Saturday, December 29, 2007

Dearest God,

Do you remember the place in Bethlehem where I purchased an olive wood nativity scene several years ago? Do you recall how I held each wooden piece, looking them over, wanting to explore the faces of the wise men and shepherds, Mary, Joseph and Jesus? How I delighted in having a creche from the Holy Land.

I always put it out during the Advent season. I take special care to place each piece in just the right place. On top of Grandma's piano, high and lifted up, always seems a good place.

But then there is the other creche as well. A fabric nativity, one where children can play with the characters and the animals. They can arrange and rearrange. I set it on the floor beside the piano so my grandchildren can have access, play a role in arranging the holy family.

I always wait to put Jesus out until Christmas Eve after the worship services. It is always a holy, sacred moment, the arrival of the long awaited messiah. I carefully place Jesus close to his mother and earthly father. This year I placed the small manger containing Jesus just inside the wooden stable on top of the piano. Then I leaned down and placed the King of Kings in the li ttle basket just outside the stable on the floor. I stood back and gazed upon the savior as the tiny white lights reflected, dancing on the wall.

This Savior changed the world's life, I whispered to myself, I whispered to you. I have this creche, this home for God because you gave us your son. At that quiet, darkened moment lighted only by the tree, mantle and creche lights, I murmured my prayers of thanksgiving. The appearance of the Christ child brightened my room and my heart. I was ready for Christmas.

My soul and spirit
have been readying
my heart
to receive
the savior
once again.
I have drawn nearer
and nearer
to the stable,
making my way
like Mary and Joseph
to Bethlehem.
I reached my destination
because you were waiting.
How glorious
to hear the angels sing.
My heart is yours.

Love, Andrea

Friday, December 28, 2007

Dear God,

We were making our way to our son’s home for Christmas. We had to drive through the town where I lived with my children many years ago. We were just leaving it when all of a sudden, a reality struck me. My heart was light, my spirit peaceful, my soul content.

For the last 13 years every time I drove through this town, my heart was heavy, my spirit in chaos, my soul grievous. I realized my family members were close by. Feeling the pain of a great chasm, tears would form in my eyes. Sometimes while driving through town I would roll down the window and scream out the window. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” I would call out their names. Some way I hoped that my words would waft to their home telling them for the millionth time that my heart was full of love for each one.

This year it was dramatically different. In my own home I held each one in my arms. My hug told them of my deep affection. One day when it is right and comfortable for them I will say, “I love you” to each child, teen and adult. I’m satisfied right now that my hugs express my feelings.

Again I became aware of your marvelous movement. How you have worked to transform each heart. How you took away bitterness and pain. How you dissolved resentment. How you filled hearts with something better, richer, warmer. How you drew people together. How you made people laugh again. How you made the suffering disappear. How you chose the time when healing and renewal would take place. How you made love possible and real. How you…

People say you don’t exist. Or that you aren’t interested, don’t care. So not true. So false. So wrong. Just like a room filling with air that we can’t see, you are present and your presence has the capacity to change things. Like the air makes it possible for me to breathe, so does your presence make it possible for my heart to sing and dance.

There is nothing but love inside me. Yours.

I’m singing my praises.
Wondering again
how you make it all happen.
I’m whistling my joy.
Celebrating again
how you make it all happen.
I’m dancing my blessings,
letting them flow out of me.
Reflecting again
how you make it all happen.
I’m living my life,
full of your grace.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Dear God,

All around me I am hearing women talk of your wondrous presence in their lives, of special touchings, of faith being realized, of miracles, new insights, courage and strength. I am witnessing peace, a calm in the heart, transformation. These women, these pilgrims know well the source of their content.

Is this a changing time? Or is it that people are growing deeper in faith and are coming to the point of recognition? Have they grown to a place where faith is a greater reality and the source of their daily living? Or is this the predestined time?

In the quiet humble places of serendipitous joy, I give thanks. I too know the source of such gifts. I do understand the spiritual wonder and quiet joy. I do know the look of Christ in the eyes of seekers. I am seeing it again and again.

Such talk of God is non-threatening. It is the wonder of it all that stretches the heart, mind and soul. You are doing a work in the hearts of those around me. What joy fills me as I witness it.

I look and see your spirit of love, of faith, hope, and joy. I see the peace coming slowly, quietly, gently. My soul joins with others in this great walk of faith.

You're stirring hearts,
souls and minds.
You're touching
tender spots,
healing, renewing, restoring.
You're giving birth
to truth and liberation.
You're setting people
free,
at last.
You're loving people
to the core.
You're offering wholeness
to fragmented parts.
You're bringing your people
to faith and hope.
You are God;
there is no other.
You are God,
there is no other.
You are God.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Dear God,

I awakened and walked into the living room where paper, ribbon, gifts, afghans, glasses, candy and cups were strewn across the room. I plugged in the Christmas lights, lit the candle, and sat down remembering. All my children together in one room. My grandchildren the same. Laughter, smiles, hugs, pictures, surprises. Little children closing in on me, wanting to be the next gift passer outer. It all came back to me in slow motion.

I am not able to put a value on yesterday. It's like the commercial..."priceless". But I am not just looking at the gift of yesterday. I am looking back over all the yesterdays that brought my today together. What you have done to bring a family back together! All the intricacies of relationships, words, gestures, tones, attitudes, behaviors all abstrusely changed, transformed. The signs of your handiwork are upon each person. If there was a way to dust for your prints, they would be all over the place.

As the dawn slowly emerged, I thought of how the darkness stepped back, allowing the light to come. And how equally the light will give way to the darkness tonight. All will be as it should be in creation. So has it finally been with my family. Darkness had held my family at bay. The light trying to break through. Yesterday and the former yesterdays of darkness left us in the light.

I do not speak of the darkness as a necessarily bad thing. Oh yes, to be sure the darkness that stole our hearts, robbed us of relationships, and took away our key to joy nearly sucked the life out of us for good. But on the other side, darkness is where tiny seeds of growth were sown. They took root. While we could not always see it with the naked eye, living water came out of heaven and gave us just enough. Light came in teeny rays to warm the seeds, encouraging them to grow. My soul's seeds changed my life in so many ways. Although the seeds took 13 years to bring the fullness, I look back and see how my life grew in new directions. I see how deep my roots dug down looking for water and sustenance. The greatest transformation in my life occurred these last 13 years. The thought of it is staggering, a great wonder.

I stand in the wake of your glorious presence, giving thanks and praise.

Glorious God,
to you all glory
is given.
To you
all praise is due.
I owe you
everything.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

My dearest God,

I held my daughter in my arms. I held my daughter...in my arms today. I waited 13 years. Reconciliation. Sweet peace. And joy.

What work you have done. What incomparable work you have done to bring broken pieces together again, sealing them with a glue from on high.

I rose from my bed this magnificent Christmas morning and brewed myself a cup of cranberry tea. I plugged in all the Christmas lights, the outdoor lights, the tree, the mantle, the creche. I lighted all the candles and wrapped myself up in my frosty blanket on the couch. My Christmas morning tradition...I gave myself to spiritual wondering.

I listened for your voice telling me of the wondrous blessings I had received this year. And I was overwhelmed with your goodness. Still stunned by the incredible transformation of my hands on Christmas Eve, I lay my head back on the couch, allowing my tears of joy to form and spill. So many, so very many blessings.

Realizing we had a breakfast at 8:00 a.m. I left the couch and snuggled into bed with my husband. Since we only had a few minutes we just talked about Christmas Eve. I wished him a Merry Christmas and then we got up to take the five minute drive to my daughter's home. I went in my Christmas jammies.

It was later in the morning when I was putting the finishing touches on the Christmas dinner when a song began to play in the living room. Immediately I dropped everything. I went to the creche, ran my hands over the face of the baby Jesus in the manger as the singer continued, "Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day..."

Tears spilled down my face as I was overcome with gratitude. This day is joyous because you gave us a Savior. Your grace made it possible. Your mercy, compassion for your people gave us Jesus. And his love, your love, welled up within me. I was truly overcome with quiet joy. Every word of the song was the Christmas message of great love and I stood with you, giving thanks. Later when the tape repeated The Lord's Prayer, I danced in the chancel, yes it was the sanctuary of my home where I danced to you.

Such quiet moments, quiet in the sense of the silence speaking profoundly, filled me with your every gift. I knew you were present in my home, had been. You were present on Christmas, filling my home with your gracious love.

It was only an hour later when my daughters and their families arrived for our Christmas celebration. A first in 13 years. Yes, 13 years. And you knew every day, counted each one. You knew how long it had been. You had comforted this mother's heart every day for 13 years. You prepared my heart, pierced it to allow my suffering to leave me. At last.

Glorious and Wondrous God,
how can I express
my thanksgiving?
How can I exhibit
what I truly feel?
How can I give you
the gift of my heart?
How?
My heart, soul and spirit,
my body and mind
are so full to overflowing
with you.
My joy is your joy.
My hope is yours.
My peace
comes directly
from you.
Everything I am,
every part of my being
is yours.
Your glory
has shined
in my home.
Your will done.

Loving you always, Andrea

Monday, December 24, 2007

My dearest God,

The gift came in the most unexpected way. The Christmas Eve service. We had sung our carols, listened to the holiest of stories, given our gifts to the world's children and I had invited all those gathered to join God at the manger.

The youth had brought down the aisle the holy supper, one the cup, the other the bread. I prayed in silence, lifting up these elements, these signs and symbols of God. The people started coming, one and two; I held the bread in a beautifully decorated cloth. I don't know when it happened; I just know suddenly that which was in my hand transformed me. My hands, my hands changed. I became so aware that my hands were holding the light, holding your son. My hands were the manger. And I was offering the "light in the manger".

My grip on the cloth and bread changed. I leaned in to it, looking down, blinking, feeling the sacred, divine connection, just like Michelangelo's picture where God and Human reach out and touch one another. I was holding God; I was holding you. Tears formed in my eyes. There was a hush in my soul. I was giving out the light that I was holding in my hands.

"Receive God's gift, the light in the manger", I told your people. And they came and received. I don't know what happened to any of them, but to me the light was happening to me. I wanted to drop to my knees, turn around, crawl to the manger in thanksgiving. I wanted to cry out my love to the Christ child, make my life an offering.

One man came. He knew. I saw it in his eyes. He knew I held the light. He knew. My momentary connection with God embraced this man. We knew. Immanuel, God with us.

I felt so humble, a small vessel holding the divine gift. Your son, your son. You made me the manger so I could hold your son.

Tonight I held Jesus.
I held the world's great light.
Tonight I held Jesus.
My hands,
the manger.
My heart
a stable.
Tonight I held Jesus.
I gave him
to each one
who came.
They wanted him too.
Tonight I held Jesus.
Tonight I held Jesus.

I shall never forget this night. Love, Andrea

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Dearest God,

We lifted our voices to heaven. Five cars of carolers made their way from house to house. To the lonely, the recovering, the shut in. We sang our favorites. Away in a Manger. Joy to the World. We asked people to tell us their favorite Christmas songs, then we sang them. We finished up by singing, We Wish You a Merry Christmas. We were young and old, maybe four being the youngest and 80 something our oldest. We were a merry group.

But I saw something that most, maybe all did not see. I witnessed the stories of the singers. I have known some of their heartaches, some of their disappointments. I have listened to their fears, understood their pain and suffering. Some have been in great peril while others have lived out life's daily experiences.

I thought of how we were singing faith, not just Christmas songs. We were sharing the words, the songs of our hearts. How many times had we trusted in the foundation of these songs to just get us by another day? How many times had we prayed using these words to comfort us? How many times had we cried out for the hope contained in these songs? We were renewing our own faith as we sang. We were deepening our soul's journey with you as we offered melodies of the spirit. Something was happening as we sang. Another mystery of Christmas unfolding in the lives of us humans.

We sing to you.
We sing to you.
We sing to you,
Great God
of Christmas.
We sing ourselves
to the manger
where we gaze
on the child
of great promise.
We sing to you.
We sing to you.
We sing to you,
Great God
of Christmas.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Dear God,

A change came in my soul today. I had listened only to instrumental Christmas music. Winter Solstice. Christmas. Christmas Tranquility. I like the silence of instrumental music where the mind can wander, the spirit soar, the heart skip beats. I imagine the beauty of Christmas coming in mystery, my soul entertaining the insights.

But today I was ready for words, sung words, expressions of joy, hope, and peace. I allowed the words to speak to me. I danced in my spirit, imagining the joy of the composer, the singer, the player.

Christmas is so filled with pregnancy, expectancy. So much is happening. One with eyes and ears will hear and see what is missed all year long. Intangibles. Invisibility. Mystery.

Every time I plug in the lights of my Christmas tree, I feel the sense of joy Christmas brings. My heart is warmed toward you and my fellow human beings. My spirit wishes to share joy, hope and peace with others.

I am waiting, expecting whatever you bring to me. Truth. Liberation. Freedom. Laughter. Relationships. I know the gifts of Christmas, these gifts of mystery are gifts for me to open but never possess. Others will need these and I will have them to offer, a gift from heaven. What is Christmas, if not the realities of faith?

Most Holy,
all is ready
for your coming.
I wait with joy.

Love, Andrea

Friday, December 21, 2007

My dearest God,

Four little girls, ages 2, 3, 6 and 7. I filled my car with these granddaughters and all four of their car seats, backpacks, diaper bags, toys, papers from school, and more whatnot. The plan was to take them out for an afternoon, go to a playscape, out for dinner, look at Christmas lights, then return the little ones home and bring the older girls to my house for a party and overnight. What an adventure!

Stopping at the church to check on a church project was a major undertaking. The two year old had taken off shoes and socks. I carried her in barefoot. The three year old had removed her shoes so I held her hand and walked her in with just her tights. The 6 and 7 year olds had taken off their coats. When we got inside, they ran in every direction. The two year old can take a swipe at things so fast. The three year old is protective of anything she has and when anything is touched she growls like a baby bear. The six and seven year olds have so much energy that they love to scream their enthusiasm. In the one minute it took to talk to my administrative assistant, my office had nearly been turned upside down. My glass nativity was on the floor. My dolls in a basket dismantled, papers and crayons spilled. Stuffed bears and animals spread across the floor. When two had to go to the bathroom I had to grab the other two as they escaped out of the room. By the time we left I had to get the two little ones back in their carseats. It was when I had everyone in place that I realized I had not yet changed a diaper. Instead of carrying her inside and leaving the others unattended, I undid the seat belt, took her out of the carseat and laid her on the only uncluttered place, the driver's seat. When it was time to leave there was such a cacophony of sound that my head spun. It was then we began to sing Christmas carols. The two year old kept making sounds like Santa. "Santa say ho, ho, ho." A little chuckle followed each ho. At some point the smallest girls had glazed eyes just like their grandma's.

By the time I got home, I was so exhausted, I could hardly keep my eyes open. My arm hurt. My car was a disaster (do they always carry that much stuff?) And I still had to throw a small party for three. I let Tim Allen and Santa Clause 2 entertain us.

As I looked at those babies in my car squealing to the pretty Christmas lights, I thought of how blessed I am. So blessed. They love spending time with this grandma. Two call me "Grandma Andrea" and two call me "Grandma with the Curly Hair." We dance and sing, eat popcorn, say funny things, act silly, laugh and play. At sixty one everyone around me must think me crazy. Perfect description.

Freedom.
Free to be me.
Teaching my grandchildren
to be the same way.
Free to be themselves.
We dance at the store.
We wear silly hats.
We make funny faces.
We laugh outloud.
Love at its best.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Dearest God,

The changing of the seasons is a mystical moment in a time, a letting go and a reaching forward. Probably fifteen years ago in December I took a group of women with me for a Winter Solstice Celebration. We traveled nearly three hours to Plymouth, Indiana. There we spent most of the day outdoors, walking in the snow, looking and listening for signs of change. It was cold and very snowy.

I remember walking in silence, reaching out my hand to touch newly fallen snow. I recall wandering in the wooden area, sometimes sitting on a log or rock in a winter wonderland, thinking, reflecting upon the wonder of it all. I remember discovering signs of your presence, leavings of yesterday, possibilities for tomorrow. I remember thinking it was one of the most beautiful spiritual exercises in December, just days before Christmas.

At noontime we walked into the old farmhouse where the aroma of hot soup and freshly baked bread and pie wafted in the air. As we ate our meal and drank our hot beverages, we discussed our spiritual findings. How comfortable I was in an unfamiliar setting where all seemed new, like something or someone giving birth.

This year I invited another group of women to join me at the Museum of Art for yet another solstice celebration. All outdoors we walked through the luminary-lighted path to the Lilly House where grand decorations had been placed. We heard a symphony of sound in the greenhouse. We witnessed an earth-colored owl as his owner made special bird sounds. We patted a real reindeer. (My granddaughter asked me if it was Rudolph. I told her the reindeer was a girl. No matter. She was certain she must be Clarice, Rudolph's girlfriend.) We sat in the museum cafe dining on appetizers and cold drinks.

Later as I drove home I thought about my experience. I decided that change is such a wonderful thing, although sometimes extremely painful. I thought too of how beautiful it is to celebrate in the now the thing that is happening. To know that you have ordained change, that all things are transforming, gives me cause to celebrate the wondrous sacred events of time and space. My now moment will be tomorrow's memory. If it is a suffering time, I will remember that you held me in my grief and pain. Also I will know yesterday is finished, today is happening. If it is a glorious moment, then I shall look back and remember its glory, no matter how far distant in the future.

I am remembering you,
Wondrous God.
Your ways,
your teachings,
your time and space.
I am celebrating
the gift of now,
with no concern
for tomorrow.
For tomorrow
will arrive on its own.
Today will be diminished
if all I am thinking about
is tomorrow or yesterday.
How wondrous
is your life,
O Lord.
My heart is grateful
for moments
when I am given opportunity
to peek into its majesty.

Loving you, Andrea

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Dearest God,

I followed the star, the brightest one in the sky. It led me to the monastery where my colleagues and I shared a miracle story. A story of reconciliation with one's own self, a renewal of the heart, a surrender of the old way, a liberation, all leading to a new life.

I find you waiting in one of the chairs every Wednesday morning. In the quiet sacred oasis the dimly lighted room is such a welcoming place. Peace lives here. And whether we share moments of sorrow and anguish or yet another miracle discovered, we live in this peace among sisters who live their lives in prayer.

They are making ready for Christmas. The Advent candles flickered as I read the morning scripture. The holy sacrament was to me new food. The smiles of women who have given their life to you in prayer touched my heart once again.

I lived in this monastery for eight days several years ago. It is a familiar home to me. I wandered its halls reflecting upon my life of faith, my call to ministry, my walk with your son. How I loved being there. How I loved the life of simplicity, silence and solitude. It breathed new air into my soul.

I danced in the outer chamber. With such a wide expanse, I danced and danced to the music. I ascended the stairs as if reaching for heaven. The sisters asked if they could participate as observers. I was hesitant, reluctant. Yet, these women are part of my life, have been for 20 years. They have been my prayer partners, my spiritual mentors, my friends, my support. Their spirituality and life of faith have challenged me in the deepest part of my being. They videotaped me dancing. I now reside in their archives as part of their life experience.

The star, the only star in the sky, like the one over Bethlehem leads me every week to the place where I find Jesus.

My wanderings
always lead me to you.
You are never far away.
My heart beats
for you.
And my joy
is always complete
in your presence.
Today I gazed
upon the brilliant star
and felt myself
like the shepherds
longing to find
the place of your dwelling.
Knowing my way
I was not disappointed.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

My dearest God,

The scintillating winter landscape called to me as I looked out the window. Fog and lower temperatures had caused ice crystals to form on tree branches. I couldn't stop gazing at the beauty before me. So I grabbed the camera and stepped outside. I snapped shots of the ice-covered limbs, snow hanging on pines, icicles, a wintry scene that captured my imagination.

I've taken a lot of pictures recently, trying to catch on film the magic of winter. I hope to do something with them in a couple of years. I want to add Christmas cards to my Contemplative Collections, my teeny card company. I want to combine the magical photos with contemplative sayings.

While driving to work one scene after another caught my eye and I wanted to stop, take another picture. But there was not enough room to pull over. So I took in the amazing beauty, etching the image in my memory.

I know that my interest in photography arises out of my desire to capture God in the moment. The wonders of nature bespeak the glory of the Lord and I want to display it with words that draw people to you. A simple picture, a few sacred words together can soften a heart, comfort the grieving, give hope to the lost, bring peace to the fearful, and offer joy to those who need to celebrate. It makes a difference, if only for a moment.

I wander this earth looking for you...in a desert, a garden, at a worship service, in a landscape, a funeral home, a hospital, an airport, a school, in my home. I know you are present. There is no doubt in my mind. Discovering you in out-of-the-way places delights me so. Makes me breathe breath prayers to you. Causes me to hold mini celebrations all day long.

The winter weather is yet another sign of your existence. Another season crying out the presence of the Living God.

Holy One,
my wanderings
always lead me
to you.
I stand fixed,
gazing at the
majesty of your appearance.
What can I say?

Loving you always, Andrea

Monday, December 17, 2007

My dearest God,

Ten years ago today I sat in a waiting room at a surgeon's office. My husband and daughter were with me. I had had a biopsy a few days before and we were waiting for news from the pathology report. The weekend had been very long, my two biopsy sites very painful.

When the surgeon entered the room, he had a Korean student with him. Odd, neither would make eye contact with me. My surgeon introduced himself to my daughter since he had already met Harold and me. When Jenni told him she was living in France, he spent the next five minutes talking about France. The student was quiet, looking away. My fear grew. I knew I had cancer. Finally the surgeon told me I had two kinds of breast cancer and that I would need surgery as quickly as possible. My husband fell back against the bed. Tears formed in my Jenni's eyes. I asked questions.

The day was a strange one. I had to tell my news to those who loved me. The other pastor who served the church with Harold and me came over to pray. My youngest daughter met me at the door. She sobbed in my arms. I met a friend in the driveway. I called my covenant group. Time did funny things that day. I felt myself stepping inside a new world, one I had never known before.

I walked through my home. It was December 17. Everything was decorated for Christmas. I was supposed to be excited, happy for the season. But something different was happening to me. I didn't quite know what it was. I was scared, very scared. Yet I felt myself entering a new space, one that was wide open, inviting me in.

That date ten years ago redefined my life. It was a historical reality, one that I would begin to point back to, again and again. That evening my husband suggested that I begin writing in a journal, sharing my experiences, thoughts, prayers, fears, questions, doubts. Someone went out and bought me one. I wrote my first entry that day. "You have two kinds of cancer..."

That day you were more real to me than I had ever known you. Yes, you and I had walked together, experienced a great deal on many occasions. But never had I felt so incredibly close. You and I would walk through a number of trials after that day. In my personal life, my marriage, my family, my health, my ministry. No part of my life remained unscathed. I was being made into a new person.

When I climbed into bed that night, I wasn't certain I would awaken the next morning. I was both grippped with fear and tantalized by an ongoing feeling that something would change. I fell asleep in two sets of arms, my husband's and yours.

You have held me,
close, so close.
You have whispered
comfort to my weary soul.
You have poured out your love
again and again.
You have promised
to be with me,
every day, every moment,
every milisecond.
You have been my God
because I have been your child.
You have changed my life.
And I, well,
I have loved you for it.
I shall always be filled
with gratitude
and praise.

Loving you always, Andrea

Sunday, December 16, 2007

My dearest God,

We canceled church last night. The winds were whipping. The snow falling. Ice gripped the roads. Temperatures were dropping.

I peeked out the window at 4:00 a.m. trying to decide if we made the right decision. Sure enough. I didn't want my flock out on the road so early slipping and sliding. Didn't want any of my older members to fall and break something. A friend had spent the night with us so she would not be trapped in her apartment alone.

Later in the day when some of the roads had been cleared some friends came over to help wrap mission packages. Five of us, wrapping paper and ribbons everywhere. Clothing, toys, books. Gifts from strangers who wanted to show love at Christmas. Who said we closed church? Church had formed in our living room. The items. The wrappers. The recipients who will receive them. We were the hands of Jesus, holding love gifts.

We are privileged,
blessed
to hold
your gifts
of love.
Children will squeal,
parents will smile with delight.
Food will spread
across the table.
They will eat
their fill
and be happy.
We held church today.
Sat at the Lord's table.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Dearest God,

A twelve-hour shopping spree. Twelve hours. It all began and ended at Kohl's. 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. When I arrived in the morning, it was dark and quiet. A couple hours later snow fell from heaven. It was beautiful and pretty sloshy by the time I left for home in the darkness.

I watched the sun rise and set. I love to do that. Watching the darkness turn to dusk, then lighter and lighter until the darkness is no more. Then in reverse. Watching the light give way ever so slowly to the darkness.

The season of light. The season of darkness. Ecclesiastes talks about the seasons. A time for light. A time for darkness. Daily I observe the seasons, watch for them. The earth's rhythm.

I feel my own body go through the daily seasons. A time for awakening. A time for sleep. I feel so held in the daily rhythm. The pendulum constantly moves. I like that. I feel secure for I know who controls the master switch. I am in the master's hands.

Great God,
the daily seasons
point to you.
I cannot manufacture
what happens each day.
You bring the light.
You take it away.
You are God.

Love, Andrea

Friday, December 14, 2007

Dear God,

Amber is seven years old. Whenever I go to her house, she is the first to greet me. And she always comes bearing gifts, every time. She is genuinely grateful to see me.

I had come to visit her home because I had agreed to paint the trim in my granddaughter's new bedroom. I was going to paint, then leave to do some shopping. But this morning when Amber welcomed me, carrying a little green toy in her mouth, I decided I needed to show some gratitude. So I sat down on the floor, put my arms around her, and rubbed her belly. A Golden Retriever loves to be petted, appreciated.

Christmas music was playing as I tickled and talked to Amber. To show her my appreciation I danced in the kitchen. She moved around and wagged her tail. Could any moment be better?

As I moved upstairs to paint, I realized how Amber had reminded me of you. Like Amber you give me gifts everytime we are together. Your presence, your love, your forgiveness, your challenge, your correction, your joy, your compassion, your comfort, your peace, your joy. You are always presenting me with a gift of some kind. Again and again and again.

Amber showed me the way to you and I was grateful for both.

Loving, Generous God,
the creation constantly
sings your praise.
Your creation
points the way
to you.
It dances
to the heavenly tunes
and invites
all those around
to join in.
How can I be grateful enough?
How can I possibly
give back
all I have received?
I cannot outgive,
I simply cannot.
Because you give more
than I can ever give.
My heart is joyous today.
I give thanks to Amber
and to you,
Wondrous and Blessed Lord.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Dearest God,

A journey downtown where the lights are lit up, aglow with Christmas waiting. My daughter and son in law joined us for dinner and the symphony. We laughed so much as dinner, I thought we might have to excuse ourselves to the bathroom.

It was at the symphony, that magnificent blend of voice and instrument, where I heard Christmas coming closer. Sandi Patty introduced the African Children's Choir. Those beautiful honey-colored children sang and danced like no one else could. Victims of poverty, war, famine, and Aids, they no longer have parents. They are all dead.

As the children sang, my eyes filled with tears. There were no parents to watch them, to tell them afterwards how beautifully they had done, no moms and dads to hug and kiss on them, so proud. In their faces I saw the many faces of Africa where we dwelled two years ago. Ghanaian children, so beautiful, so alive, so full of promise. There is no smile like an African smile. These children touch me deeply, my husband too. While tears welled in my own eyes, I heard soft sniffles from my husband sitting next to me.

To me it is a wondrous thing how you plan a person's life, how you provide a destiny for each one. Although many are robbed by exploiters, you do have a purpose for each human. And when we are equipped, enabled to live out our destiny, we can one day look back and see the prints in the sand, the signs of a life well-lived especially when we investigate more closely and see sacred signs of your presence. Nothing like it, nothing like it!

I sat in their presence last night, the children's presence and I gave thanks for their lives. Young people aged 9-12. Children who have seen and experienced a lifetime already. Their performance gave me opportunity to pray for them, for the orphanages and for all those whose privilege it is to care for them.

I saw the face of Jesus last night.

In awesome quiet
I know the sound
of your voice.
A sweet, sweet sound
of God.
How is it
that I am so blessed
to hear it?

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

My dearest God,

It was dark when I arrived at the monastery. As I walked up the steps, a tiny light caught my eye. I looked and noticed how dew drops had formed on the miniature shrubbery. Each little drop was reflecting the light from the lanterns along the walkway. I leaned down, then moved from side to side. A twinkle here, then there. Spectacular.

Of course, the light would be reflecting. Dew drops know their work, their destiny. They were simply doing what dew drops do. Not anything unusual, necessarily. But they captured my attention. For several moments I stood in awe. I smiled.

These tiny dew drops walked me straight into your presence. Their reflecting activity caught my attention and I stopped. I appreciated. I was happy. I knew that in minutes it would all be over. The lights would go out. The dew would dry up. But for this moment, this particular moment dew drops, the light, you and I were together reveling in the awesome moment.

Such moments touch my heart deeply. Especially when I realize that these priceless moments are occurring all the time, all around us. They may only last a milisecond; but for a milisecond they are incredible and my heart says, "thank you." My heart beats with gratitude; for I am blessed to stop, reflect, and give thanks.

Loving God,
your creation
cries out your praise.
We humans
only have to stop,
look and listen
and we will
see and hear signs
of your presence.
Give me eyes
always to see,
ears always to hear,
a heart always
full of gratitude.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

My dearest God,

I see your power, the ability to start cracking the human heart, to open the hesitant soul, to change a life. As I look back to my earliest childhood moments, I see your hand at work. From the time I gazed into the starry skies, while on an overnight at my grandmother's house, and felt my soul pricked, I have known your transformative power.

I watched it again yesterday as I stood with two friends. Each of us are experiencing this spirit movement. I'm still carrying my mountain experience, feeling the sweeping away of old dreams, no longer relevant for my life. My friends in different ways are going through the purifying fires.

Spiritual shifts are visible to the naked eye. That haunting, mystified look on the face, the desert wandering, the questions, the silence, are all signs that something powerful is happening. I see it in my friends. But not only in them, I am observing this divine work in three members of my congregation. Music coming straight from heaven, singing it out, preparing their own souls for the shift of a lifetime. There will come the call...to move out, to sing the gospel to hungry souls, to live unlimited lives of faith. All this I see with my own eyes.

I sit in my office reflecting upon this strange movement. I have seen it so many times before especially among women with whom I have shared in retreat. Women open to the spirit, first with fellowship, friendship, laughter, then this deepening of spirit. One day I see them wandering, I see the spiritual wanderlust in their eyes. I know where they're headed.

I can name the names of people who have walked the spiritual path toward transformation. They have been intentional, made decisions to trust your "potter's hands". They have known the fiery furnace, the heat of transformation. At the appropriate time they stepped out of the furnace, their new beauty shining forth. These remarkable signs of change bolstered faith upward, another notch toward heaven. Ooh, the blessings.

I know the days of my parish ministry are numbered. I know I will not see every change that will occur, but the sweetness of faith is all around us. People walking, discovering the sacred path in unusual and profound ways. The church, your church is the seedbed for this remarkable activity. Sweet, oh so sweet.

I see your hands,
hear your voice;
I see the signs
of faith.
There's a shiftin'
goin' on
in your church.
Sweet sounds of faith,
there's a shiftin'
goin' on.

Love, Andrea

Monday, December 10, 2007

Dearest God,

There are quiet joys filling me. As people learn about the reconciliation occurring in my family they are expressing their own joy. Some have walked this journey with me from the first day. They have witnessed the long, arduous trail of tears. They remember the dark days when they wept with me, prayed for me, supported me. And now they are sharing your wondrous miracle with me. We are surely in a season of wonderment, of thanksgiving and praise, of hope fulfilled and joy eternal.

Someone asked me if I was thrilled to have my daughter coming home after 13 years. I told them I am feeling this quiet joy, not some excitable frenzy where expectations run high. This miracle runs in the middle of other miracles come from the mountain. It is the witness to your handiwork. More of your kindness, generosity, grace. All focus is on you. I did nothing but pray and remain hopeful. I remember telling her once that I would never give up. Whatever good has come has come directly from your hands. This is your story, not mine. Yet, it is my story too.

The truth is that every story needs to be shared in some fashion. And why? Because it is your story, a story of faithfulness, yours, not mine. Your great desire is to draw all your children together, to rid the world of evil, to wipe away every tear, to set every child onto a path of glory where the light always shines, where joy is always expressed, where the saints and angels alike sing praise.

My joy becomes someone else's joy. And their joy spills out to someone else. And theirs to another. The joy spreads 'round the world, capturing every heart along the way. Your message of joy is worthy to be spread to every nation, to every living soul.

As I walk each day this Advent season, I am living in joy for all the subtle moments of Christ's appearance here and there, yesterday, today and tomorrow. I see it in the streets, in our home, the church and shopping mall. I see it in the random acts of light, one person offering hope to another living in darkness. I see the light shining.

The wooden match that I gave out in worship two Sundays ago continues to pop up in strange places and I am continually reminded that you are lighting a fire within me and I have the privilege of striking light into someone else. I like the reminder. In fact I love it. I am spending this Advent season striking light while my own heart burns brightly.

Glorious God,
your fire
feels warm
within me.
How blessed I am
to have your fire burning.
I want no other.
Burn always
within me.
And allow my light
to shine,
striking matches,
lighting fires in others.
Let your light
be the only light
we see,
always.

Loving you more today than yesterday, Andrea

Sunday, December 9, 2007

My dearest God,

In quiet exploration I've searched for holy moments to catch an early glimpse of the babe in the manger. We'd been invited to the Purdue Glee Club Program in Lafayette. I couldn't go last year because I had a memorial service to perform at the last minute. So this year I was looking forward to the musical event.

The first part was fast moving, singers and dancers performing their choreographed parts, lights changing colors on stage, orchestra sounding trumpets, percussion, and brass, more than 200 performers I would guess. We the audience stood in full accord following Act I to sing Hark the Herald Angels Sing, the conductor stopping us several times until we were in full spirit.

It was Act II that struck a chord in my heart. Performers exchanged their glitter and glitz for choir robes. Traditional hymns with a twist resounded through the auditorium. Handel's Messiah inspired us to stand and pay our own homage to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. And Silent Night, Holy Night, well, what can one say when one finds themselves at the manger bending over the baby? The conductor had invited us after Act I to withhold our applause during Act II. With the quiet silence and the darkening stage, my hands were not tempted to clap. It was not a performance, but rather a message, a powerful message of God's coming, the promise of everlastingness.

As we drove away following the program, I saw the twinkling of light on the ice-laden tree branches, fog beginning to roll in, like a magical, mystical moment unfolding. I almost felt like we could turn the corner and discover the nativity, hearing the sounds of animal contentment, the soft cry of a baby, seeing a mother and father hover closer to their child, the Prince of Peace. I fell asleep, contented myself.

Mystical God,
you come,
you come.
Sacred moments
appear before us
like timeless history.
Truly there are no surprises
for your appearance
was promised
at the beginning
of creation.
Let there be light
means
the light is shining,
not that it will,
it already is.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Dearest God,

There is a quiet hush in my home this season; it's called peace. I awaken early in the morning, plug in the tree lights, my mantle and piano lights. My frosties on the mantle come to life, smiling happy smiles, the snow flakes sprinkled on the tree begin to twinkle and my creche figures glow, making me realize they are readying themselves for the baby who will join them on Christmas Eve. I put on my Christmas music, just enough to hear it since my husband sleeps. I feel the peace of Christmas. I know it this year.

My heart is feeling peace too. The years of family conflict are pretty much over now. We have quietly come to the conclusion that there are only so many ways to judge and blame. My daughter is coming home for Christmas.

As I stood on the ladder outside, hanging the lighted icicles I felt your peace in the cold, breezy air. I knew that our lights would bless others who will drive by, bringing a temporal peace to a world bent on conflict.

Three hours later I warmed some chicken noodle soup in those Campbell Soup Kids soup mugs and my husband and I sipped the hot soup and talked. Peace resides in my kitchen too.

This season of preparation is lending itself to me to live my mountain experience here at home. The peace I longed for on the mountain is the peace I brought home. Sweet, heavenly peace.

Your light
is aglow
in my home
this year.
Your peace
rests comfortably here.
Your blessing
fills my heart.
Your love
is ever-present.
I send
to you
my love.

Andrea

Friday, December 7, 2007

Dear God,

Yesterday on my way to work I witnessed a rare moment, fog crystallizing on the tree limbs, branches, and bushes. Twinkling as I drove by I oohed and aahed. Magical, mystical, magnificent beauty. I had my camera with me and I wanted to take a picture but there was no where to pull off. Finally I drove in to Eagle Creek Park. But the hoarfrost was gone. I snapped a couple of pictures of the trees at the entrance.

Such moments catch me off guard. I realize again that something magical is always just a breath away. When I live expectant, knowing that you are present, I live differently. I know that something extraordinary is possible, perhaps forming even at that moment. I think that's where rainbows and hoarfrost come from. A musical note can make my heart quiver when I imagine life without music. I know how rich life really is.

As I drove in the magical hoarfrost, I kept saying over and over, "Oh my, oh my, oh my." It was my way of thanking you, for being enthralled in your natural beauty. I want to be constant in my prayers of thanksgiving. I want to notice the tiniest thing, then give thanks. I want to be respectful of your many offerings. The hoarfrost was simply another gift from on high. And I wanted to share in the temporal experience with you.

So many times moments of mystery unfold and I miss them. Forever gone. Never to be repeated again in the same way. Some experiences last a split second. I want my spiritual awareness to be keen, ever ready to witness whatever it is you wish to share with your children.

Thank you for the rich blessing! I didn't miss it this time!

Yours,
it's all yours;
I just get to witness
your presence
here, there,
and everywhere.
You bless the earth
and all its inhabitants.
I am so grateful
for yesterday's blessing.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Dearest God,

Yesterday someone told me my home was peaceful. She could feel God's presence both at our home here and on the east coast. I told her any home could be a home of peace, a sacred site where God dwells.

She didn't grow up in a home of peace. No, rather it was a fortress of fighting and conflict. Peace could not be found.

I told the person that we could do a home blessing for her, that we could reclaim each room as a place for God. We could look for symbols already existing in her home and ask you to bless each one or we could find simple symbols to bring into the home as a sign for others who visit or as a means to remember that her home is a dwelling place for the sacred. She could walk from room to room and know that you were present there with her.

Peace could replace the chaos that has lived within this woman's heart since conception. She could finally rid herself of the remnants of the past messages that lead to conflict in the body, mind, spirit and soul. She could begin to make her own messages, tell her own stories leading to faith and peace. She could make her dwelling place a residence of peace forevermore.

As I look to the new year, I want to make my home a true place of peace. My mountain experience reclaimed my heart and soul, making it yours once again. The holy cracks have allowed an airing, a cleansing of my heart and I feel its warmth, its purity. I want more and more to permit you to open me to greater depths of peace, faith, and joy. And not just for me, but for all who come, who are drawn to our home. My peace reside here for always.

Most Gracious One,
quiet moments of peace
lead me to you.
Silence
opens the door
to peace.
May I continue
to walk the way
of peace.
Make my heart
a reservoir of peace,
one always full
so I may
pour out peace
upon the world.
Your peace.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Dearest God,

The first snow of the season blanketed the lawn, shrubs and trees. I knew it was coming, felt excited to welcome it. At 4:00 a.m. I looked out, smiled, crawled back into bed for another 30 minutes.

I have always loved snow. Thought of it as beauty come from God. Each snowflake taking hold of another, binding together to give a winterland scene. Oh, the stories I could tell. Running outside as a child to catch the first flake on my tongue. Holding out my hands to catch them in my hands. Making snow persons and forts. Sliding down the side of a hill. Making angels. I'm mesmerized by the snow that falls from heaven.

Normally, I would call my mother first thing this morning. We'd describe in great detail what we were watching. We would be so excited together. Perhaps she already knows in heaven. My mother died on a very cold, very snowy day.

I remember being at the hospital, having pushed our beds next to each other so I could hold her hand all night. So if she stirred I would know it. I remember the room turning cold suddenly. I pulled Mom's blanket up closer to her face. Did the same with mine. But when the nurse entered the dark room and I asked her to check the thermostat, she told me it was fine. That was when I knew you had come to take Mom home. I flew out of that bed, turned on the light and watched Mom draw her last two breaths. All on a cold, snowy, dark morning.

I don't have a lot of special memories of my mother. But on this cold, snowy day I'm going to carry my mom with me, remembering.

The falling snow
returned Mother to me.
In gentle, quiet ways
I will give thanks
for her.
And carry her
all day long.

In thanksgiving, Andrea

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Dearest God,

I am seeing the sights and sounds of faith at our church. Personal faith. Persons who might not have shared an intimate sighting of God earlier now tell the words of their faith to others. A bit mystified, maybe even with a few tears, they tell the story of your son.

I sat in the Upper Room as a member shared a story of God's coming. A woman comes up the stairs. Troubled, she pours out her story while others listen, comfort, pray. Later in the day one of the comforters shares the story.

A woman who accompanied me on the journey to the mountain sat with me at lunch telling me the story of her faith. Softened, vulnerable, open I could see signs of your work as I listened.

A woman set in her ways has given evidence of a holy visitation as she has opened herself to new ideas and ways in one of our committees. A woman who is developing curriculum for our children walks in a haze of holy glory as she sees sweeping movements of the spirit.

The sights and sounds of faith in our church.

Holy One,
once I thought
the dark halls
could not hold you.
But someone
opened the door
and your spirit
swept in
like a blustry October day.
I see signs
of your coming.
In the office,
in the basement
where children play,
in the hallways
and bathrooms.
Yes,
you have come
to stay.

Love always, Andrea

Monday, December 3, 2007

Dearest God,

A miracle split in half makes miracles for more. I'm praying for a miracle for someone. A miracle that will multiply itself in the lives of others.

I've experienced miracles in my life. Miracles that have come from you. Miracles that started with you and kept on going.

Miracles. Daddy's plane crash landing with a broken windshield after it struck a flock of geese. Healing of a 18-year-old back injury and complications. Visitation of light into my darkness of 40-70 people from the Bible. Breast cancer opening the door to a new life. Dying and living again, healing ancestral wounds. Miracles.

Sharing a miracle, your miracle, is wondrous. It promotes healing in others. My miracles became small miracles for others. I share them. I figure a miracle doesn't belong to anyone. It comes from you and you give it, but the spirit doesn't end in one person. It keeps living, just as it is intended. A miracle split several ways can touch hundreds, maybe even thousands of people.

I still carry those miracles within me, remember them just like they happened minutes ago. They touched me deeply, more deeply than anything else. Their spirit is still alive within me and every time I share the light, your light with someone else, I'm sharing the miracle. Every time I lead a retreat, I'm sharing the miracle. Every time I offer love in any way to the sick, the broken-hearted, the wounded, the sorrowing, I'm sharing the miracle. Whenever I preach and offer a word of hope, I'm sharing your miracle.

The miracle you gave me on the mountain is still giving itself away. The crack in my stone-cold heart made room for your light, your warmth and generosity. Not much room for judgement, blame, anger, resentment, bitterness. That was the cost of cracking my heart open. They escaped from my heart when the crack appeared, leaving space for you and your healing work inside me.

I'm praying for a miracle for a friend.

Loving God,
you are the source
of miracles.
I bow down
before you.
On knees
that should have spent
much more time
in prayer,
I bow before you.
I know my own value,
the value you gave me
each time
a miracle occurred.
And my value
became the vessel
through which
I could carry miracles
to others.
I'm no special pot-carrier,
but my miracle pot
is used again and again
by you.
I'm humbled,
truly humbled.
Never forgetting
your grace.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Dear God,

Hands. Three year-old hands. Men's hands. Women's hands. Teens' hands. Gnarled hands. All reaching out for Holy Communion. I was conscious of all the hungry hands this morning. As I stood with the Holy Supper in my hands, I realized just what it was I was offering. It was not my meal, but yours they wanted.

Their eyes danced as I challenged them after feeding them. "Go and be light to the world." I whispered to each one. Carrying the single match in their pockets as a sign of their desire to allow you to light a fire in their hearts, I believe they sincerely wanted to be the light.

There are some moments in worship where I truly sense your mysterious presence. I see and hear, feel your grace. I know you are in the pew, in the pulpit, the choir loft, at the organ. You visit, stir hearts, whisper faith.

It is days like today I know the awesome blessing it is to be a pastor.

I held you
in my hands today.
A holy mystery.
I offered you
to each one
who stood before me.
Old and young,
all hungry
for the light.
The room
was filled with light,
your light.
I watched it leave,
out the door,
in the car,
to homes
and neighborhoods everywhere.
The light in the streets.
Jesus.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, December 1, 2007

My dearest God,

We picked out our Christmas tree today. In the past we have bundled up and walked a tree farm trying to select the most beautiful tree, then cut it down and brought it home. Today I decided to trust Lowe's to have the best tree. We looked at one, thought it was very nice, then selected the second one. Took all of sixty seconds.

I always look forward to picking the Christmas tree because on Christmas Eve after the worship service, I will sit before the lighted tree, gaze into its branches, and listen for the baby's cry. I will allow that cry to fill my soul with gladness and thanksgiving. I will celebrate the most wondrous event of history. And my soul will unite with every soul on the planet and in heaven. Together for a brief split second I will imagine us all together at the first manger. Lead by the star that shines so bright, peace will take place.

While I know a Christmas tree comes from a pagan tradition, I believe that you make all things mystical when it brings good into the world, that which makes saints and angels sing. A few times I have set with the tree and watched Pope John Paul commune families at the Vatican. Christmas becomes so real for me in the candlelight and communion. I want to sit with the Holy Family, with the animals and shepherds, the wise men, the innkeeper and his family, with strangers like me who are drawn in. I know Jesus is present.

Loving God,
my life on earth
is destined
to be a light
for you.
A light that shines
in any darkness.
A light that always
points to you.
My light means nothing
if it is not the light
of the Divine.
Shine, O my Lord,
shine through me
to the world.
Privileged,
I am privileged
to bear your light.
Most Holy God,
may the brillance
of my light
be a reflection
of the Light
come into the world.

Love, Andrea

Friday, November 30, 2007

Dear God,

Your whisperings on the mountain paid off. I found myself in a usual family situation. Routine, the way it almost always happens. I remembered my learnings, attempted to conduct myself in a new manner. All the same pressures, tensions, conflict, but I didn't buy into it. At least not much. Minutes later I had already surrendered it. Later in the day my family member and I talked. Opened up much more. I felt tender hearted.

It all played out so differently. I was different handling the situation. The other person did the same things, but I had changed. My change allowed a new space for the other person. Wow!

I continually am amazed at how much you care for us, each one. Your generous loving spirit gives so much room for transformation which leads to joy and peace. Even new beginnings!

Listening, truly listening for your voice, taking your wisdom to heart, following obediently pays great dividends. And the joy of bringing you delight overwhelms me with greater joy.

You are God of the mountain,
of the desert,
of my heart.
I sing your praise.
Today and always.

Love, Andrea