Saturday, January 26, 2008

Dearest God,

I'm filling up with memories. Going through decades of pictures, I'm remembering my family history. My children, so small. Myself as a little girl. My mother, young and so pretty. My grandmother, sweet and gentle.

All kinds of stories are rolling out of me, stories that I had forgotten, or at least had moved backward into the inner recesses of my mind. Generations of family, five to be exact. I used to be at the bottom of the generations. But now I'm at the top. Two generations below me.

How did it all happen so quickly? We were all together, then they were gone. Vanished, departed from this earth. The responsibilities of the oldest generation have now fallen on my shoulders.

Perhaps that's why I write. I'm recording history daily, writing from the heart the scenes and sounds of what I see, hear, and think. Daily recordings of God, what you have done, what you are doing, glimpses of what you may do in the future. Like Luke, Mark, Matthew, John and Paul, I'm writing down a living testament of God. Wow!

Let the scenes
of your presence
unfold before me.
Roll away
the obstacles
to writing
your story.
Linger with me
as I tell one,
then another.
Be the voice
of the story.
Tell it your way.
Let it fall
on tender ears
fashioned to hear it.
Speak God,
and I will listen.

Love, Andrea