Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Dear God,

My day began in your arms. In the quiet solitude of my home I felt your deep presence. I had a sense of your grace as I wrote, as I walked through my home.

When I drove out my driveway, I turned on Winter Solstice, a CD that draws my attention like a surprise hoarfrost on a foggy morning. Its music stepped inside me and I felt myself light as a feather. I felt that gentle rocking motion like a mother rocking her baby.

As I pulled up to the monastery, I paused in my car, listening to the music, looking up at the stars. I turned and was drawn to the monastery building, the round turrets, the stone archways and heavy wooden doors. Every Wednesday I drive to this home for God. I felt as if I had entered heaven and found myself delighted in your presence.

Walking up the stone steps, I looked around and felt joy in my soul. Twenty years. Twenty years visiting you here. Twenty years seeing the smile of your face, hearing your voice direct my spirit in our sitting room, feeding me spiritual food.

I have cried bitterly here, laid my wounds completely open. I have uttered the words of my sin. I have sought respite and refuge here. I brought my cancer here, the cancer in my breast and the cancers in my life. I let the sisters each pray over me. I have sat in the circle of love that poured over me, anointing my head, hands and heart. I have helped plant a tree and shovel in dirt at the burial site of dear Sister Jeanne Marie. I have sauntered through the halls, upstairs and down, pausing to look, listen and pray at the statue of Mary and Jesus. I have visited the tiny cemetery containing the ashes of all the deceased sisters. I have retreated here for several days. I have found you here each time in worship, prayer, meditation, in the haunting silence and the dance. I have lead a novena for Keri Tekiwitha. I have laughed, rejoiced, praised, given thanks. I have hugged, given peace, and celebrated the Eucharist here. I have sat at table and eaten with the sisters. I finished a book here, Remember. I have roamed the grounds, touched the flowers, spoken softly to the universe. I've visited you here every Wednesday for twenty years.

As I entered the monastery and heard the big door slam behind me, I whispered over and over, "I am blessed. I am blessed. I am blessed." When I walked into the hospitality room, it was softly lighted. The candle was burning on our altar. Cindy was smiling. We were ready to begin again.

Blessing finds its way
to me.
The stars,
the monastery,
the sisters,
my brother and sister in faith,
candles burning,
holy food waiting,
home where love abounds.
Blessing.

Love, Andrea