Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Dear God,

He sang our song, yours and mine. Your words put to music, wafting into the room and beyond. He had taken my Holy Week words and offered his own sacred gift. A lullaby of love. "I want to be ready to receive you," I had proclaimed myself to you. "You are the light in my eye, the sound in my voice, the beat of my heart." A love song.

This language of love fell on my receptive heart. How often and how easy it is to walk away from your own truth, to reject your challenge to us. The harder my heart grows, the more difficult to find a soft, supple place where the daily rhythm can beat naturally taking in, letting go, taking in, letting go. Hand in hand, receive and give, give and receive. Your divine plan living out in faith. The heart beat of love, taking in, giving out. Without it, the heart stills.

On the way home tears filled my eyes. I listened to the song I danced to at my mother's memorial service. I remember how much I clinged to you in order to dance for her, for you, for myself. Every move and gesture, a love song.

Allowing space in my heart to move, I was able to allow the tears to form, to spill and fall. Letting go felt good, allowing that natural rhythm to flow. Taking in your love, releasing it to others, it's the great design and I felt all the pent up emotions that have been bottled up. It felt good.

Signs. Every day there are signs of you. Words. Music. Air. A slight turn of the head can give fresh perspective to any trouble. The word of hope comes, right there, right here. I suck it in like a new baby takes to a mother's breast for the first time. I need it.

My own world's light can be snuffed, leaving me only with darkness. But the slightest movement can show me the light once again. That which I thought was lost, is not lost at all. My angle, my odd, awkward angle, tangled up, hides you from view, but that one move allows the creation to flood my soul. I need the flooding.

You are always present, waiting to be revealed. Mother Teresa didn't think so. Her darkness, her loneliness, the silence seemed as abandonment to her. But she went on, lived out her life's commitment to the poor. Is it possible that she so clearly defined herself with you that she became you, at least at some level? She thought like you, loved like you, cared for others like you, that she simply felt the void of herself?

What side of God do each of us see, hear? Did she experience the dark side of God that carries the sin and suffering of others? Did she witness the dark side of ourselves? Surely as she picked up the discarded people of Calcutta, she must have seen you in them. In fact in my reading years ago I believe she said she saw Jesus in each one. The Jesus whose compassionate love was offered to the broken, lost, needy, the shattered. Did she only encounter this side of you as she carried the burden of the world's poor?

Do we see, hear, encounter, experience that which we are to give away? Do I see the delicate beauty of your presence because my ministry is to offer beauty to others? Is this my life's work? Do I need it for myself? Do I clearly identify myself with your beauty?

The pilgrim journey is a series of switchbacks, of experience, knowledge. It is never a straight, forward path. And it appears that the little twists and turns of life lead us to those pockets filled with you. I will never see all the sides and shapes of your lighted beauty if I simply go one way. Life's heartbreaks and disappointments make space and time for new spiritual adventures that lead us to your light, to insights and revelations. I continue to be remade through my life's experiences.

My need always falls back on trusting you. No dark tunnel is dark when I recognize you there. And my challenge is to experience life as it comes to me, then turn to trust, to go forward or to at least walk with you up the craggy mountains of life and into hidden valleys filled with the unknown, the uncertain, the unfamiliar. Oh, may I sweet God, recognize this so soon that I will just naturally trust immediately, not wander lost alone, suffering. May I become like what I see in you.

You are
the world's light,
its beauty shining.
You make sense
of all
that seems senseless.
You whisper
to the listening heart.
You speak words
of hope, encouragement,
faith, love, and joy,
peace.
May yours
be the voice I hear
when trouble appears.
Oh, let me lean
on you,
Master,
Great God,
Heavenly Father.
I long
for you.

Love, Andrea