Sunday, August 12, 2007

My dearest God,

Years ago I was introduced to the labyrinth, a circular maze intended to open one's soul to the mysteries of God. This labyrinth was in a field where a path was cleared and a hedge grew to keep the path's movement.

My covenant group had decided to do a retreat in Ohio. We had heard about an old farmhouse retreat center. We drove there and on the last day decided to walk the labyrinth.

At breakfast a man told me about his own experience of the labyrinth. He had been walking it for years, came there regularly. "Walk it in the blind." He encouraged me. I wanted the experience. I wanted you. So I closed my eyes and entered the sacred circle. Feeling my way through with my feet, sometimes I moved too close to the hedge but it guided me back. When I opened my eyes I was only a few feet from the center. I walked the rest of the way with my eyes open. Then I sat in the center with you, listening, offering prayers, being silent as the wind blew across the country fields. I felt refreshment, especially having walked in the blind. Trusting the hedges to keep me on the path, it was an exercise in trust. The hedges served to remind me that there are things in place to keep me in line, spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. By the time I exited, my friends told me I had been in the labyrinth for nearly three hours.

Today I walked the labyrinth again, not in a field or in the blind. Rather I was invited to walk it with my two granddaughters, ages 6 and 7. "Grandma, come walk the labyrinth with us." Gabrielle said. How could I say no to an invitation like that?

The girls entered first, walking pretty rapidly. Apparently, this was their third time of the day. When they got to the middle, they stopped and read a scripture, then started back out. "Whoa." I said. "Stay there until I get there so we can pray together." They waited dutifully. When I arrived in the sacred center, Gabrielle knelt down. Sophie and I followed suit. We all knelt at the cross and prayed. Once we stood, they skipped out as I wound around and exited to join them in our journey home.

Kneeling at the cross at the insistence of my granddaughter was a true joy for me. Putting my arms around them, feeling their presence and yours, I knew I was blessed.

Daily I walk
in a trek
toward the center.
Often,
very often,
I bump up
against the hedges.
I lose my way
momentarily,
but the hedges
urge me on,
whispering to me.
Turn,
they cry out to me.
Turn.
Sometimes I listen.
Other times I do not.
Eventually
I do turn,
set my face
toward Jerusalem,
determined
to meet you
at the center.
How grateful I am
for the hedges.
Otherwise,
I could go completely
off the path,
perhaps never finding it
again.
The cry of love
calls me
to the center
where your love
is richest.
And I do kneel
and I do remain silent
and I do pray.
Keep me close,
cry out for me often,
especially
as I go astray.
Return to me,
you will say,
return to me.

For loving me unconditionally, I am yours, Andrea