Thursday, March 20, 2008

Dearest God,

Yesterday I reached upward and touched heaven. In the same day I visited the bowels of hell. I found you waiting.

Grabbing hold, I discover spiritual power, a power to love, a power to hate all that seeks to reduce the human soul to a smattering of cells. An increase in my ability to move beyond human borders, finding the sacred, stretching me way beyond what and who I am, I recognize the hand that holds that kind of power.

I saw the world from above and below. I witnessed the gift of mystery that causes us to reach heights unknown, whether in heaven or in hell. I felt loss and gain yesterday. With the swing of the pendulum, I caught a glimpse of both worlds, with the living and the dead.

On this side of yesterday I know the incredible, unimaginable love of God for all his children. Those who step closer to heaven in search of themselves and those who dabble in hell, not yet sure that heaven can be their home.

I find that my search for a living God in the daily existence calls me ever more to stretch beyond my self-made bounds, my box, my limitations. I am searching for the fullest reality of who I am in the scheme of things and my quest takes me to those whose lives are shattered by pain and sorrow.

What I know to be sure is that my pilgrimage always takes me to you however twisted the path may be. And one of the joys of my life is that my own spiritual trek causes me to take heaven to those in hell.

Hope is what comes of it. A hope that helps the downtrodden to rise up again, leaving behind the ashes of yesterday. Hope that gives us the wherewithal to live and breathe once again. Hope is the flesh put back on our weary bones. Hope is the gift that restores, renews, revitalizes. Hope, that comes from you.

Hope,
Lord,
hope is always
on your lips.
I shall not die
as long as
I hope.
And neither
will those
around me.
The slightest quiver
of your hand
brings hope
to the brokenhearted.
I wander
in search
of meaning
and never fail
to stumble
upon hope
that gives life.

Loving you always, Andrea