Friday, May 30, 2008

Dearest God,

My daughter called me just as I lay down to sleep at 8:00 p.m. I had gotten up at 4:00 a.m. to complete my final work on Pleasant Street. She told me she had seen a miracle.

So much has happened to my baby girl of 33 years. She has a deep, abiding faith. But so many times she has been dropped to rock bottom, scraping the rocks, being cut by the hazardous edges. And she has questioned the fruitfulness of faith. "Where is God?" I have heard her ask so many times. "Where is God?" A fair question when you feel you're standing alone.

But tonight I didn't hear a weak voice crying out for help. I heard a strength from on high. "God brought me just the right doctor. God helped us get answers. God showed us the way. God..." My child found God in the hospital room as a caring doctor took care of her infant son. I could hear the sound of relief in her voice.

One doctor had scared the wits out of her. Her 8 month old son could have cancer or leukemia, the doctor had told her. He had been admitted into the hospital in need at some point of a bone marrow biopsy. A very painful procedure, my daughter told me she just couldn't deal with it. Who could?

But then another doctor came in the room, one from the same practice, more seasoned, a veteran of many years. He examined our grandson. Yes, he is sick and we still don't have all the answers. Right now he's suffering with a virus and yes, he has a serious condition with white blood cells. He is severely low on something or other, a kind of white blood cell. His little body is not making what he should be making. But in order to find all the answers, he still needs to have regular blood tests and carefully monitored. We're not at the point where he needs the biopsy, the doctor told them.

And here's where the miracle came to be. Even at his sickest in the hospital, he doubled his cell count. The doctor came in and told them he couldn't figure out how that could happen and my daughter said she knew where it came from.

"Mom, when the doctor called me two days ago, I called five people that I knew would pray, five people that I knew would ask other people to pray and they did and I saw a miracle. My son doubled his cells in 24 hours baffling the doctors based on what my son has been doing for six weeks." I could hear the joy in her voice, a renewal in her faith, trusting that prayer would bring her little boy to a closer answer. She trusted and she deemed all she had experienced at the hospital as acts of God.

We still don't know everything. It is indeed a waiting game. Being patient is hard, really hard. Scientists and doctors are still doing research on a lot of things, including this white blood cell thing. It's what we do in the gap of things where faith is accomplished, pursued, challenged.

It is you,
to whom
we turn
in time
of trouble.
We don't always
get the answer
we want.
We don't always
find the treasure
we are looking for.
We don't always
meet up
with the Sacred
in the ways
we pray for,
but something
always happens,
in one way
or another.
Maybe we see it
and maybe we don't.
But the fact
that we trust
is a miracle
in itself.
You are God;
there is no other!
And we are
singing out
your praise.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Dear God,

I believe you put transformation into my DNA. Whether working on a house that's crying out for transformation or human lives that need a change, I feel invigorated and humbled to participate in the act of transformation.

Repair is what gives me inner joy. Right now I am working on doors that are nearly 200 years old. They've been poked with nails, kicked at the bottom, scraped, beaten and damaged. Because they contain lead paint, I can't sand off the old. It has to remain intact. What I can do is knock off the peeling paint, feather the edges, then add new spackle, filling in all the cracks, holes and scrapes. I let it dry, then sand it, prime it, and paint it with oil paint, sometimes two coats. After drying and hanging it on its hinges, I stand back and look at the transformation. How lovely. Who would guess what lay beneath the spackle and paint?

The door to my own heart is the same. Lots of bruises and scrapes, several holes and cracks all filled in by the carpenter's own hands, the same as the Great Physician. The healing that has taken place has been the act of transformation, your compassionate massaging of a heart broken many times. You have made it work again, its rhythm attempting to follow your own. Amazing! Miraculous!

While I celebrate my own transformation over the years, I give even greater thanks to be able to participate in the lives of others looking for transformation. What joy I feel when I take the hand of a pilgrim, a seeker, a person looking for a new life and lead them. Well, not really, lead them, I simply walk with them as they walk toward you. After all, I have no healing powers. I am not able to do miracle work. I have no ability or capacity to create divine wonders. I just know how to walk toward you and guide others to make the journey.

When I observe a transforming act in another, I celebrate with you your great and lovely work. I see your fingerprints, know your voice, witness your powerful presence. I know who is doing the work and I am indeed so grateful.

The world is full of cracked and damaged doors. For so many reasons our doors are fragile, some even broken off their hinges. What is ministry if not helping to repair each other's doors, the doors to our hearts, our souls, our minds, our memories and every other part of us? We all have tools for healing, for ourselves and others. You have made them for us, created them special. We don't have to stay the way we are. We can be made new.

Transforming God,
how could we
ever heal
without you?
How could we
ever be changed
without your power?
How could we
ever allow ourselves
to be transformed
if your hand
were not
a part of it?
Healing Hand of God,
how I love you so
for every gift
and every challenge.
You are the power
behind every great act
of change.
Change and transform me,
all of us,
the whole of your earth,
and we will sing out
your praise.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Dearest God,

A frequent prayer I pray is "Keep the edges of my heart soft." I pray that when I think bitterness wants to find its way back to my heart. A hard heart can surely open the door wide to every kind of evil.

A recurring challenge causes me to pray for soft edges. It keeps me on my toes, helping me to realize that I must ever be on watch or bitterness can steal my heart, not just make it hard. I cannot love you or anyone else with a hard heart. Only when my heart is pliable and soft can I really love.

I remember the images of a surgeon holding a human heart, repairing it, making it work again. And I think how you must surely hold my heart, repairing the rips and tears, carressing the edges, making them soft, then carefully putting it back in place, readying it to beat again, taking up its rhythm at your mark. If only I would operate this way. If only I would step toward you and ask for a change in my heart, an emergency surgery, an intentional transformation, how much better I could function in this life of faith I carry with me.

A soft heart makes my faith doable because I believe it does. When I carry my heart to you, tattered and worn and you remake it, I am enabled to go about my faith business again. I don't lose time hardening my heart, making decisions that will hurt you and others. My heart will find its rhythm in yours and I will be able to follow you into every hurtful place, knowing I am safely with you. The arrows may fly but even when it pierces my heart, you are there to mend it. And I am free to love...yet again.

In sorrow and grief
I lean in
to you.
My words
have betrayed me,
my heart
hardening.
An erratic pulse
tells me
I have fallen away.
Take my heart,
Lord,
make it yours.
Make it soft,
keep it soft.
I don't ever
want to lose
my ability
to love.
And to love
is to hurt
sometimes.
Great Repairer,
you are
so worthy
of my praise,
my utter devotion.
Keep me
on the edge
of love
at all times.
I pray
with love
in my heart
for you.

Always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Dear God,

Always on the lookout for you, I am always excited to discover you. A simple walk on the beach points to all the ways you are present in the world. The ocean maintains its course; otherwise, the water would cover the earth. Each species of plant and animal knows its way to its own survival. The sun shines at just the right time and the stars take over in its turn. Friends laugh easily together. Lovers hold hands and gaze deeply into one another's eyes. Everything grows beautiful for you.

I leaned down to pick up the teeniest coral-colored shell, home to an even tinier being. Its ridges and turns are exquisite. Hand made, I figure. I stood and watched a snail in its own pool of ocean water make its way from one rocky ridge to another. Slowly leaving its print along the way.

And I wonder if I do what I am supposed to do. I wonder if I am making my own mark in the sand. If a tree grows, showing off its spring leaves, then turning them a whole different color in the Autumn just for you, how much of what I do is an intentional act of love toward you? I watch with great interest the trees who lift their limbs toward you, how they grow in your light, show off their colors, then let their leaves go, revealing their vulnerability in the winter and I think what great delight each one must bring you.

Each second ticks away, never to be realized again. Am I bringing joy to you, my love?

You are worthy,
Divine One,
you are worthy
of great devotion.
You lay out the stars,
then call them
to retreat.
Am I
as obedient,
as thoughtful,
as sensitive?
Am I
in earnest
when I live
my life
as an intentional
act of love
toward you?
Let the winds
of judgement
fall upon me
if I do not
do as you ask.
I desire
to please you.

Love, Andrea
for

Monday, May 26, 2008

Dearest God,

Waking up in the morning, the window wide open inches from my face, smelling the ocean air wafting into my home is a glorious way to begin the day. The sweet, moist air of Maine always calls me home.

Our quiet neighborhood slowly awakens to the new day. A neighbor walks his dog. A man walks to the corner for breakfast. Someone else goes out for a newspaper. The birds sing their songs, talk to each other. I simply lie in bed taking it all in.

As the breeze blows it breath through my window screen, I pull the covers up close around my neck. I want to feel the air and listen to the birds. I want to give thanks.

And so I do. My friend accompanies me to the ocean. Carrying our mugs of steaming, hot coffee, we walk to the crest of the path where the rolling waves race to shore. We sit in the sand, listening to the roar of the ocean. We talk a bit, pretty much alone on the beach except for a couple of fishermen doing their own morning thing.

My friend decides to talk a walk along the shoreline. And I pull on my white flowing skirt and head for the water myself. With the sun's radiance pouring from the sky, its fingers touching and warming my skin, I close my eyes and listen for the call. It comes.

"I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice to worship you, oh my soul rejoice. Take joy, my King, in what I bring. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear." How easy it is to dance to you, my King, to lift my arms and hands to heaven, to bow, to lift up my heart, to open my soul, to feel your presence all around. I danced to you.

The fear I once felt about dancing left me long ago. I remember those first few times when I was so self conscious. I remember worrying about what others thought. But you whispered to me. "Don't be afraid." You said. "Don't worry." And from that moment on I just dance without effort, leaning into your arms, allowing my hands and feet, and heart and soul to go where they want because every gesture, every move is one toward you.

Time stands still when I'm on your wave length. Like a star rising effortlessly in the sky on time, so do I dance endlessly as if time had stopped, waiting for creation to give you praise all together, at one time. It's only when I stop that the world seems to resume its pace, me included.

The morning air spoke to me and I danced my response.

Wonder-Full God,
how grateful
I am
to dance
in your arms.
How grateful
I am
to be
in your presence.
How grateful
I am
to respond
to creation's call.
How grateful
I am
for you.

My love always, Andrea

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Dearest God,

What a beautiful new day it is, singing, clapping and dancing in the aisles at church. A new director of music, a jazz musician, an award-winning organist is leading us to our new day. One member simply thanked him for his music and he asked the member his favorite song. "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" began to fill the holy space and the member suffering with Leukemia was thrilled.

A new kind of joy is filling the church. Those who gather to worship, to seek guidance for their lives, to find new ways of being are finding their own inner source of joy. You are revealing our insides to us. You are showing us where joy resides every day. You are giving us a view of what we look like inside when we are open to your leading.

It seems we hide our insides from others. More often than not, when we build barriers between us and others, we are also building obstacles to our own inner source of joy. Our own interior is hidden from ourselves. If we do this too long, we lose our way, can't find our self, can't get to what makes us happy inside.

Obstructing our view to our self is destructive, at the very least damaging to the soul. When we can't get to the sacred tools of discovery, we give up some of our inner strength. We will soon lack courage and the ability to risk. We will sink downward, not even realizing what we are doing.

But when we are open, truly open, arms wide open to receiving guidance from on high, we open ourselves to you, to the depths of faith, to the well of living water, to ideas and thoughts from heaven. And that's when joy begins seeping upward, erupting, and spilling out and over.

That's the joy we experienced today, the sacred joy of heaven, divine and sweet. Oh so sweet.

Thank you,
Sacred Gift Giver.
You love
your church
and your desire
is to fill her
to capacity
with eternal joy.
What we saw today
is but a pittance
of what is yet
to come.
We offer up
to you
our earnest prayers
of thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Dear God,

I'm pulling weeds, oh so many weeds. How many weeds can collect under two large pine trees? The thistle weed grows deep. And there's this other kind whose "under the soil" root is the shape and size of a large carrot. I have to dig deep to rid myself of this undesirable.

I have spent days clearing and cleaning this particular area. An hour here, an hour there. Until my "compromised" left arm (caused by removal of lymph nodes following breast cancer) begins to swell and hurt. Then I stop.

As I stand back and look at the plot of weeds still standing some 12" - 15" tall, I wonder just how many "weeds" remain in my soul plot. Those weeds take special work to rid myself of them. They grow there, unabated unless I tend to them daily, not giving them the kind of environment where they can take root and grow.

This endless process of clearing and cleaning the soul takes a lifetime. I can't go even a day without doing some work if I want to make my own spiritual soil the kind that will allow flowers to blossom. I want to give off a sweet smelling scent to let you know I am growing for you. On any given day I can be beautiful and fragrant with your love. Other days my weeds can stink and smell.

Prayer can help me. Meditation even more. Silence can nearly clear things up on its own. But if I do not engage in this behavior I leave plenty of room for the other kind of stuff to grow.

I am sure I'm always being looked at. You examine me daily, sometimes more often. You know when something is taking root. You know when a weed has died and disappeared. You know when I am blooming something wondrous and beautiful for you. You know when I am taking a turn one way or the other. You know it all. And I am grateful.

I can
hide nothing
from you.
You know
it all.
I do not
even try
to make excuses
because
you are always
watching me.
You know
about me
even before
I know.
Carefully tend
to the garden
of my soul,
will you?
Teach me
how to remain
clear and clean.
Help my
little plot
to grow
in every way
you desire
so I will be enabled
to grow
a garden
so exquisite
and magnificent
as a gift
to you.
I owe you everything
for giving me
seeds,
sunshine,
living water,
and the tools
to live
for you.
Eternity grows
in my heart,
a love gift
from you.
May the work
of my soul
be a gift back.
Every day.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, May 23, 2008

Dear God,

It rained on our tent. My cell phone was lying in a tiny puddle. The edges of the sleeping bag and the pillows were wet. Yet, as I lay there trying to get warm since somehow in the night my sleeping bag had unzipped, I felt so blessed. The gentle rain was watering the garden and the blades of grass were lapping up each blessed drop.

I was still tired. I hadn't fallen asleep right away. When Sophie closed her eyes, she was gone, instantly asleep. But I had tossed and turned, getting myself accustomed to all the night noises, the highway, train, airplanes and cars driving through the neighborhood, even the sounds of the tent when the wind picked up whipping the nylon rain cover. I had no idea how much commotion there is at night.

Even though I was trying to go back to sleep, I heard the soft stirring beside me. "Grandma, are you awake?" Sophie and I turned toward one another in our sleeping bags. We talked to each other until she decided she was hungry and I had figured out a way of getting us out of the small tent and into the house without getting too wet in the gentle, falling rain.

I know the day will come soon when I will be pushed aside by new friends. Sophie, my seven year old granddaughter will make even more friends and she will want to spend her time doing girl things with her friends. She won't have as much free time to be with Grandma. But that's
okay. It's the way it works. It's supposed to be that way. So I'm spending my time making memories, memories that I hope will last a lifetime.

Memories, precious images of special happenings between two people, any two people that are filed away for a "rainy" day, memories that can fill the heart with hope and love and joy and peace. At any time, on any day, for any reason memories can flood the soul.

As I grow older and less able to crawl into four foot tents, I will sit back and remember all your good gifts. I will sort through the annals of my time and my life. I will remember each sacred soul you have brought my way. I will close my eyes and allow my heart and soul and mind to flood to overflowing. I will remember and give thanks.

Loving you
is so easy.
Every day
is yet
another day
with you.
I see you,
I hear you,
I feel your touch.
And I know
I am
in your presence.
How can
I be
so blessed?
In your company
I see
my life
from the perspective
of heaven
and I know
heaven's Source.
I revel
in memories,
cherishing each one.
I am blessed,
so incredibly blessed.

Loving you always, Andrea

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Dear God,

"Grandma, can we walk to God now?" My granddaughter was staying the night, a special treat for both of us. She had already decided we would sleep in a tent with her webkinz, popcorn and books.

Later in the afternoon two of my friends had come over to create a labyrinth for my contemplative garden. It used to be that my garden was simply my garden. Now my whole yard is part of the garden. Since my House of Blessing Retreat Center is almost ready, I wanted to add the labyrinth, yet another place where retreatants, pilgrims if you will, will want to take another step toward God.

Sophie, my granddaughter, had helped me mow the yard, steering the mower right in circles to cut the yard where the labyrinth would be placed. Then she wanted to help make the sacred design. She held the string as the women looped it over and under. She sat holding Amber, her webkinz that looks like (well, sort of looks like) her Golden Retriever Amber. Two of us took the white spray paint and painted the interior lines of the labyrinth.

"Grandma, what is a labyrinth?" Sophie asked me. "It is a pathway to God." "Can we walk to God?" "Sure we can." I told her. "Can we walk to God now?" She asked looking deeply into my eyes. "Oh Honey, we can, do you want to walk together?" She nodded yes.

Sophie wanted me to lead the way. Every step I took, I thought of the beautiful seven year old granddaughter following behind me. "She's following my footsteps. She's watching me. She's doing everything I do." I thought. What pressure I felt. I realized I was modeling faith to this child and she wanted to follow me.

We walked through the looping lines until we got to the center. Sophie was very quiet. "Here we pray." I told her. We held on to each other as I prayed to God, thanking you for this very special walk, this opportunity to stand at the center with you and my granddaughter. Then we turned and started back. As we stepped out of the labyrinth, I acknowledged the beautiful experience with my precious grandchild. I hugged her real tight.

Late in the evening as we each snuggled up in our sleeping bags, Sophie asked questions about you. "How old is God?" "As old as time. As old as the beginning." I responded. She just glared at me. I could tell the little wheels were turning in her mind. Faith was turning over and over in her little soul and I realized what a gift I was being given.

I tucked the extra blankets around Sophie's sleeping bag as she instantly fell asleep. And I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.

Holy One,
a night
with my grandchild
is always
a blessing.
But this time,
oh, how wonderful.
Walking
to the center,
two pilgrims
on a search
for you.
A grandmother.
A grandchild.
Fifty four years difference
between us
collapsed
as we walked
each step.
Two pilgrims
in the center.
A tall one
and a short one.
Two hearts
met
at the center,
both beating
for you.

Gratefully, Andrea

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

My dear God,

Traversing the spiritual landscape with friends is a glorious activity that leaves everyone to ponder the magnificence of God's presence in our lives. Together we are defining darkness and light. We are not satisfied with small, pat answers to looming questions.

As in a cave adventure we are searching for gems of truth, allowing your spirit to search us out. We are using our pick ax to tap at stones, opening them up, seeing what they have to say to us. It truly is an adventure, an exploration of the deep. How refreshing to let go of the small talk, acknowledging that this conversation is the most important of all conversations.

Entering into a world so seldomly intentionally visited, I find myself welcoming the opportunity to share sacred mysteries I have encountered in my own journey. I think of those persons who have assisted me in this wondrous pilgrimage. How grateful I am to my spiritual partners Susan and Bill and to the Carmelite sisters who ooze spiritual love for Christ. My relationship to them is closer than to my own brother and sisters. They were born with me; these are born into me.

The sojourners of my church are hungry for what is next. They are not afraid to turn over stones knowing the stones may contain a challenge or a truth seldom seen or experienced. They know the risks of opening one's self to become vulnerable; yet we together are not afraid because the sum of what we find impacts all our lives. We are not on a casual trip; we are serious seekers and we like it.

But more importantly than who we are and what we are about, it is you we travel to visit. It is you we seek. It is you we want to know more about. It is you we long to touch. It is you we want to live our lives with. It is you we want to sing our love song to. It is you, Lord, it is you.

We'd crawl
to find you.
On hands
and knees
in the darkness
we go looking
for you.
Like adventurers
with our magnifying glasses,
we search
and find
treasure
every week.
We are so blessed
because
in you
we are able
to bless you.
It just works
that way.
Glorious,
positively glorious.

Love to you always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Dear God,

I sit at my kitchen table typing away. When I lift up my eyes, I see my contemplative garden. A single yellow Iris is in bloom. All the rest can hardly wait to fulfill your plan for them. Every thing is clean, washed over night. The sun's rays are reflecting on the pines just outside my kitchen window. The birds are singing.

Is there a more beautiful picture anywhere? Isn't my own little haven of heaven picturesque giving me hope and beauty, joy and contentment? Absolutely.

But wait. What about the pictures in the newspapers showing rescue workers pulling people from the rubble left in the wake of a cyclone? What about an older child taking care of his little brother because his parents and family are all dead? What about a soldier giving aid to a child in Iraq needing specialized medical care? What about people handing over well-earned money to aid people starving around the world because of the global food crisis? What about people putting themselves in harm's way just to help another?

My little idyllic world is not the most beautiful picture. Helping others is so much more beautiful because it shows your people at work comforting, loving, giving their best gifts to others. I can put a value tag, a small one on my garden, yard and home. But the price tag of aid, love, sacrifice, and help can't be reduced to a price. It is indeed priceless.

When I become too comfortable in my own little setting, I need to remember the harsh conditions some people are living under. I need to pray, to open my pocketbook (forgive me when I am stingy) and offer to others the gifts you have given me. What I will discover is that your gifts always mutiply, making them plentiful for others around me. I'm not in this world to enjoy my own surroundings, my own gifts, my own everything. I'm here to serve. Period.

Let my beautiful little world call me to a greater world of service. Let my heart always be filled with gratitude that plunges me into sacrificial giving and living. Let my soul be ever unsettled until I listen, learn and follow. Let my life be a testimony to your greatness.

Help me refrain
from becoming
too comfortable
in my little world.
Teach me
that I was
never destined
to live
in a world
according to Andrea.
That I
was never
destined
to just eat,
drink
and be merry.
God forbid
that I be selfish,
self-centered,
all consumed
by my own desires.
Teach me
again
and again
and again.
Until
I am able
to perk up,
respond "here I am"
every time
I hear
your voice.
Let my major word
become YES
every time
you ask.

Yes, Lord, Yes, Andrea

Monday, May 19, 2008

Dearest God,

Three women sat at the round table in my kitchen. With rain falling outside, greening each shrub, tree, plant and flower, we were sprinkled with water from heaven. We were brainstorming, trying to come up with ideas for an event that will explode with excitement, enthusiasm and participation.

Three hours later we were all invigorated. Our give and take, our sharing back and forth, one idea piggybacking on another, we had what we were looking for. A simple film strip telling our story in pictures. They say one picture is worth a thousand words. Well, we have more than 1,000 words to say about our church's mission. The pictures will do it for us.

As I reflect upon how it all happened, there was an unfolding. One person saw something, another person saw something and before we knew it we were all seeing the same thing. The ideas popped and we could all see your hand print on them. We believe because we have seen you at work many times before.

In a conversation with a friend today, I realize how we humans are so prone to thinking linearly. If we can't envision it ourselves and have a say in how it unfolds, then we don't see the possibility. There's no room for the Spirit to do anything. It's purely a human endeavor. We lose sight of your spirit, enabling your power to do more than what we can think ourselves. We fall prey to shortsightedness. There's no evidence of faith at work.

Contrast that with what we women experienced. We kept believing God had a hand in what we were doing. We could see what you were planning. We simply went along for the ride. What you came up with is far better than what three minds could derive on their own. What is faith if we can figure it all out by ourselves?

How many times have I put out my hand stopping the flow of your Spirit? How many times have I tried to make something happen on my own? How many times have I failed to remember this is your will, not mine? How many times have I insisted on my own way instead of trusting you for something too big for me to imagine? How many times?

When I'm able to let go, to fall backward without support, and trust you to lead instead of me, I find myself falling into a gigantic, soft bed of rose petals, each giving off the fragrance of heaven. I find that my spiritual journey is always about trusting your bigger picture than my own small, pitiful, hand-drawn picture with stick figures.

Trust. Faith is all about trust. Living my life with you means that I submit myself to a higher calling and realize that every day I am going to be asked to step out or step into an uncomfortable situation. I am going to have to check my pride at the door. I am going to have to acknowledge that your way is always better than mine. I am going to have to relent, release, and surrender to your will. If I am ever going to live the full life you have planned for me, then I have to let go of a lot of self in order to discover the treasure you have laid out for me and others around me waiting for me to do my part.

Yours is
the only way.
Listening
and then following
is my destiny.
What do
I want said
of me
when my days
come to an end?
What?
I was faithful
to the task
I was
called to.
You wouldn't ask
if you didn't think
I could
do it.
You wouldn't ask
the impossible
if you didn't think
I could accomplish
your will.
You wouldn't ask
if you didn't trust me
to follow.
Let me live
in the wave
of your light.
Teach me
to bend
toward the light
and perk up
to your next call.
Let it be so
simply because
you desire it.

My love always, Andrea

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Dearest God,

Applause erupted in your church about six times today. History making! I watched joy come to life this morning. Sitting in my seat in the chancel I could see the faces of pilgrims as our new musician offered his gifts. I watched them as the choir sang.

A new spirit is gaining energy at your church, you know the one on 52nd Street. It has not only taken hold. It's growing like a baby seed in the ground. It's beautiful to see.

Happy faces came through the line to greet me at the end of the service. "What did you think of the music?" I asked. Everything from "phenomenal" to "amazing" came out of their mouths. "How did we get him?" several people asked. "God sent him to us." I responded.

We're accustomed to thinking of ourselves as small, as incapable of doing some things. We don't imagine ourselves as a church of the spirit, a church of power, a church of the possible. We are always surprised when something good happens in our midst.

My prayer is that people will stop being surprised. They will begin to recognize your visitation. They will acknowledge your presence as the source of our gifts, our joy, our laughter, our tears, our community love, our many blessings. My hope is they will enter our common life together with anticipation and gratitude. They will believe the promises of God. They will know that you are at work in us. They will know that our joy is your joy being revealed on earth. How else does it come?

I have labored in the vineyard of your love for nearly eight years in this community. My prayer has always been that eyes would be open to your spirit love, that people would suddenly become aware that the promises of God are true, that eternity is here today, not just at the end of human life. And that people would allow themselves to come to life in a way never before. That church would be this communion of spirits melding together with your spirit, your presence. That people recommiting themselves to the wondrous grace you offer would go out into the world sprinkling love, grace, mercy, compassion, comfort, joy and peace to others, that they would serve the world with the heart of God.

It happened today. A red letter day. A day for you. Take a bow, Great Heavenly Father, for you have come to life in your church. Your people have allowed it to happen. Oh yes, some still hold their cards close to their chest, believe things should still be the way they want them, but even they are melting in small ways. More and more it will happen because you have destined it.

Amazing God,
I saw your smile
today
and I smiled back
like two lovers
discovering one another.
Your light shined,
your love showed.
Your people wondered.
Your spirit born.

Joy-filled, Andrea

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Dearest God,

The flowers were all abloom as I entered the walkway of her condiminum. Mary had awakened, gotten up, and was helped by her daughter to get dressed in her new pajamas. She wanted to look nice when I arrived.

Mary is 90. Today is the day she will join the church. She has looked forward to this for months but she waited for one of her children to join her but she is still not ready. So Mary is prepared to do it alone.

As I walked into her condo she was asleep on the couch. I placed the fresh cut lilacs on her table, set all my stuff down, took off my shoes, then sat on the floor. It's easier for Mary if I sit on the floor to talk with her. That way her bentoverness will not bother her.

I called her name, patting her on the arm. She could barely open her eyes. "Are you ready to join the church today?" I asked her. She nodded.

I asked her all the perfunctory questions. Each time she whispered her answer. Then I asked her her favorite song. "In the Garden," she replied, "my mother used to sing it around the house all the time.

I sang Mary's song to her and to you in a cracky voice since I've still not gotten back my full voice from being sick. I knew Mary wouldn't care. She's heard me sing and she loves it when I sing in the sermon. She says I bear a resemblance to her mother so singing her mother's favorite song was wonderful. Mary mouthed each word, her hand squeezing mine more and more as I sang the full song. Tears formed in her eyes. I knew something powerful was happening inside her. What a privilege to share in the experience of faith with someone I care about deeply.

About that time she was able to sit up, open her eyes. She talked with me and asked her daughter to write the church a check for $100. I told her I was free, that she did not have to pay to join the church. She insisted. It was what she wanted to do.

I held Mary's hands and we talked just a bit. I knew she was wearying and she was expecting her favorite nieces to arrive the next day. She would need her strength. I prayed with her, gave her a hug, and bid her ado. She was smiling.

A heavenly love
was borne
in her living room.
A love for heaven,
for me,
for the church.
Mary's a member,
a dream fulfilled.
And joy
was borne too,
heaven's joy.

Gratefully, Andrea

Friday, May 16, 2008

Dearest God,

I opened the bedroom window when I woke up this morning. As I lay back in bed with a fever and infection the smell of lilacs wafted into my bedroom. Immediately I opened all my windows allowing the sweet fragrance to fill my home.

I have a Korean lilac bush in my contemplative garden near the bedroom window. I also have one out front near the porch. The scent of the purple blossoms hung in the air outdoors. My whole property was filled with the beautiful perfume.

Never have I noticed the smell of lilacs in my home and the lilacs have been here nearly 10 years. What is it that caused the flowers to give off such a sweet smell this year? More rain? Less rain? Last year's drought making a hardier plant this year? More sunshine? Less? Something in the soil? The answer is "I don't know."

What I do know is that I received a gift from heaven. Flowers to fill every room. A perfume to smell all day and all night long. Even now as I write I can smell them.

My mom loved lilacs. It was her favorite flower. She would pick a few, place them in a vase, then set them on the dining room table. But I don't remember them ever smelling the way this year's blossoms smell.

Maybe I'm the only one who can smell them. Or not. Doesn't matter.

Being attentive to the gifts that come my way has become a matter of habit for me. I pay attention. I am interested. I don't want to miss anything. Certainly not miss thanking you for every gift you bring.

I am smiling.
My nose is
very happy
and so am I.
I am grateful
that I am no longer
stuffed up
so that
I would miss
the gift
that you brought
my way.
Thank you,
Most Giving God,
for your
most recent gift.
I am blessed
with bouquets
of lilacs.

Loving you, Andrea

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Dearest God,

I watched Ladies in Lavendar, a beautiful story of two elderly ladies who discover a young man washed up on shore near their home. I enjoyed the movie very much, a tender telling of life's dreams and lost hopes.

But what I was taken with was the etched lines in the elderly sisters' faces. Maggie Smith and Judi Dench, great British actresses, were at their best. The lines in their faces told so many stories. Each facial gesture comes from an experience...a laugh line, a worried look, sorrow and wonderment. I even stopped the video for a moment to look at their faces. You can read so much in a face.

I remember the lines of sorrow in my mother's face. The last few years of Mom's life were not her happiest. She suffered so much estrangement in her family life. Her mother was never very kind to her, never really appreciated all she did to bring her comfort, never really said thank you. And she could never remember her mother telling her once "I love you."

Mom was one of those persons who didn't really like being photographed. I always thought that was because her face showed her pain. While she usually did not own up to her feelings, you could tell what was going on just by looking at her face.

While Mother lay dying in the hospital, I was by her side the last four days. I watched her face. I wanted to be in touch with every movement of my mother's last hours. I wanted to be near her. Her face told me she was preparing to leave. I could see her growing further and further away. I wanted to pull her back but that was not for me to determine.

I will never forget the last minutes. Although I had turned out the light in the room there was light coming from the snow-covered ground outside. When the room turned chilly all of a sudden, I leaped out of bed and turned on the light in time to see Mom draw her last two breaths. "Mother, I love you. I love you Mother." I cried out to her not wanting to lose an opportunity to say a final word.

What happened next was astounding to me. Every wrinkle, every worry line, every pain Mother ever carried were suddenly gone. The permanent etchings disappeared. "Mom, you are beautiful. You are beautiful, Mother!" I kept saying over and over. She looked like I remembered her when she was 35 and I was just 14.

Whenever I think of Mother, I remember that final look, the one where peace became the only etched mark. And what a beautiful mark it was. I could tell that Mom had found the peace that long had eluded her. The past was gone with all its hurt and disappointment replaced by the tender look of contentment, serenity. In the face of the Almighty my mother's face became the glow of heaven.

We carry
our life
on our faces.
We cannot hide
from ourselves,
nor from you.
We are
what we have experienced.
But in the end,
in the end,
the only story
being told
on our face
is yours,
one of beauty,
tranquility,
and peace.

Grateful, Andrea

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Dearest God,

I sought for years to find my own voice. (My mother would beg to differ) I had a voice for cheerleading and friends and family. But I didn't find my real voice, the voice to my own true self for more than five decades. Sometimes it takes a lifetime or at least a long time to find, to discover the real self living inside.

I hid for a number of years. Too afraid to risk. Lacked courage. Life seemed fleeting. No real footing. Faith, however, was the one thing I always returned to. At least some portion of it.

There were some things that moved me closer to that mysterious self. Love or the lack of it. Divorce. Betrayal. Cancer. Church or the lack of it. Loss, terrible loss. Family breakup. Sin. Fear. While most of these would be considered negative, they nonetheless threw me into a tailspin that caused me to act. Every time I found myself flung into a realm deeper than the last time until finally I stood on ground so holy, so wondrously mysterious that I let go and followed a path, an unfamiliar path that lead me to parts of my self and to you. I can't really describe it all. I can't really define it all that well. I just know I allowed myself to follow as if the path had been laid out from the beginning of time. It looked well traveled as though I were not the first to pass. Yet, at the same time I was aware I was alone on the road.

Time and time again my life's journey was recorded. And somewhere along the way I picked up truth as a friend. I found courage and value. I began to talk, to share the wonder of it all. I found my voice and my voice lead me inwardly to the self I longed to discover.

In a book I recently read I learned about impeccable words, using impeccable words to describe life, myself, the world and others. I've found these words to be the words I use to speak the truth of my life, the truth of my experience, the truth of my spiritual journey. These golden words have the capacity to fill the space around me with you. And when I share them, others seem to want to take hold, to follow them, to see where they are likely to lead. These letters we share with each other, they are part of the process. That voice I looked for for so long...well, well, she's singing along. And my self? She's part of the song.

The sacred path
is sometimes
long and twisting.
Sometimes
short and steep.
I've spent
a lot of time
stuck in place.
But I've always felt
that gentle nudge,
that soft push
to go
a little further.
I might never
have found
my self
had I not
followed your leading.
I'm free
to sing
your song;
I'm free
to be me.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Dearest God,

Tonight we will enter the dark hole together. It will be the first time I have journeyed deep into the soul of darkness with others. I've traversed the darkness alone but generally not with a group. We will engage in exploring the many sides of darkness in order to find the light shining.

Sometimes I am afraid of the darkness. When I lose my familiar way and find myself in dark places, I imagine spooky things around the corner. I think about someone or something jumping out, scaring the wits out of me. I imagine being gobbled up, poofed away, or falling without ever hitting bottom.

Yet, when I return in my mind to those times, I discover that I met you there. Unexpectedly, in strange and wondrous ways, each time I have come to the realization that I was not alone in the darkness, that there was this presence that kept me, held me while I wandered.

I have come to the conclusion that darkness is necessary, albeit scary. I may never journey the depths to discover you without the darkness. The darkness is a pathway to the divine. It's true that I may run into some scary characters along the way or experience the profound sense of being alone but somewhere along the way, I will draw near you, find you waiting to teach me an old truth, reveal a new truth or simply embrace me as a welcome home.

All this has been my experience, yet in the book Come, Be My Light, Mother Teresa describes traveling in darkness for 50 plus years. While I cannot imagine this kind of extended time in the darkness, I do know what it is that lead her continuously while she wandered. And I fall to my knees as I think about it.

Shine upon us
as we walk
the path
of darkness,
Wondrous One.
Be the light
that reveals
the truth.
Give us tools
for our travel.
Make us unafraid
to meet
whatever comes our way.
You are,
after all,
the source
of both darkness
and light.
Thank you
for both.

Love, Andrea

Monday, May 12, 2008

My dearest God,

Quietly, slowly the House of Blessing is coming together. The house, yard and garden need tending. Rooms needs cleaning, the yard needs cutting, the garden still needs a few shots of Round Up to clear the thistles. New plants to replace those lost in the drought last year need to be purchased. Dirt needs spreading to cover the roots that moved upward to find water a year ago and mulch is sitting on the driveway waiting to be placed on top to hold the moisture. Yet, I feel nearly ready to sit at the front door threshold to pray for all those who will step inside.

More often than not I have enjoyed the preparation stage of anything. I enjoy preparing a gourmet meal. I enjoy putting a sermon together. I enjoy creating a retreat. I enjoy preparing for a study. I enjoy cleaning my home, clearing the garden, and caressing the atmosphere to provide a setting that will bespeak the wonders of God.

I remember some of the times when I tried to shortcut this process, trying to hurrying through something. Generally I grew exhausted, became grouchy and the final something was a disappointment. This time I know I cannot hurry. I am taking one thing at a time, completing it, smiling and moving on. Although I still have several somethings to do, I feel no anxiety about it. I am simply in the preparation stage, caring for a sacred space, tending to the soul until the time comes to be done.

Prepare my heart
for your coming,
dear God.
Prepare my home
for your coming,
dear God.
Prepare my soul
for your coming,
dear God.
Prepare me
for your coming.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Dear God,

I struggled for every word of the sermon. It took nearly an hour to write three paragraphs. I just kept praying.

Last night I wrote all my thoughts on paper. I read the commentaries and took notes. I prayed. And as always I went to bed, allowing the message to collect in my spirit and mind. I was writing with a fury. The spirit always excites me. The Holy Spirit is such an active presence in my life even when no one is watching. I had so many ideas when I went to bed.

But morning brought quiet. I had to hunt in each dark corner for a word, a phrase. Yet, several people were moved by the message. At the second service I wanted to walk up and down the aisles, crying out, "Do you know what we're talking about here? It's the Spirit of the Living God! Get moved by God!"

I wonder if we Americans will ever get excited again about such things. I wonder if we will ever get back to what is truly important. Parents want to be sure their kids are part of sports teams but far less concerned about church things. When kids face tragedy, a friend dying of a drug overdose or someone killed in an accident, they will want long-term answers. It won't be the sports teams that will give them respite because they will long for answers that really count for the long haul. They will one day want to understand their purpose in life. Where will they turn?

What will happen
to the world's children
if they don't have
a godly center,
a center where God
is first.
America's children
think they are first.
Their parents
have taught them
that belief.
What is the word
for them?
How long
will they be willing
to hunt
in dark corners
to find
the Word
for themselves?
It's a sad dilemma.
Help us,
please.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Dear God,

A miracle arrived at my doorstep today. A Fed Ex package was propped in front of the door. I noticed it when I drove in from a soccer game but then I forgot about it. When my middle daughter came over to borrow my edger, she brought the package in. I opened it in her presence. A Mother's Day gift, a beautiful handmade picture frame created by my oldest daughter. A card was enclosed. On the front was one simple word...Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.

To some the word "Mom" is the daily norm, a familiar name for mother. But to me, a mother who lost her daughter for thirteen years, it is a miracle, an extraordinary miracle of great proportion. My daughter created a picture frame for me with beautiful intricate flowers. In her own handwriting on the frame she wrote, "Make every day a happy day." Today is a happy day.

The blending of hearts after so long is so sweet, sweeter than most anything in the world. I received the joy of my heart's prayer when you gave me an answer to a 13 year prayer. I prayed for my children to be together once again, to share in each other's lives, to invest in each other's children. You gave this mother the joy of seeing my children together again, grandchildren, cousins all together, laughing, sharing, playing, teasing, even praying together. And then on top of that you gave me my daughter back.

I marvel in the gift of your spirit, so powerful, so sensitive, so kind and gentle, so caring, so mysterious. For your spirit was the first gift I received when my heart was broken in teeny tiny pieces. Your spirit saved me from despair. Your spirit deepened my own spirit. Your spirit gave me courage. Your spirit loved me and loved me and loved me for thirteen years. Your spirit spoke hope a million times. Your spirit crept into my heart at night when I cried. Your spirit picked me up and cradled me when I was lost. Your spirit revealed my insides to me and gave me an opportunity to renew my life, to change and be transformed. Your spirit sprouted spiritual roots inside me when my tiny roots began to shrivel from lack of living water. Your spirit prayed for me in a language only heaven could understand. Your spirit breathed new life into me. Your spirit sang songs to me, the melody of heaven. Your spirit turned me inside out and the healing began there. Your spirit encouraged me, giving me hope. Your spirit comforted me, pouring onto me the oil of gladness. Your spirit touched me, inspired me, warmed me, challenged me, grew me offering me peace like no other. Your spirit did all this and much, much more.

Living in the middle
of a miracle,
I recognize
once again
the great and wondrous gift
of your spirit.
You lavish me
with daily gifts
priceless, daily gifts.
I shall always
sing your song.
I shall always
give praise.
I shall always
offer you my heart.
I shall always
raise my hands upward
to make my offering
of love.
I shall always.

Love, Andrea

Friday, May 9, 2008

Dearest God,

"Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart." The pianist played the song as I sat cross legged in my living room. My House of Blessing is the unfolding vision.

It was nearly 20 years ago when a spiritual mentor foresaw in my future my own retreat center. He gave a name to my vision and dream of many years. I would lead others to the place of God, give them a quiet opportunity to tarry, to discover the mysteries within them planted at the day of their conception. No one is a happenstance, each one your beloved.

I started with the Spring Iris room. Layers of purple and violet, this room fills with light each morning. The lilacs seem to grow more beautiful day by day. I was lead to this picture a few months ago and I knew it was destined for this room. Framed in silver wood, it is so lovely, so peaceful a setting.

Again I set in a posture on the floor praying for each one who would stay in this room. I asked your angels to fill the room, to attend to each person who would journey to the House of Blessing seeking your face, wanting your presence, needing to lighten their load, experiencing the wondrous love only you can give. Tears filled my eyes as I saw love come alive. The Spring Iris room now has its angel cards lying next to the bed. The angels are ready for the first pilgrim.

Over and over I have heard you speak to me of prayer for the threshold of the front door, for all who will enter the House of Blessing, looking, seeking, exploring your wondrous divine mysteries. It will be the the last place I pray before the doors swing open.

My home is in a state of preparation. Yard and garden work, fresh paint in the living room and hallway, and decorative touches that bespeak your loveliness are all in the works. Even as I clean and prepare, I sense your nearness, your will being done.

Obedience leads me. She is kind, ever whispering your dream for our home.

Kind and Lovely Jesus,
this is your dwelling place.
May you find
your presence
always welcome.
May you know
the love
each pilgrim
will bring.
And may
my heart
be ever yours.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Dear God,

When I walked in the door, her daughters were waiting for me. I spoke to them and started to ask where Mary was. But then I was drawn to pretty blue flowers on a white couch. For a moment I was startled. Mary had blended into the couch.

I walked to the couch, sat down, and put my arm around her. Her head was bent as she rested on a couch pillow. I ran my finger across the top of her hand. "Hi, Mary." I spoke ever so quietly. "Hi." She said without opening her eyes.

She remained in her position as I whispered to her. "How are you doing?" I asked knowing she had just been put in hospice care. "Okay." She told me.

Mary is 90. We have a special relationship because she tells me I look and act so much like her mother Anna Cole. I get in trouble when I inadvertently say Anna Nicole. A real character, when she says something silly, I always tell her I could ground her and send her to her room. She laughs.

After about 15 minutes Mary sat up and we had a wonderful conversation. She admired my pink suede jacket. Although she is about a size 4, I told her she could borrow it any time. Then she got up, along with her oxygen tube, took my hand and walked me to the closet. "You can borrow my gray, black or purple suede jacket any time." She offered. "I will look fabulous." I said laughing.

We finally sat back down and she pulled out a birthday bag. "What color is your kitchen?" She asked. "Blue." (I was thinking of the one in Maine) She put together a scrungie, a hand-knitted dish cloth and a pretty blue dish towel. "Here, these are for you." She said as she handed me the gift. "Mary, I came to visit you, not come to get a gift."

As I sat on the floor at her feet listening to her talk, I realized Mary is worn out. The years have been good to her. She has lived well. But at 90 her body is failing her.

I brought up the subject we have talked most about. Mary wants to join the church before she dies. She has been waiting for a member of her family to join with her. But the person is not ready. Mary is.

I told her she could join the church at home in her jammies. "I'll even sing your favorite song." I told her. She smiled so big. I plan to return the first of the week for the special event, perhaps even a homecoming.

I love Mary,
dear God.
You have drawn
us together
in a tight circle
of love.
I am
so very blessed.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

My dearest God,

Deep speaks to the deep. We are not just any study group. We want more. Traveling together on the road of faith, we are willing to drop our backpacks and sit a spell. In the hot sun we pull out living water, drink from the vessel, feel its wondrous effects and then share from the well deep inside ourselves.

It is a wonder really. We are no longer satisfied with pat answers. In fact we are not searching for answers. We are searching for you. We have already passed through danger zones that say, "Beware. Warning." We have pushed beyond the barriers set up to keep us from our destination. We are doing it together.

There is an amazing freshness to this group. Some have already dropped their veils. Others are thinking about it. Trust has been building for weeks. We don't really need the veil after all.

We have already begun to personally explore other study books following this study. We want to know more, experience more, trust more, be more. We are two men and eleven women. We range in age from 49 to 80 something. We have lots of years of experience among us. All the better especially when we share the depth of our existence. We still have a long way to go to become totally transparent, to stop and count our fear and doubt, and share even more deeply.

We aren't ready to leave after an hour although that's what it started out to be. We remain seated after an hour and a half. I'm not sure how long we would stay. What if we were to have an all nighter, digging deeper with mystery tools that allow us to uncover yet another level of faith. What if we didn't have an ending? What if we just huddled together with our lighted cave helmets and kept going?

This is the most fun. When we are inclined to make a statement of how faith is, someone else questions it, allowing for deeper discussion. We are not interested in being stopped with some easy answer.

We will eventually enter the deeper darkness, learn the truth of doubt, and wonder. We will be stopped in our tracks, trying to make sense of darkness. We will ask yet deeper questions. We will find this trek unnerving, unsettling because we will question the limitation of our beliefs. We will ask you to lead our way because we will be afraid to travel deeper alone. What will we discover?

The spiritual pilgrimage
is a journey
into truth, love, hope,
peace and joy.
But the terrain
is dangerous.
Broken rocks
will topple
and fall
down the precarious ledges.
We will question
our safety.
We will question ourselves.
We will question
each other.
Questions
are good.
We will ask you
yet deeper questions.
We may even
weep away
our small, self-made answers
and beliefs
in order
to find the diamond
in the rough.
It won't look like
what we think.
Our preconceived notions
will have to checked
at the entrance,
allowing for the new
to speak its truth.
With picks and shovels,
we will follow you.
For you are
the diamond
we seek.

Loving you, Andrea

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Dear God,

The baby robin died. This was the second time she had fallen from her nest. She was the biggest of the five birds born just a couple weeks ago. Although just a few inches below the nest, we think she died from the cold.

The pair of robins made their nest in my grandchildren's wooden play set in their backyard. My daughter and her family were intrigued by the beautiful process of making a nest, laying eggs, sitting on the nest, hatching the eggs, and feeding their young. They've watched this creative activity from the beginning. They know any day now the new birds will try out their wings. They will fly away, never returning to their first home.

My granddaughters have been blessed to witness the marvel of creation. They have loved the mother bird and every time they went to check on the nest, they always talked to the mother bird, assuring her that they would not harm her eggs and then her babies. She would squawk, letting them know she was watching.

The survival of the fittest has always troubled me. Seems to me everyone and everything needs an equal shot at life. In a perfect world that's the way it works. But our world is far from perfect. The inequities of our world are great. Some get a shot at life and then later die of starvation. I've always been saddened. I try to help where I can; however, my small pittance won't save a life. In this process of survival, I have to ask myself the hard and real question: How much am I willing to sacrifice to save a life?

I watched a three year old girl die of malaria in Africa. A $10 net would have saved her life. How much am I willing to sacrifice to save a life?

I long
to live your way,
yet I am selfish,
unwilling
to share
all I have
with others.
I do share,
but not my all.
Dear God,
teach me
how to sacrifice
for others.

Love, Andrea

Monday, May 5, 2008

Dear God,

The beginning of a new day is a wondrous gift. Life is all about me. The day is fresh. I can either carry in any day's sorrows or allow the new day to speak without burden. I can enter this new day a fresh new being. I may carry what I choose into today or I can leave things behind. The choice is mine.

This new day reveals to me the possibilities of life. I see the sun wanting to rise. I observe the birds ready to fly. I witness the preparation of the tulip blossoms to open as the day warms. I see lights coming on in houses around me. People are waking up, looking around, breathing in a new day.

I don't know how this day will unfold. I am not a seer with special gifts. I am simply a human with possibility. I like the sound of that.

I like
beginning
the new day
with you.
I like
the freshness
of a new day.
I like
faith that is ever fresh,
beginning again
with the new day.
I like
awakening
to today's truth,
knowing
that I am
with you,
not the other way around.
May my life
be something
you like.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Dear God,

How does one keep hope alive? We don't. Hope is living. It never dies. We may lose sight of hope. We may even give up on hope. But hope does not give up on us.

Hope comes from your hand. It is a divine gift, freely given from the beginning of time. Hope brought the cosmos to its destiny. Hope was born before the world. Hope is ingrained in the DNA of all things. If not, why would we bother to get up in the morning?

Hope does not just awaken me to the new day. It tells me there is a song to be discovered, a dance waiting to be danced, an image to be painted, a spirit to be released, a life to be lived. Hope is my best friend. I cling to hope when everything else seems impossible, because hope is always possible. Hope is alive.

Sometimes it is difficult trying to awaken hope in minds that are closed to it. It is hard to prick the skin of possibility in others. Yet, when one catches a vision of hope, hope in their own life, I breathe a spirit sigh of joy, a sweet contentment of peacefulness, knowing at that historic moment, love has done what it came to do.

I figure love is beneath hope, love that emanates from you. If hope is part of each DNA then so is love. Love is that magical, mystical union of spirits, a deeper commitment to life than any other. Love makes many things happen; hope is just one of them.

In my ministry I offer both love and hope. It's not something I muster up. It already exists. I offer nothing new to the universe or to people. It's the great gifts from heaven. I have the awesome opportunity of carrying it to those who have lost their way, who don't know it exists or to those who've thrown away the possibilities of life and need a transformation. I am simply a carrier, an awakener, no, not even that. I can't awaken anyone. I don't have that power. What I do have is my own internal joy knowing that you are manifest in the natural life and in human life. Perhaps my task is simply to tell the story. And what a story it is.

Today as I cherish this hope and love, I am taken again back to you, the author of all good things. Again I sit at your feet, listening, smiling, breathing in, sighing the sigh of joy.

The quiet peace
at your feet
is a sign
of faith, joy, and love.
Where else
would I want
to be?
Who else
would I
want more
to be with?
In this moment
I am
supremely content
to be giving thanks.

Loving you, Andrea

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Dearest God,

A few weeks ago I started the clean up process on my contemplative garden. Last Fall and Winter's debris were removed, allowing the tender stems to push through the soil whenever they are ready.

Today I went to the garden early in the morning in between gentle rainfalls. I edged and removed brown leaves that had collected since the last clean up. That's when I noticed the roots. Roots from several trees and bushes have crept upward to the surface. Somebody once said that when plants do not get enough water, their roots climb to a possible reservoir. I don't know whether it is true or not. However, with last year's drought, I suppose it is possible. I bought more topsoil to give them protection from sun and disease. I really don't know much about gardening. I just know I love my garden.

I think the soil and my spiritual life may have gone through similar routes. When my own spiritual life has felt a drought coming I sought living water wherever I could find it. At times my own spiritual roots showed leaving them exposed, vulnerable. I too have had to find spiritual soil to protect them from the onslaught of temptation, illness or difficulty.

As I work the garden soil, I am aware I work on my own spiritual soil. Each time I cut away unwanted grass, I cut away part of my self, those unnecessary things that burden me down taking energy away from the necessary parts of me. When I pull weeds, I am aware of my own weediness, those little irritants in my life that I don't handle well. They continue to crop up like unwanted weeds in my garden. The topsoil I will place in my garden will remind me to get really rich spiritual soil to give my spiritual roots a place to go deeper, praying that living water is waiting for me.

Contemplative gardening is your way of tending to my own soul. Your hidden secrets, little treasures I find in the garden (ie plenty of worms aerating the soil) keep me exploring the constant ways you are trying to get my attention. The joy I experience is not just the beautiful way my garden will come to life with all its color, but also the process of cleaning, pruning, watering, weed pulling. I am part of this garden's life. I have the responsibility for it. If I tend to it, it has great potential. If not, well, it can all go to weeds and soon be destroyed.

I am grateful for my spring renewal, both my garden and my spirit.

Great Gardener,
you tend
to every soul,
seeking to give
each one of us
soil from your spirit.
I am
just one gardener,
given the opportunity
of tending.
As I tend
to my contemplative garden,
may the seeds
of my own contemplation
bear your fruit,
lovingly.

For you, Andrea

Friday, May 2, 2008

Dearest God,

A free-flowing of ideas that will draw people together, bringing them to your feet is a compelling picture in my mind. Our soon-to-be new music director and I ate lunch together and shared ideas for his coming. All during the meal complete with refried beans and rice we talked about bringing people to church.

This Brazilian man plays jazz, gospel, contemporary, traditional, classical and more kinds of music. He can take one song and play it any way. It comes out good no matter how he plays it. With a congregation of diverse musical interests, he will be able to prick the hearts of all who are willing to allow it to happen.

During the meal I couldn't help but believe this musical genius is yet another of your gifts to our congregation. Each time we have needed assistance, you have brought someone our way. And what can we say?

And speaking of gifts, you have brought so many. Transforming, changing hearts. Inspired spirits. New visitors. Enthusiasm. A study group that won't stop studying. Speakers who can't say no to sharing their faith. A musical group that can't stop singing. Unique spiritual opportunities. A gifted music director.

Have we thanked you? Have we spoken our gratitude? Have we bowed down to praise, realizing that this is not our doing? Have we acknowledged that your mighty hand has touched our lives again and again? Have we?

O Lord,
Giver of Every Gift,
I stop right now
to say,
"thank you;
thank you
for your many and varied gifts
to us."
We have done nothing
to deserve so much.
Yet,
you pass gifts
our way.
I pause,
go silent,
let the day
speak out
P*R*A*I*S*E.
In this moment,
another gift of yours,
I want only praise and blessing,
an exhibition of joy
to move from my soul
to you.
Thank you,
Gracious God,
for your loving presence
found in so many ways.
Let us bless you
with our lives,
our faith,
our prayers,
our song and dance.
Be blessed,
Beloved God,
we owe you
everything.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Dear God,

May Day. When I wrote the date a memory flashed in my head. When I was a child May Day was a big day. Children cut, pulled, or stole flowers from around the house (ours or someone else's), put them in a bouquet, then crept up to the door of the house of our mother or a friend, a grandmother or someone special, laid the bouquet at the door, rang the bell or knocked on the door, then ran like crazy and hid. It was meant to be a surprise.

I loved the look on my mother's face or whoever I decided was really special. The flowers from our garden were usually violets, Lily of the Valley, dandelions or those really tall, blow-in-the-wind old fashioned flowers that we used to pull apart to make dolls. Of course, we never admitted we were the surprise visitors, but the recipient always knew.

I have always loved giving surprises. I love the look that comes across the face of a down-in-the-dumps person or someone on their birthday. It's like this unexpected gift that comes out of nowhere, a generous gift of love.

Of course, I know where the greatest surprises come from. They always come from you. When something unexpected comes my way, like sunshine on a gloomy day, a smile spreads across my face, a natural response to a gift given.

How many times have I been surprised by you? A hundred? A thousand? A million? Every day I am surprised once again. Just the way the sun rises or a flower opens or a child smiles or a prayer is answered or a revelation comes or a transforming moment is offered, I am surprised again like the first time.

Your awesome gifts always surprise me. They shouldn't, but they always do. Perhaps I am like a child whose day is always new, new things to learn and see and do and experience. Like the first time you walk on the new green grass of spring and feel the cool, soft blades beneath your feet. So wonderful! Or when a new bunny hops across your path or the first leaf turns color in Autumn or the first snow flake falls. Or a song brings me to you or a scripture brings relief or I breathe in hope, peace usually following. Unexpected gifts always takes me to your feet, right where I need to be.

Wondrous and Amazing God,
thank you
for all the May Days
I was able
to be
the mystery visitor.
And thank you
for every time
you mysteriously visited me.
What wondrous things happen
all around me.
I see you
in every one.
Thank you,
thank you.
I love you.

Love, Andy