Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Dearest God,

I heard your voice as I awakened this morning. It came to me loud and clear. "Never close doors." I have a tendency to close the door to my heart when I am hurt. Less risk that way. But every time I have closed that door, I have regretted it later. To love is to hurt sometimes. Closing doors means cutting off the opportunity for loving and being loved.

It's a hard thing, a really hard thing. Sometimes I have to say "No, no more, not enough!" But that is not the same thing as closing the door, shutting it tight, sealing the entrance, hiding the key.

One of my favorite movies is The Secret Garden. I love it when the young girl is curious, determined to get inside the hidden, mysterious garden. She finds the key and opens the door. Cobwebs, overgrowth, deadness are all she finds. But then she and her friend decide to work together to bring the garden back to life, to all its beauty. The next Spring the garden blossoms from all the work they have done. Ripping out the weeds, pruning back, clearing and uncluttering, cleaning out, preparing the soil, sowing seeds. They do it all. When they have done all they can do, they wait to see what happens. A transformation occurs and the area becomes a living garden where butterflies and bees gather to do their work. Birds sing. Tiny animals find respite. Joy abounds.

What lay in store in the human heart whose door is open is endless. Your great mystery can unfold once again. Joy is hidden away waiting to be uncovered.

What are the bounds of love? And where is it appropriate to draw the line? How does one protect one's self to a degree without giving up the opportunity for love?

I ask all these questions of you, Great Holy Parent, Agape Father because I am at an intersection. I see the red, yellow and green lights. I see the stop sign and the rise in the hill ahead of me. I see the roundabout and like Chevy Chase in European Vacation I keep going round and round and round on this same road. I have to get off somewhere.

Lead me,
guide me.
Make me
a true follower,
one who truly
seeks to make
holy choices.
Help me to trust
where there is
no trust whatsoever.
Watch over me,
dip down your hand,
touch my heart
again,
will you?
Let me
not be a fool,
but rather
wise, discerning.
Create in me
a new heart
or sew
the mends and tears
in this one.
Holy Father,
let me sit
at your feet
a while.
Restore me,
I pray.

Love, Andrea