Saturday, September 22, 2007

My dearest God,

I thought I knew what silence could bring. I prepared myself to be still, to listen, to see the sights of heaven. Today silence brought more than I expected.

I awakened after nine hours of glorious sleep. Watching the day dawn and the spire outside my window become visible, the cross rising high into the sky, my room was filled with blessing, like millions of tiny rose petals.

I wanted coffee so I threw on my clothes and went downstairs to the retreat center kitchen. All was still. I did see the kitchen manager by the breakroom and asked her which pot was decaf. She pointed me in the right direction. Carrying my coffee mug I wandered quietly through the hall, making my way into the gift shop. I always find this room filled with symbols, images that amount to faith to me. I picked up two books "St. Francis in San Francisco" and "Chasing Joy (Musings on Life in a Bittersweet World)". I turned out the light and continued my wandering.

Carrying my coffee and books I moved into the darkened chapel, lifted holy water making the sign of the cross, then sat down in one of the chairs. Quiet, listening for the voice of God, instead I saw your light as one after another stained glass window came to life. Hues of blue revealed the biblical stories, Jesus, the cross, Mother Mary. The cross behind the altar became visible and a table and chair in front of the altar. I could have sworn you were seated there. I slowly moved my head from side to side gazing at the revelation. I sang.

Blessed I returned to my room. A few minutes later I decided to retrieve my breakfast food from the kitchen frig. I knew I could eat with the fifty plus retreatants who were participating in a retreat this weekend but I wanted to maintain my own silence, opting to eat a simple meal in my room. I grabbed the bag from the lower shelf of the refrigerator and went back up to my room. I realized that I had forgotten to pick up a cup of hot water. So I returned to the kitchen.

Asking a simple question of the kitchen manager I found myself in the middle of a crisis. The director had mistakenly told the kitchen crew that the retreat group would eat breakfast on Sunday instead of Saturday. Fifty seven women were expecting a big breakfast in five minutes.
There were only two people in the kitchen. “Can I help?” I asked. I was immediately pressed into service. Two big fry pans of sausage links. A big skillet of egg batter. Stirring one pan then another, they put on a second skillet of eggs. The director made toast. The second kitchen aide cut the fruit. The kitchen manager who almost hadn't come in because she had a cold, scurried around making coffee and getting other items to put on the buffet table. When my fry pan of eggs was cooked, I put them in a hot pan, covered it, then poured more egg batter in the pan. I could feel the heat rising since the burners were on high flame.

Within thirty minutes the women were eating at their tables, the director apologizing for the mixup. Betty told me my room was free, that I had worked off the cost. I just laughed, realizing again, especially after last night’s situation that part of what I was receiving from you had come to me through my ability to adjust, to be flexible, to meet you in strange places like at the water heater and the hot stove.

I eventually ate my breakfast alone in my room, savoring the beauty of the minutes I had spent with you. Returning my dishes to the kitchen, the sister who had greeted me last night apologized again about the House of Prayer. I assured her that the discovery of the fire was part of my holy time here. “It’s wonderful that you were able to see it that way.” She said to me.

She offered me a blessing for my day and I told her I always felt at home here. I explained to her about my relationship to Sister Andrea who died about two years ago at age 100. She and I had been able to talk before her death, piecing together the events surrounding my birth at Mercy Hospital in Elwood. She was in fact the nun who had aided my mother in delivering me in 1946. I had been named after her. "She would have blessed you then because we are trained to pray for each person who comes into our lives. We pray daily for them. I am sure she blessed every baby that was born. I am confident she continues to pray daily for you.” I walked away with more joy and blessing.
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After a shower without shampoo I carried my bag like a backpack, crooked on my back with my camera, new books, lunch and water. I realized very quickly that I was on holy ground. I slipped off my shoes, walking in the grass, feeling the solid ground beneath my feet. Crouching down I observed a honeybee pollinating a purple hosta. I snapped pictures, watching nature in her daily rhythm. I stepped back and took pictures of the spire and crosses. I walked out into the grassy knoll and took several pictures. And then I saw St. Joseph. I took his picture and began a stroll on the grounds. I stood by the statue of Mother Mary and snapped one more shot.

Then I made my way down the stations of the cross. My eyes began to see what I came to see. More signs, symbols, sounds. The cornfield. The three trees. The oak tree. The cemetery. Sister Andrea. I took out my camera wanting to capture the images for later. Inside my lens I could see the sunlight shining through a tree, forming a white cross. I snapped one shot after another, the brightness of the light captured, the cross in my view. I saw it repeatedly. Yet when I snapped the pictures, the only image captured by the camera was the burst of light. The cross was just for me.

In the beautiful cemetery hemmed in by cornfields I walked the rows of stones, sisters of faith. I thought of the countless blessings they had been to others, their prayers, gestures, help, guidance, teachings, love. Tears formed in my eyes.

I was at once captured by the sun’s rays on the white crosses, forming shadows of the cross on the grass. I took a picture, then found my own shadow with the crosses. Yet another sign.

I sat down on a bench and ate my lunch. Suddenly a lovely fawn appeared just a few yards from me. She just watched me eat. And I watched her move from one side of the cemetery to the other. Occasionally she would stare back at me. We were both comfortable with the other.

Eventually I placed a blanket on the lawn in the V of the three trees. I lay down on a pillow, wrapped myself in the blanket and I read from my new book on how to live a joyful life. The breezes blew and I watched the green leaves flutter in the wind against the blue sky. A magnificent view.

A couple hours later I returned to my room and put together some pictures in an album all the while reflecting upon my glorious day away. Circumstances had not allowed me to be totally quiet. Yet silence had spoken to me in so many ways. I had been lead to sights and scenes that I would never have expected. My spiritual awareness was heightened, allowing me to see you in every image. I recounted my short time at the House of Prayer, the rest, the meal, the discovery of the fire. I remembered my shower incident and the naked scene at the window. I brought to mind the call to the kitchen and my time at the stove. I thought of Sister Andrea, visiting her grave and my glorious time at the cemetery. I remember all the crosses that had been lifted up to me on the spire, on the front of buildings, the stations of the cross, the headstones, the shadows. The breeze. The leaves. The clear blue sky. The simple meals alone. The scent of the candle. The greeting by women retreatants and their offer to help me carry my belongings. The sun setting. The spire and cross outside my window. The chapel coming to life. The truth revealed. Hope assured. Faith renewed. Simplicity. Joy. Peace. Love.

Driving away from my home away from home, I turned on the CD and listened to Michael Card sing, "There is a joy in the journey. There's a light you can love on the way. There is a wonder and wildness to life and freedom for those who obey..."

Holy One,
Magnificent and Beautiful God,
my heart
is filled with you.
Silence lead me
to Sabbath time.
The awesome wonders
renewed my soul.
Scenes and sounds
all drew me
to you.
Just as
I had hoped.
Surprises,
unexpected sightings
laughter
and joy
joined me
for a grand journey.
Observing
the daily rhythms,
God rhythms
touched my deepest soul.
How can a heart
return the favor?
How can a soul
dance a dance
of thanksgiving?
A voice to sing?
Glory to you Lord,
now and forever.

Love always, Andrea