Sunday, September 16, 2007

My dear God,

What was it? What was it that came to me this morning as I sat in prayer during the morning prelude? Your voice? My conscience? My faith rising up out of the ashes of prayer yesterday?

Every moment I give to bitterness is a moment I am not praying, speaking, trusting you. Every harsh, ugly thought takes the space where I could be seated at your feet, listening. The glory and joy of your voice dissipates when I listen to my own voice's harborings. Opportunities thrown into the wind. O God, forgive!

And so today as I got on my hands and knees to wash my entryway, I began again, building my own case with anger. But I was stopped. "Is this what you want?" You said to me. "Or do you wish to pray? To spend time with me?" On my knees, the perfect place, I acknowledged my broken ramblings.

O God, why do you come to me at all? Why do you even listen? Why do you bother? What is the sense of it? Foolish me, of course I know the answers to these questions. And love, love is what I want and need of you. And you do come. You do listen. You bother because it is not a bother. The sense of it is the meat of faith. You never ever let go of me, never ever. I forget sometimes that you are present and I am sorry.

You have placed within me a mechanism that stops me in midstream when I begin again. Obstacles to my sinful self. O God, how great is your love that holds me.

Obstacles
to sinful ways.
A loving voice.
Another way.
Your gentle,
tender way
draws me in,
back again,
turns me around.
Your face
stares back
at me.
And I am,
yours.

Love, Andrea