Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Dear God,

A colleague confided that she wanted to write a book. I was excited for her, telling her it was a great idea. Maybe she will write it in retirement, she told me. When I inquired the type of book she would write, she said she would tell her life's story.

That lead to a conversation as to why I write. It came to me simply, "I write as a contemplative response to what I see God doing in the world." Daily I am on the watch, looking around me, listening, anticipating your word, love being expressed, challenges emerging, creation unfolding. Infinite proposals from God. It's not about looking for a topic to discuss, but rather the gentle stirring of your Spirit.

Sometimes what I see is bold, earth shaking; other times it is but a whisper of creation needing to be heard, desiring to express itself. Delicate, soft, beautiful. Other times it rises up in darkness, loneliness, despair. A quiet voice, firm, promising. On some occasions it is a sound, a melodious note singing alone. Always silence has a word, a thought, an instruction, a question. Doubt will sometimes speak. And faith, well, faith has feet that walks the pilgrim path noticing how trust brings life. And love, or the absence of it, will have something to say. A look, a gesture, a setting, the monotonous sound of a fan can all speak when it wants to.

Nothing about my writing is new. It's all been said before in the past, thousands of years ago, centuries ago, yesterday. But each day is new and the fresh newness of God offers refreshment to a weary soul. I think of the line, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord..." I know the feeling. My eyes too wait, watch, wonder. My ears listen for the sound of your coming. In fear I wait for faith to respond, teaching me. Every day. Night speaks, day speaks, and people of every sort live in the "between" place. Between this moment and that one where God exists. I pray for careful embracing of that which is yours. Just yesterday I prayed for tenderness, a tenderness that holds all things gently, very gently.

I am a contemplative writer. It's the first time I have been able to describe myself.

Wise God,
you teach
sacred ways of living.
You make
holiness possible.
You lead,
inviting us
to follow.
Often
I live
intrigued,
alive in mystery.
Except
for the sad moments
when
I choose
something else,
anything else,
tarnished substitutes.
Cheap fakes
of the real thing.
Oh,
for the courage
and wisdom
to sit constantly
at your feet,
singing your praise.
I am
a
contemplative writer,
conveying
the wonders
of God.

Oh how I love you, Andrea