Saturday, November 10, 2007

Dearest God,

I sat in a comfortable round brown chair in a familiar room, sharing the beginnings of my faith. I had studied here, held discussions, lead a presentation, prayed, hoped, dreamed here. I had been asked to be part of a panel discussion at my seminary. What do you say to dreamers, those who believe God entered their dreams calling them to a vocational life with God?

I started at the beginning, a grandmother's love for Jesus. I tagged on, hung on sometimes, heard my own call, struggled for seven years, then began the eight year trek toward ordination. My last semester tied it all together as I realized, amazingly so, that you had dismantled my child-like faith, allowing me to explore my own love for the Creator, then gave me the skills to create my own. "Something went off in my head; I realized I had come full circle. When the bell rang, I bolted out the door, ran into the front lawn of the seminary and did a dance. I was so filled with gratitude. Tears streaming down my face, I offered my love and devotion for a life time." I told the inquiring students.

That outward faith changed through the years. Contemplation became the hinge upon which my faith experience lived. How did this happen? I asked myself. When did contemplation become such a big part of my faith experience, my life actually? I thought back and came to the awareness that my Wednesday life has nurtured this part of me, giving me a new way to think, reflect, pray, meditate. They ushered me into silence, a perceived frightening place. But there I found the saints, my spiritual mentor, my joy, love like no other, peace, hope, miracle. Spiritual traveling inside my soul opened new windows to faith. Birth, rebirth, transformation all became part of my story. Authenticity, aliveness, touching God and being touched right back entered my life for eternity. (Of course, you were at the helm making this all happen.) But contemplation spoke to me in a way no preacher ever did, no evangelist, just a quiet simplicity, closing one's eyes so spiritual eyes can open, seeing things human eyes cannot see.

On the ride home I acknowledged once again that I am a contemplative. It's really who I am. No wonder I named my garden a "contemplative garden". No wonder I called my card collection "Contemplative Collections." I will die a contemplative.

I am now looking forward to my time in the mountain desert, where daily life is contemplation. Reading the scriptures, silencing myself, listening, waiting, giving myself in prayer, not saying so much but quieting the inner place where you can have full access. Allowing the emptying to take place. Sitting at your feet like Mary, Peter, Mary Magdalene, the Beloved. Waiting.

Holy of Holies,
in your presence,
all things
quiet themselves.
In your presence
awe and silence
merge into
one great praise
and thanksgiving.
In your presence
love stirs
bringing the whole pilgrim
to life.
In your presence.

Love, Andrea