritual reunion with old friends. How could I have known we would run in to each other at the monastery?

We had driven to the Franciscan Monastery in Kennebunk, Maine for a "living water" exercise. I had been to the monastery several times to visit, peaceful, tranquil. What I did not know was that there were trails at the back of the monastery leading to the ocean. Someone had told me a few days ago of their existence. I vowed to take the retreatants here for a spiritual encounter.

When we arrived, I gave a few words of instruction then released them for the solo walk in silence. I was in the middle of the group, taking my place in the line of women who spaced off so we would not be in each other's space.

While I was certain I would find this nature walk a superb way to meet up with you, I did not know the spiritual friends who awaited me on the trail. The first was St. Francis. Life size he stood near a dry fountain, two animal friends standing at peace with him. The moment my eyes lay upon him, my own spirit was warmed. Love emerged from inside of me. I thought of all the moments he had called out to me while I was on my pilgrim journey in France. His home, the places he had visited during his lifetime, his burial site. I had read books about him before leaving. And then I saw him, felt his presence, was reunited with him after so long a time. A spiritual mentor and friend, I had left his path years before, just too busy to spend time with him. The "coming together" was a spiritual high for me.

I stood a while with St. Francis at the monastery before moving on down the path. Beautiful ferns moved gently back and forth in the breeze among the tall trees lining the trail. As I walked prayerfully down the path, I saw a small glassed in wooden box affixed to a tree. I saw some writing ,just beneath it. St. Therese, my dear old friend, St. Therese.

I have lived with St. Therese for nearly twenty years at the Carmelite Monastery where I worship and covenant with my spiritual friends every Wednesday. I had poured over books about her, read her own journals, fell in love with her devout spirituality as I prepared for my clergy renewal leave. Dying in her early 20's she has left behind a love for God, a life of faithfulness, a witness to faith known around the world.

I read the words beneath the box containing a replica of St. Therese. My heart was jarred open as I read familiar words I have heard before and I remembered...traveling to Lisieux, France, visiting churches where she was baptized and worshipped. Her early childhood home, places where she visited. I had stood at a replica of her glassed in coffin where she lay in repose, barely an adult when she died. I had lighted a candle in a small red glass at the cathedral built in her honor. I had knelt before her likeness and given praise, allowing my tears of joy to flow freely. I had walked with her those days and felt myself light as a feather being rocked gently back and forth by the spirit of God, by you, Gentle Savior. Oh, how I love St. Therese.

I touched the written words, then leaned in to kiss them, words that speak so powerfully of faith and this faithful one. St. Therese had drawn me on this day of retreat and I was so glad for the encounter. I stood in silence offering thanks for this spiritually powerful woman.

And then I continued my walk. Just around the paved curve, I could see the ocean just ahead, but the one who stood waiting for me just to my right was an even greater, happier sight. St. Bernadette, St. Bernadette, the child of poverty who had witnessed an apparition. Looking for sticks to sell in order to gain enough money to feed her siblings and parents, at age seven she had seen Mary, ever virgin. She had gone back again and again to the grotto multiple times waiting, listening, transfixed by Our Lady. Thousands would follow this faith-filled child where many would come to faith.

Her witness was sorely tested by church officials who denounced her spiritual encounter with the mother of God. But she never waivered, not once. A bishop fell at her feet and believed. Another cathedral was built remembering this visitation where healing waters sprang forth, where millions visit every year. I had joined the line of spiritual pilgrims waiting to touch the water, the tiny trickle of water that comes from the rock in the grotto. I had eased my hand forward, not knowing what to expect, how to feel, what to do and I had felt the cold water on my hand. I had touched my face, my head and heart and I had prayed allowing my tears to blend with the living water. I had sat on the benches spiritually gazing upon the other pilgrims, many in wheel chairs, on crutches.

I will not be able to remove the sight of a father pushing the wheel chair of his ailing son whose arms involuntarily flailed about. I saw this dad push the chair into the grotto and when he came to the water he took it upon his hands, then rubbed it all over his son's head, kissing him. He had put his son's hands upon the cold stone and they had stilled. Never have I seen such a beautiful sight. A father's love. A son trusting.

For two days we had remained in Lourdes, a tiny community of 19,000 people where triple that come to visit every weekend, at least when we were there. All, hearts full of faith, hopes, dreams and prayers. I saw faith walking in the streets, kneeling at the grotto, in the candlelight pilgrimage where thousands stood at night holding lighted candles singing psalms. I had kissed the feet of St. Bernadette remembering her horrible struggle with illness, yet remaining faithful to the Jesus she loved.

And now she stood before me, an old friend, still speaking to me of faith. I read the words accompanying the replica of the saint and these too were familiar. I was so happy, so filled with spiritual love both for the saints and for you, my glorious God. Again I leaned in to kiss the words, giving you my praise and my joy.

I continued on my journey, so full of you, full of faith, full of joy and peace. Memories filling me with an extra dose for my remembrance later.

I now sat at the shrine of Mary, mother of God whose birthday I celebrate with the sisters on August 8. I've purchased yellow roses, bought the most delicious cake to share. I have prayed prayers on that day, merging my heart with my beloved Carmelite sisters. And now I stood at the shrine to celebrate.

As the retreatants sat on the steps just inside the shrine, I shared my happiness, my inner joy and I knew I had been turned inside out, my spirit shining, beaming with joy. "Destined, I was destined for this walk today, visiting my beloved friends." I shared with the women.

A simple spiritual walk had lead me back to lead me forward. Monastery life beating mystically in my heart.

Loving God,
my heart is full of you.
I am so filled
with your grace.
Knowing you
is greater
than knowing anyone
on earth.
My moments with you
are greater
than moments with anyone else.
My love
at this moment
spills over
my brim,
telling me once again
that silent moments
with always lead me to you.
Hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come
on earth
as it is in heaven.
My love to you,
my God and my Redeemer,
always.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Dear God,

Early this morning we drove to Parson's Beach. Our task was to "open" ourselves, to open the vessel that each of us has been assigned. Opening our body, mind and spirit to you, Most High, to sit at your feet, to walk the spiritual path, to empty our spiritual receptacles of undesirables, to make ready for your appearance.

As we walked up the sandy hill, we caught our first glimpse of the ocean together. The sun's rays kissed the water. The waves rose and fell. Sea gulls caught the lift and soared overhead. You were waiting.

We scattered, all eight of us. Dee wanted to dance with me so she remained close by. But all the others moved away, down the beach, some to the craggy rocks, others down the smooth walk embedded with pebbles washed ashore. We found our way.

I danced to your heart's content. "I long for you, O Lord, with all my soul, I thirst for you." A song sung 25 years ago by the Damiens came to me and I moved to offer my devotion. I hummed and danced, danced and hummed. Breathing in the ocean air cleansed my soul from within. I love to dance my praise.

When it was time to leave, I stood atop the hill, a sign to all the silent pilgrims that it was time to depart. But Jane left her chair and walked in a different direction. I watched as she walked, at first life size, then as she walked further, in my sight she became smaller and smaller. And the insight that came to me was the distance, near and far that I am from God. The farther she walked, the smaller she became until she turned and came back to life size. How many times have I walked away and God seemed so far away. Other times I have walked straight into your arms, so close, I could feel your heavenly touch. The story of my life, near and far, far and near.

What joy I felt as I observed the women drinking in the living water.

You are living water,
Great God of creation.
We are thirsty
and you offer drink
from your own well.
And we are well women
looking for water.
Every part of my being
is thirsty
for you.
Quench my thirst,
the thirst of all the women.
Give us living water
so we shall never again
be thirsty.

Loving you, Andrea

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Dearest God,

"Living Water - Quenching the Human Thirst" is the theme of our Maine Women's Retreat. The women will be here in six hours. I have a lot to do before they arrive.

I have been inspired as I have written the retreat, "living water" exercises, prayerful reflections, and challenging words. I have danced with you through the pages as the words came swiftly, easily and beautifully. The language of this retreat has been the language of your heart. Entering into it has been a deep joy.

The retreatants are now in the air, making their way from Indiana to Maine. What do they expect? Hope for? Want to have happen? Are they seeking God in a peaceful setting? Do they intend to experience you at the ocean? In our friendships?

Expectancy, that human feeling of hopeful happening, is an exciting thing. It buoys us, putting our whole system on alert. Something good will soon unfold, we tell ourselves and we give ourselves to it. The women have been looking forward to this special time for weeks if not months. They know our time together will be good. They don't know what altogether to expect, except that they expect the unexpected. They know God will be here in Maine on Pleasant Street. In the food, the fellowship, the joy, the friendship, the spiritual exercises, in the sharing, worship, meditation and prayer. They have come to know you are with us.

I have done my work, preparing my own spirit and my home. I have written the words of retreat. Yet, I know the best is yet to come. Your own dear Spirit will move us, inspire us toward a deeper relationship with you.

Come, Lord God,
come to us.
Send us
on our pilgrim journeys.
Set our feet
on solid ground
that leads us
to you.
Move us forward
into the realms of heaven
where we shall find
our greater selves.
Draw us into you
that we may drink
from the well
of living water.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Dearest God,

Something happens to the human heart when it prepares itself for a coming together with friends. Persons you trust and love, people who make you smile, persons who restore balance to your being, people who warm you from the inside.

I knew our friends would be here at 2:00 p.m. but I had a lot of work to finish before they came. I worked hard to get everything done. But all the while I thought of the time we would share together. The laughter, the friendship, the comraderie, the fun. Working to get everything done was done with a happy heart.

When they arrived, I saw them through my front screened door. They were climbing out of their car. I hopped up from what I was doing and charged outside. I opened my arms to greet them, first Leslie, then Rick. My heart was happy to have our friends with us.

We spent the evening at the Wayfarer, some of the best food in this area, then took a drive out to Goat's Island to see the lighthouse, then a drive along the coast with some of the beautiful old homes. We ended our time at Ben and Jerry's for ice cream, then returned home. We did what we do best, laughing, sharing, and laughing some more.

By the time we dropped dead into bed, we had grown our loving friendship. And what I knew as I fell asleep was that such moments are God moments. For friends instill something sacred inside. They inspire the heart. They titillate the soul. They warm the being. The love they share stretches our center, giving more room for beauty and goodness.

I know you are present when they are with us. You whisper to the soul that friends are good, friends who share a common faith and purpose, friends who know that humor cleans out the cobwebs of whatever troubles. Time with our friends means an investment in my life with you for you walk with us, ride with us in the car. You sit at our table, nourishing every part of us.

How grateful my heart is to be included in their friendship, in yours.

You guide us
toward meaningful relationships
that give life,
dear God.
You bring joy,
scooting away temporary annoyances.
You sing to us
the song of friendship
and remind us
that we are more
than human beings
walking on the face
of the earth.
We are part of you,
that divine image
that we carry with us
cries out
for deeper sharing.
And we are blessed
by you,
once again.

Love, Andrea

Monday, July 9, 2007

Dear God,

The physical work of preparing for a retreat is a laborious one. Making a mental checklist of everything necessary and not forgetting anything is important. Sheets and blankets for 11, dinnerware for 11, car space for 11, toilet paper for 11, chairs for 11, and so on. Preparing my home for 11 women is a true task and labor of love.

My home will be home to these retreat participants. Here they will find a welcome and a nourishing nudge to move toward a spiritual engagement. They will find here a pathway to the Divine. My home will be a spiritual home as they give themselves to the retreat process. What I do to prepare my home and my spirit will help lean them in a direction where they will encounter the Sacred.

I take seriously my role to be prepared, to provide an atmosphere where they will be comfortable and safe enough to grow their souls. I pray, but more than that, I walk in a fashion that allows God to envelope me so that I am ready to receive so that I will be enabled to give.

Various activities have been planned, spiritual exercises designed to stretch, challenge and encourage reflection, conversations to stimulate body, mind and spirit. Not only is my home, our home a peaceful place for a serene, tranquil experience, it is also an environment where God is present.

Mine is to pray for the women as they come, to offer them respite and challenge. Mine is the joy of heaven.

Loving God,
challenge us
in the heart
of our souls.
Stir peace within us.
Lead us toward growth.
Fill us with joy.
May your compassionate hope
guide us toward newness of life.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Dearest God,

Lord, I can get really grouchy! My husband mentioned several times that he wanted the trim finished in the hallway. Now what that means is that he wanted me to take charge of the task (that means do it myself). We both have differing talents and mine is prep and paint. He wanted the hallway finished so it would look good for company.

After our children left yesterday, I tackled it! The worst of the woodwork here at our old home! Harold washed it down with strong ammonia water and I must have repaired more than 200 cracks, holes, and problem areas. Then I had to sand and sand and sand. I created a real dust storm and I'm sure I'm carrying some of it in my lungs.

Then I began the priming process. When I came back in May to work on one of the bedrooms, I had asked Harold to get all my supplies ahead of time so I could get right to work when I arrived. He had forgotten the Benjamin Moore primer so he went to Ace. When I began priming today I remembered the May incident. This primer is the most toxic, smelly, watery, crummy paint I have ever had to work with. It really affects me. I get a headache, sick stomach, burning eyes when I use it. Periodically I have to step outdoors to get fresh air even though I have all the windows open.

I'm dying of fumes upstairs!!! And since I am an early morning riser, I get tired in the early evening. Couple the fumes with tiredness and you get potential for an uprising. When Harold called me from downstairs to tell me he had closed all the windows because it was getting cold, my grouchiness kicked in. "Closed all the windows??? I'm dying of fumes and you closed all the windows???" I cried from my perch upstairs. "Just the downstairs ones." He responded back. He had already put the windows down upstairs because he was worried about rain. I had opened a couple of them back up while I was working.

Well, let's just say I wasn't very nice. Let's just say I was troubled. Let's just say I could've killed, well not really, but there was real potential. Let's just say I gave in to my lower self. I hate it when I do that.

Lord, do you see everything? Do you know when a bout will occur? Are you cognizant of what is going to happen before it happens? Can you see the inner struggle between self will and self control? Do you know when a situation will blow? And if you do what can be done to allow the pressure cooker to cool down before the hot steam erupts?

My desire has always been to be faithful to you at all costs. I want to live life faithfully, living out my vow to follow you, to love and serve you. I want my whole being to be faith filled. But at times I struggle, really struggle with being faithful to my promise. When my attitude goes sour and my behavior turns poor, I know I have broken my vow. I am sad, disappointed. Yet, I act the same way over and over again, failing to overcome, to conquer my own thoughts, attitudes and behaviors. I drop to my knees before you, my head down in shame.

I know frustration is part of life. And I know we don't get everything we want when we want it. I know sometimes life is difficult; yet, when in this earthly life are we able to achieve a walk with you unencumbered with failings and disappointments? I'm not talking perfection here; I'm talking about trust.

I come to grace
when I fail,
O Lord
and you meet me there.
I know my own sin
and I know your salvation.
The gap in between
is grace and mercy.
Not that I deserve it;
I do not.
But the free gift
rocks me
at my core.
I walk away free
from the canceled sin,
even knowing
that I will soon
fall prey again.
Help me,
dearest God,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Dear God,

Today I returned Ann to her final resting place.

It must have been a year ago when I tried to talk Ann into flying to Maine with my daughter and me. She remembered visiting York, Maine decades before. She loved it, thought it was so peaceful. She dreamed of returning to York one day. But Ann had liver cancer, brought on by drugs used to treat her Hepatitus C. Doctors tried everything to save Ann. And she always believed she would get better. She would say to me, "I would love to go back with you. Just as soon as I get a little better."

Ann was my first husband's third wife. She was a lovely person who just seemed unable to reach the heights of good living. Making poor choices as a teenager severely limited her potential in years to come. She married more than once but never found joy in her relationships. She was never able to have children. After many attempts at taking her own life, she would wake up to a new day disturbed and unhappy.

About three years ago she sobered up, cleaned up her life, grabbed hold of a more spiritual existence, became fit and began to smile. It was only a few months later that Ann was diagnosed with cancer. She rarely complained, working hard to beat the deadly enemy.

I liked Ann the first time I met her. She was sensitive, sweet and kind. She was very likeable and we established a friendship. Although Ann lived in Colorado we talked on occasion, especially after she learned she would have to fight the biggest battle of her life. I would encourage her, share my prayers and offer hope.

Ann finally came to the conclusion that she would probably not get better, thus could not travel to York. On that day, during that conversation I told Ann she would return there either while living or after her death. I knew she wanted to be cremated so I told her I would be privileged to carry her ashes and spill them at the ocean in York if she wished. She was so very happy. "Oh, Andrea, would you really do that for me?" She asked. I also promised her that I would dance. She was so touched, so pleased. It may have been one of the most meaningful things in her life next to the relationship she shared with my younger daughter.

Ann died in December last year. I carried her ashes to Indiana, kept them safe until I returned home to Maine. This morning my daughter and I left early for York. As we walked barefoot across the sand to the water, we told Ann she had finally arrived in the city and ocean that she loved.

I shared from Ecclesiastes 3. "There is a time and season for all things under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to weep and a time to dance." My daughter and I prayed together. Then I walked into the water, the wave covering my ankles. Dressed in my white dance clothing, I opened the plastic bag, and prayerfully I held the ashes of a truly beautiful lady. I spilled the ashes and the wind whipped them spreading them across the water. In a sacred gesture, I returned her to the womb, the waters of the earth, a place of tranquility.

After all the ashes had been released, I stood in the water, an open vessel, waiting for you to speak. And instantly the song came to me. "To you we sing, and happiness we bring, to celebrate your birth, an angel here on earth." A German birth song, I learned it while on renewal leave. What a fitting tribute to Ann whose truth birth came today as she returned to the earth. And as the song played in my mind, I danced as the sun broke through the gray clouds and spread its glorious rays across the water, right to the place where I stood. Your presence was with us, a meaningful display of beauty and joy.

Jill and I stood once again praying to you, offering you our deepest thanks for the joy we both experienced and I could hear Ann's voice rejoicing.

Most Holy God,
you bring people together
and offer them
peace and joy.
Ann came into our lives
and brought us
joy and peace.
We loved her
because she deserved love
after so many years
of lost love.
Your love for her today
was transparent
and we could see
by the unfolding events
that you fulfilled
Ann's dream.
We give you thanks
for the privilege
that was ours.

Love, Andrea

Friday, July 6, 2007

Dear God,

Hilarity was the name of the game. We had all gone to St. Ann's front lawn for a picnic dinner and fireworks. It was very chilly and the wind nearly blew us away. We were cold, but determined as we wrapped ourselves in afghans. But then it began to drizzle. We remained as long as we could. When we became wetter, we decided to return to the car quickly. We had a cooler, two sacks of food, a backpack and six chairs, assorted books and bubbles, a stroller and a baby. By the time we crawled inside the car, the rain broke loose. Not knowing whether the fireworks would happen or not, we decided to remain parked outside St. Ann's by the tall reeds. The car windows instantly fogged. The kids were restless so my family begged me to make up a story. I was pretty tired at the time but they kept pushing so I agreed.

"Once upon a time there were two teenage princesses named Vanessa and Alissa (Gabrielle gave me the names) who threw a party at their palace. Hundreds of people attended. But they were tired of palace living so they ran away in their MG cars. When they got to a little village their tires went flat. They got out of their cars and walked down a little path to a village hut. A worn out middle-aged lady opened the door to the princesses who pretended they were poor girls. Although poor herself Nellie was a kindly lady who offered them a meal and a bed for the night. They met Sally, Nellie's daughter, a young girl with a limp. By the next day the princesses loved Nellie and Sally. They wanted to help Sally who suffered acne and asthma as well as the limp. So they took them back to the palace to Dr. Bo Peep, the royal physician with a withered hand.

The king and queen were happy to see their girls and delighted to meet sweet Sally and Nellie. They saw right away Sally infirmities. Within a few days a miracle occurred. Dr. Bo Peep had cured Sally's ailments. To celebrate, Nellie made her famous soup, the simple soup she had made for the princesses when they came to stay. That's when it happened. A terrible tragedy. Nellie tried to scoot Lilly the cat from the kitchen counter. But instead she knocked over the family crock that belonged to the queen's great great great great great great great great grandmother. Smashed it to smitherines! When the queen saw what happened, she shrieked and wailed. Inconsolable she went completely crazy. The king had to redesign the royal bedroom into a place for tea parties because all the queen wanted to do was pour tea and offer cookies.

One day Dr. Bo Peep was climbing the stairs to aid the queen when he fell and his other arm withered right on the spot. A second tragedy. But there was good news. When Nellie fed Dr. Bo (a kindly name for the doctor who moved in without a job) her famous simple soup, their eyes connected and they found love. They were soon married. Sally, Vanessa and Alissa were the singers. The lambs belonging to Dr. Bo were the ring bearers and flower girls. And the best news of all, they didn't have to pay extra for a reception. The queen fixed tea and cookies."

All throughout the story while the rain came down and we tried to stay warm, we laughed and laughed and laughed. Of course, the story was more colorful and detailed. Little Lucy kept saying, "Dr. Bo, Dr. Bo, Dr. Bo."

Imagination, creativity can inspire a trapped dull moment into an adventure. We can enter a fantasy world filled with fun and laughter. A gift from you, we can spin a yarn that goes on and on. We can entertain ourselves in ways that toys, videos, books and other contraptions cannot do. We interacted with one another, all becoming part of the story.

This is how you designed the world to be, people interacting with one another. You have made us for each other. And more often than not, we fail to truly interact with one another, therefore, breaking our promise to live out your plan.

Lord, thank you for this night that we will remember for a long time. In the days ahead any one of us can say Dr. Bo or Sally or the queen and we will all burst into laughter, a memory of a vacation in Maine. A time to remember our togetherness. A time we shared love.

Grand Designer,
when all things
are lived out
in your light,
we are more content,
more joy filled,
more at peace.
Forgive us
when we grab hold
of something less.
We are capable
of so much more.
Thank you
for my family
whose delight
gives me joy.
I love you.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Dearest God,

The baptism was scheduled for 8:00 am but it was raining at 6:30 a.m. Rain-filled clouds hung overhead. We called the in laws and told them we had to reschedule. There was no way we could take our 86 year old grandma to the ocean to stand in rain. Lucia, our little 22 month old Lucy, couldn’t be out in the chilly rain either. We postponed it until noon. The rain stopped about 9:00 a.m.

The family arrived at 11:30 a.m. I gave instructions. Harold would begin the service. Grandma would read from Psalm 24. Harold and I would baptize Lucy together. Then all of us would give her an offering.

Then we drove to Parsons Beach. We weren’t sure Grandma could walk that far with her cane. We couldn’t push the stroller; the sand was too deep. I carried Lucy, wearing her christening gown, the same one Gabrielle wore a number of years ago.

As we approached the top of the hill, the sun broke through the clouds, shining its gorgeous rays across the water. We situated Grandma in a beach chair and we all gathered around. Harold opened our time together. "Jesus said, 'Let the little children come unto me.'” Then he offered a prayer. The tide brought the water up to us and we had to move back three times. Grandma read Psalm 24:1-6 followed by Harold reading the story of Jesus’ baptism.

Lucy was grouchy. She screamed when I picked her up so I put her down and Harold and I, Grandpa and Grandma, walked her into the water. Her Belgian-made gown, its hem floating on top of the water did not deter Lucy from walking forward into the cold Maine coastal water while we each held her little hand. “Lucia Mary-Ann Riggs…” we began as we each leaned down to cup the salty ocean water in our hands, “we baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” Lucia smiled into the sun as the living water dripped down the sides of her face. I picked her up, putting my arms around her little body, the bottom half of her dress dripping with water. She smiled as we made our way back to the family several feet on shore. As I handed her to her father, I invited everyone to give her a blessing on her baptism day. Joy, trust in God, to become the woman God had intended for her, faith for every day, peace and blessing, we each spoke words of hope and love to this fourth generation child, all four present with us.

And then Gabrielle and I slipped off our dresses, revealing our purple dance clothing. We walked out into the water, the tide bringing the living water to our ankles. We stood, our hands out to our sides, palms up. I began to dance, a dance of spirit on the occasion of “God with us.” My hands moved upward, a sign of my own humility, pointing to God as God of all creation. My whole body moved, praising God, offering Lucy to her Maker, a sign of her own dependence on you. And then I turned, taking hold of Gabrielle’s hand, timid but wanting to dance as a gift to her sister. We twirled, lifting our hands together, looking into the sun, smiling, two spirits dancing as one. As we bowed before God, we moved back to the family waiting on shore. And I led us in a closing prayer.

Lucy began picking at the rose pinned to her gown and rose petals fell to the ground. As the family began to climb the hill on the path back to the car, I stopped, looking back. Then I leaned down taking pictures of the rose petals as the water crept up to claim them. It seemed fitting to honor God with roses.

Glorious and Wondrous God,
today four generations
gathered in faith
to recommit our lives
to the Source of All Life.
We who love you
and love our Lucy
celebrated an act of faith,
parents who vowed
to raise their child
in faith, Christian faith.
We offered Lucy to you,
rejoicing in her young life
filled with promise.
The rose petals,
delicately patterned
symbolized the beauty
of God
and the innocence of a young child.
We beheld your glory.
Our hearts tonight
are filled with joy
as we remember,
one more time,
your grace.

Loving you always, Andrea

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Dearest God,

To greet you first thing in the morning is to acknowledge you for all your greatness. Harold and I decided to attend the early morning Holy Communion Service at St. Ann’s. The sun was shining as the blue skies were bright over the ocean.

Two volunteers, one playing a guitar, lead us in singing patriotic hymns. “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…” The coming of the Lord, I thought, I have seen the coming of the Lord. Daily you appear in expected and unexpected ways. You speak so I can listen. You sing so I can dance. You pray so I can hear.

The priest read an excerpt from a writing written in 1777 by a man who described the celebration of the first anniversary of our nation’s birth. How wondrous to sit at the ocean near the altar listening to the godly thoughts of our forbearers. We are a nation built on principles of freedom, a costly freedom.

As the service continued and we walked to the altar, I opened my hands, held one in the other, lifted them up and I prepared my soul to receive the gift of food, the spiritual meal of my Lord. In freedom I practiced my faith, received the food from heaven, and sang songs of praise. As we ended our worship, a boom sounded, rocking everyone present. We had temporarily forgotten the priest's warning of a boom later in the service. A cannon was shot, one sound that stilled us for a brief moment reminding us of freedom's sacrifice.

Gracious God,
we are a people
blessed.
Our comings and goings
are blessed
as we walk
in freedom's way.
Sometimes we forget
to appreciate, to give thanks
for the gift
that belongs to our nation.
We forget to live
praiseworthy lives.
I offer you
my confession
and ask for your pardon.
Forgive me, us
as we fail to live lives
that bring honor
to your name,
glory to yourself.
Forgive us
when we put obstacles
in the way of other's freedom,
individuals, nations.
Make us true believers,
loving partakers
in the miraculous
gifts of God.
Then help us
by your grace
to give them away
to others along the way.
Our freedom
is won
as we offer freedom
to others.
We imprison ourselves
when we withhold freedom
for our neighbors
near and far.
We are blemished,
Holy God,
cleanse us from within
and from without.
Release in us
the freedoms
of grace, mercy and love.
Spread them
around the world.
Peace. Joy.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Dearest God,

I have felt a driving force to share more of my inner life with my grandchildren. I began this morning. Gabrielle is seven, intuitive, in touch with God and the varying levels of faith. She’s a super sensitive child, picking up naturally on feelings and anxieties.

We started planning this day more than a year ago. Gabrielle would join me in the early morning dance of the spirit. She had insisted we get matching dance clothing so I invited her to pick them out. A lavender leotard with a pale purple pointed edge sheer skirt. We put on our leotard and shorts, then carried our skirts with us in the car. Once at the ocean, we took off our shorts and pulled on our skirts. We sat in the beach chair for the first lesson.

“Gabrielle,” I started out, “we never wear our skirts to the ocean. We prepare ourselves first to dance with God. And we dance with God to express our love for God. We quiet our self, breathing in God’s spirit. When we are ready, we put on our skirt. Then we silently walk to the edge of the water. We open our hands at our side and palms up, ready ourselves to hear God.” Gabrielle stood facing the sun with her palms up and out. She looked absolutely beautiful. The sun’s rays kissed her face as the breeze gently tossed her skirt about. Her rich, golden skin glowed as her honey brown curls bounced with the wind. “I feel God in all creation, Grandma.” She told me immediately.

“This is the moment when we stand quietly looking upward at the sun." I told her. "We feel the warmth of the sun upon us and we pray although we don’t say any words. This is the time we wait until something comes to us. Then we begin to move.” I told hecontinued, as if she needed to hear it. She was already hearing something.

We both began to move, gesturing to the God of the universe, to you Almighty God. Gabrielle whirled and twirled, raising her hands up, sometimes looking to me for direction. And I was wishing I had brought a camera to capture this prized moment. My joy with God came as I watched this young girl express her love for you. She danced for just a few minutes; then she began looking around, picking at the sand. “What are you looking for, Gabrielle?” I asked her. “A rock." She answered. "A rock, why do you need a rock?" I inquired. "I want to send God a message.” She responded. “What is your message?” I asked her. “That God is the God of all creation.” I asked nothing more. We simply looked for our rocks to send you a message; then we sent them flying into the water.

By the time we left, I wasn’t quite sure who the teacher was. A grandmother teaching the keys of the spiritual life or a grandchild teaching the elements of faith.

Most Holy God,
you appear in majesty
when your children
are open to your presence.
Clearly you speak to us
as beloved.
Today I saw you
in the radiance
of my dancing granddaughter,
a child of God
if there ever was one.
These moments
are sealed forever
in my spiritual treasure box.
My heart
will forever be grateful
for generational spiritual gifts.

Humbly yours, Andrea

Monday, July 2, 2007

Dearest God,

I have looked forward to welcoming my daughter and her family to Maine. I remember the last time Jill visited. It was a very cold day in November, 2005. The weather in Indiana was cold and icy. Before they could fly out of their connecting flight in Detroit, they had had to deice the plane. Fearful of flying Jill was sorely frightened. But you had placed a loving Christian couple within her reach and they had shared their lives of faith with one another across Michigan, Pennsylvania, New York and Massachusetts.

I remember waiting, flights delayed. And finally I recall her face as I saw her step onto the escalator near the baggage claim where I was waiting. Although we live in close proximity I had not seen her for two and a half months because of my renewal leave. I hurried to the bottom of the escalator to embrace my youngest daughter. We were so glad to see one another.

And now Jill was coming to visit with her husband and two daughters. When they pulled up at the curb in front of our home, I jumped up and down, did a little twist thing and hollered. Gabrielle, my seven year old granddaughter was expecting this little display of happiness. We hugged, one after another.

We took a tour of our house, Gabrielle loving the next room more than the last. As we toured the backyard, Gabrielle dubbed our outdoor bench a "storytelling bench." I suspect we'll sit there and tell stories, read books, share together.

How fun it is to welcome family to our home, to embrace them like long lost cousins now found. We are making intentional memories, ones to be long remembered, shared periodically to embolden our relationships with one another. Value: priceless.

Loving God,
you bind us together,
making us a family.
We reach out to one another,
discovering the glory of love
within ourselves.
These moments of sharing,
give us pause
to celebrate,
reflect upon the lives
we share together.
Memories,
you are making memories
inside us.
Memories
that will never die.
A trust held by all.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, July 1, 2007

Dear God,

Sunday morning in Maine is a time to prepare for worship at the ocean. We always try to arrive early so we can find a seat close to the altar. St. Anne's offers a beautiful opportunity to experience God in an outdoor setting.

We invited our friends who do not normally attend church to join us for this special occasion. Having lost faith in institutionalized religion, they have stayed away, preferring a spiritual experience at home void of community. But the trouble is that the void is greater than the spiritual. We were grateful to have them with us.

We sat on the front row opposite the Bush family, having a bird's eye view of the Atlantic Ocean.
Cool and breezy, the gray skies allowed the sun to poke through as we worshipped the God of all creation. We sang our songs accappella, lead by the priest who apologized because the songleader wasn't able to be present.

Holy Communion reminds us why we worship, why we come together, why our hearts beat with God's loving compassion. We stood in place while the priest and his lay helper served us..."the body of Christ, the blood of Christ offered..." We always hold our hands outward, palms up as the wafer is placed in our hands. Quite literally we hold Christ in our hands. At least that is how Catholics believe. I stand in their camp. I want to hold Christ. For me it is an act of faithful love.

Wrapped in my dark blue acrylic poncho, I felt your love wrapping me, keeping me warm, teaching me your message of grace. As together we offered our concluding prayer, I knew my life had intersected with yours this morning. I was refreshed by your spirit. Once again I knew why I had come. The truth had set me free one more time.

Sovereign God,
your majesty
impregnates the air.
At the moment of worship
the air is filled with God,
filled with you,
even more greatly
than on common days.
Our hearts are open,
ready,
willing
to listen.
One more time.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Dearest God,

What I have learned about Maine is that you live with a thin layer of dusty grit in your house. I have dusted and cleaned, actually wiped out a window sill only to have the same stuff reappear in 24 hours. It's the craziest thing.

Today I "mostly" cleaned my house which means I worked hard to get my house in order, but recognized I couldn't get rid of the greeny taupey sandy dust. I am just learning to deal with it. It's just part of my household.

My spiritual house is the same. I work hard to clean it up, making my own vessel a clean, pure one. But there's still a filmy substance that I can't completely rid myself of. It's there all the time. I think it's called sin, a stubborn bending to my own will. As much as I attempt to be clean, some smudges and smears remains in place.

I know clearly when I disappoint you and myself. I feel it inside. My words, my actions and attitudes are off, blowing blue smoke. As it rises in the air, I see it in front of my own eyes. I know what it means. I have failed, fallen. At the same time, once I witness this brokenness, I am able to face it, take ownership of it, recommit myself to the newness of living that only you offer.

"Search me and know me. See if there be any wickedness in me..." The psalmist own words speak meaningfully to me. These prayer words, an earnest seeking of God, call me out, drop me to my knees and I pray them too. "Search me, God, look for all my broken, run-down parts, the rusty, oily ones. Clean me up, restore me to my original condition, given at my birth. Clean away the accumulation of sin that hinders my life in you.

How can I ever stand in heaven
in the shape I am in?
My unclean spirit
rises up, rebels
fights for its own way.
I put on blinders,
to keep me away
from the truth
of my real value.
Forgive me,
place me at your feet,
to face my errant ways.
I want nothing more
than to stand with you
in eternity every day.
I long for your ways,
your love and friendship.
Teach me, Lord,
teach me again,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Friday, June 29, 2007

Dear God,

Our next door neighbor is readying for a rally to impeach our president. The second year in a row she has planned a march while our president was here vacationing. Today she and her husband brought in tables and chairs, a loud speaking system, a yellow van with a colorful wheel illustrating a pie chart of where American money is being spent, and port-a-pot potties. Thank goodness the latter is on the other side of her house. Those neighbors are out of town.

Middle age hippie types, boomers like me (well, not really like me) will gather to camp out on her property, eat a meal, conduct a pep rally, sing songs and make themselves ready for the protest march tomorrow. I'm not sure I'm up to it, but figure it is a celebration of democracy that they are able to do it. Our other neighbors are not happy at all, wondering what this could erupt into, right here on our little Pleasant Street.

Trusting in you for every condition under the sun is the only way to live this life. Knowing you have a hand in all things, in some way or another gives me comfort, instills within me the need to remain close. My values and beliefs will flow naturally out of this closeness and I will be a person of peace, your great desire for the whole of creation. Sounds beautiful, but not always an easy thing to do. I'm learning, I'm learning.

Let no harm
come to those
who oppose our nation's leadership.
Teach us the way
of peace.
Help us realize
that your plan for peace
will be for all,
not just for some.
Let no injury
come to those
who oppose
an opposing group
crying out for impeachment.
Teach us the way
of compassion,
the skills of negotiation,
an understanding
of opposing views.
I stand in the middle,
at an intersection
reflecting upon my own words
as I watch
outside my dining room window
this plan unfold.
Lead me, Lord,
lead me.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Dearest God,

A 50 plus degree morning lead me to take my sweats to the beach. I shivered in the car as I drove. But the sun was waiting for me as I took my place at the water's edge, shedding the sweats for my white, flowy skirt. The desire to move was already inside me and so I danced, the sun radiating on the water in a magnificent glow.

I danced for about half an hour, thoroughly enraptured by my experience of peace. Such a contrast to the Coast Guard Gunner Boat (I think that's what they call them) a half mile off shore. Our president is due later this afternoon. The boats have been here for a couple of days in preparation for his return to his family vacation home and in preparation for the summit, talks with President Putin from Russia. I wonder what the boat's crew thought of the strange lady in white dancing at the ocean. I'm certainly no spy.

As I pulled on my sweats and walked back to the car, a woman who was driving away stopped her car and hollered out the window. "That was very beautiful. I came here looking for peace. My life is so stressful and when I watched you dance, peace swept over me. Thank you so much." She drove away as we smiled and waved.

An act of peace, my dance is an act of peace. I dance at the direction of God who aligns me in peace with the universe. And my obedient dancing in peace brings peace to those around me. It blows my mind, a carefully laid out plan to inspire, touch lives beginning with mine. If there is such a thing as energy in the universe and I believe there is, then my dance works to bring spiritual balance to the earth. Unbelievable!

I drove home in silent prayer for the whole of the people on earth and the peoples of the creation. I felt at one, in unity with all that is around me. This is the substance of true peace.

Peace Making God,
I am at your disposal,
to sing and dance
your message of peace.
I am here
to take my direction
from you.
And when I act
upon your instruction,
my heart and soul
return to peace as well.
I cannot understand
all the dimensions
of peace.
I just know
when I am at peace
myself.
Make me an instrument
of your peace,
dear God,
always and forever.

Humbly, Andrea

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Dear God,

The ocean has a kind of mystique to it. Ever since we started coming to Maine 15 years ago it has held a divine place in my soul. At the end of my vacation on the way out of town I would visit the ocean one last time. I would stand at the water’s edge, give thanks, and bid it adieux until the next time. With watery eyes I would climb back into the car and wait months before returning.

Something happens to me at the ocean. It’s not just a beach, a place to sunbathe or frolic in the water. It is a divine site of the Holy. It is a doorway, a pathway to God, to you, Most High.

This morning I made my way to Mother’s Beach, a short, flat sandy beach, an excellent site in which to dance. This time I walked to the farthest stretch down by the rocks, a more secluded spot. I put on my white skirt and walked to the water, the breeze tossing my skirt back and forth.

I stood in quiet prayer, a gentle good morning love song. A tune came and I began to dance. I liked the song, a familiar tune, yet the name escaped me. I continued to make my offering to God, a sacred movement of love and awesome respect. Then the words came as I moved with you. “Lord, you have come to the lakeshore, looking neither for wealthy nor wise ones, you only ask me to follow humbly. O Lord, with your eyes you have searched me and while smiling have spoken my name. Now, my boat’s left on the shoreline behind me. By your side I will seek other seas.” We had sung the song in church last Sunday, and if I say so myself, we sang it beautifully.

The song was already in me before I came to the water. But it played in my head over and over again as I danced. “With your eyes you have searched me…” you are always looking over us. “…and while smiling have spoken my name…” To imagine you calling my name brings me overwhelming joy. God speaking my name. It was only in the last few minutes the words came. A smile swept over my face.

I left my boat on the shoreline a long time ago when first I realized your call upon my life. My paltry skiff is nothing compared to your great and wondrous vessel. Sailing on the seas of life with you fills me with hope and peace.

Let the wind blow at my back,
my front fixed on the horizon;
a view of God transfigures me.
Faith, joy and peace
fill me to capacity.
May I never forget.

Love to you always, Andrea