Sunday, June 29, 2008

Dear God,

Yesterday was perhaps one of the scariest days of my life; yet, you, O Lord, came to my rescue. When I awakened with very high blood pressure, I knew I was more than an hour away from a hospital. I had to drive to the mountain to pick up members of my flock. There was no phone to call to make alternate plans.

I walked outside my room at 6:00 a.m. I looked up at the sky where the sun was rising and a song filled my soul and began to spill out my mouth. "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul." Tears filled my eyes. It was your song. You put it in my mouth. No sooner had I sung that song did another come. "Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows fall? Why should my heart be weary? When Jesus is my portion, a constant friend in need, his eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me. His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me. I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free. His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me." The two songs played over and over as I stood looking at the sky. Tears rolled down my face not because I was afraid but because I was being washed in the love of Jesus. I felt his loving presence and I knew I was in his hands.

I had to check out of my room. When I walked into the office, I heard the music playing, "And he will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of God, make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of his hands." I knew you were everywhere. I trusted. I knew I could have a stroke. I knew I was in a perilous situation but I leaned in to you.

On the way up the dirt road to the mountain I listened to my new tape, The Healing Flute. So did it comfort my soul. But by the time I arrived at the top I felt like my head was ready to explode. I knew my blood pressure was completely out of sight way past the stroke point. But what could I do? I was now an hour and a half from a hospital. I crawled into the back of the van. My other driver was at the wheel, knew the situation, and she began to drive down. There was only silence in the car. One person placed a hand on my leg and prayed. They were all praying. In my soul, the songs had been reduced to "whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say it is well, it is well with my soul." And the other "when Jesus is my portion, a constant friend in need, his eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me." I knew I was the sparrow. My lot was an uncontrollable health condition. The songs played over and over. My friends prayed and prayed. My headache began to ease. I took my pressure again and it had begun to drop. An hour later I was out of trouble but completely fatigued. I spent the rest of the day in bed resting.

And this morning when I awakened I felt such a drawing to get out of bed, walk a couple of long blocks to walk the labryinth at St. Francis Cathedral, my favorite saint. I had called out to him yesterday asking for his help. I pretty much shuffled my way there because I was still fatigued. I took off my shoes just leaving my socks on. I didn't want to enter holy space with my shoes. I wanted to take off my shoes like saints of old to walk the walk of faith. I shuffled to the center, yesterday's memories coming to me. "Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus." I repeated over and over again. My heart was so full of gratitude, I could only say your son's name. "Blessed Jesus."

As I came to the center, I took off my backpack. I didn't want to take my burdens with me. I wanted to leave them on the path so I could enter free. I sat down with the Celtic cross before me. Tears continued to drip down my face, not tears of sorrow or anguish or fear, but tears of thanksgiving. "O God," I prayed to you. I could hear someone clicking pictures of me but I didn't care. Nothing would distract me, nothing could possibly gain my attention. My sole focus was you, dearest God. I sat for a while then kissed my index finger and placed my kiss on the cross. As I walked out I felt my strength begin to return. Normally it takes several days to gain my full strength but I felt it coming back.

As I sat back down on the bench I looked up and there was St. Francis again "dancing on the water." I smiled. I was never alone. This great saint had followed me everywhere or maybe I had followed him, just now catching up. More strength came into my weary body. I sat for awhile, talked with one of my flock and when it was time to leave, I walked back with great strength. I knew "from whence cometh my help. My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth..." I knew what the psalmist meant.

I say this because I want to remember these last 24 hours. You already know everything that happened but I want to record this because I don't ever want to forget your mercy and compassion. I want to remember so I could once again offer up my praise.

Merciful and Generous God,
my heart is filled
to overflowing.
Spilling over,
I have known
your great love
for me.
I was
yesterday's sparrow.
I knew
you cared
for me.
And still do.
My strength
is yours.
It pulses
through me.
I have known
the Savior's hand
on my body,
healing me,
helping me.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you.

Your praising daughter, Andrea

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Dear God,

I know I am getting ahead of myself but how can I not respond to your leading? How can I not sing your praise? How can I not thank you for showing me a piece of my purpose? How can I just set back and sit in my wonderment without responding to you?

I looked forward to my time of silence on the mountain. I wanted to begin my day at 3:45 a.m. in the spiritual discipline of worship. I wanted to chant the psalms I love so much. I wanted to walk down the dark path toward the light glowing in the chapel. I wanted to be in the canyon under the moon's glow. I wanted to meet you in the monastic rhythm. I wanted that time to sit with you, to release, to unclutter, to reach out and reach in. I wanted to hear your voice saying my name. I wanted to follow. I wanted you.

But you had other plans. You wanted me to bring pilgrims, seekers to this land, to the mountain, to the monastic way of life. You wanted to speak to each one your words of wisdom. You wanted to clear their minds and whisper their names. You wanted to touch them, to heal and reconcile them. You wanted to bless them...without me.

My health brought me down the mountain so I thought. But it was more than that. You clearly spoke your word to me a few weeks ago to write my family, 29 letters. Your word to me was not silence but connection. This time away was about connection. I heard that, was clear about it. I even bought writing paper, envelopes, a pen and stamps. But I thought it would happen on the mountain but no. It has been about connection, first with my beloved family. But then it went beyond them. Let me count the ways. You tell me if I connected where I needed to.

First, Ghost Ranch, where seekers come from all over to make sacred discoveries. Beautiful mountains, a place of learning on 21,000 acres, an agape center, library, hiking trails, and so much more. God in the middle.

Second, Bryson, a little boy not yet two, lay in a hospital in Arkansas for six months basically in the same condition he was in when he was brought in after his mother was killed in a car accident and he was badly injured. He's on life support. His great grandmother sat next to me in a tiny library and she showed me his picture and her granddaughter who died. Along with her husband, son and daughter-in-law they are visiting Catholic churches in the area and she is leaving his picture by the saints and she prays there. I went into the church next to the library and I heard this tiny woman pray in hushed tones to saints to pray for her great grandson. I promised my prayer too. I sat down in the hand carved pew and prayed not only for Bryson but all of his family. God in Compassion.

Third, Abiquiu Library, a place of learning especially for Native American children. I met the librarian and she wants to help with books in a library in Ghana, West Africa. She gave me her card and I plan to send her information. God in mission.

Fourth, Isabella. Isabella is the manager or director of the library. She saw me reading some files I had brought with me. She asked about them. I told her I was a reader and adjudicator for a foundation. She asked if her church St. Thomas Catholic could apply. I told her yes. I showed her the website and gave her information. "You are God-sent." She told me. God in prayer.

Fifth, Casa del Sol. I spent almost two hours with the director wandering through this incredible retreat site as a possible place where I could lead a retreat after retirement. A medicine wheel, a heart labyrinth, a courtyard, solitude and seclusion. Amazing! God in purpose.

Sixth, the clerk at Bode's store. She was on the phone and waiting on customers at the same time. I heard her say to the person on the phone, "I am so frustrated. Costs are rising and customer service is going down." I was the last in line. "I heard you on the phone. It's hard I know." She nodded in agreement. "I will offer a prayer for you." I said matter-of-fact. "You have no idea how much that means to me. No idea." God in the moment.

Seventh, Linda. Linda was with me on the continuing education event in northeast New Mexico. She gave me batteries, made a long distance phone call to her brother to get information for me and she dialed the motel, my refuge from the heat, and made a reservation for me. I ran into her while eating in the dining room here in the northwest. I sat with her and her disabled sister in law, even secretly bought their lunch. God in gratitude.

Eighth, McCurdy School, a mission of the United Methodist Church, is only a few minutes away. I plan to visit this afternoon. Are you thinking what I'm thinking or am I a reflection of your thoughts. Silence in Christ in the Desert, retreat at Casa del Sol, a day of mission work at McCurdy. God in transformation possibilities.

Did I miss anything?

Gracious Creator,
you are filled
with surprises.
For those
who believe,
you offer
yourself
in more ways
than one can imagine.
I've been
a recipient
of your grace
once again.
A disappointment
turned into
yet another blessing.
What can I say?
Blessed be your name,
Great Holy God.
You intend
for your children
to be aware,
to see
the blessings
before us.
You prick
our imagination
and invite us
into the dream.
You paint
a picture
and say,
"what do you think, darlin'?"

Loving you you wonderful God, Andrea

Friday, June 27, 2008

Dearest God,

Eternal dots continue to connect. You bring people together in ways no one else can or would.

After a beautiful day at Ghost Ranch, I drove back to where I was staying. Since my lodging is right on the highway with nothing around but hills and mountains (and beautiful at that), I decided to drive into town. And when I rose to the top of the hill I found seven buildings which is called a Plaza, the entire town. A church, an artist studio, four homes and a library.

I stepped inside the library, a tiny building consisting of 1 3/4 rooms. A Native American woman is the only librarian. We talked for a long time. She loves to read and is leading a reading program for children in the area. A somewhat poor area, she is giving incentives for kids to read, snacks of chips, cookies, lemonade. She is also offering prizes. The library is state funded.

I told her about the library in West Africa that our church is supporting and she was so interested. She gave me her card and told me she would like to do something for the library there. "Please let me know when they are ready for books. Maybe we could get several libraries together to help." I told her that we had been told that the greatest need is for books in the native language of Twi. "I want to do something to help." She told me and asked me to e-mail her.

I write this to you, Lord, not because you don't know but because I continue to be awestruck by the ways you draw people together. This earth is a communal family and it appears to me that you want your children to help one another, some very near and some very far away. A Native American in Abiquiu, New Mexico, an American in Indianapolis, Indiana and a West African in Ankaase, Ghana. How would the three of us be connected if it were not you making the connection?

I am overwhelmed by your goodness, by your genius, by your compassionate love. How is it that you stir the hearts of your children to help strangers in another part of the world? I can only conclude that we are all connected together and you choose who will come together in what way. And what happens is that as people do connect, faith comes to life, more faith bursts into the universe and goodness is borne.

I am touched, inspired, humbled by this gathering of three. And because this new librarian wants to do something, it is time for me to do something again. My own heart is challenged to do more.

Draw us together,
Lord,
draw us together.
Make us
one human family
of love, peace, and joy.
Draw us together,
Lord,
draw us together.
Teach us
to give
and to share
to unite
with each another.
Teach us
your ways.
Mould us
and make us
until love
gives away.
Teach us
to smile
and to hug,
to offer compassion.
Draw us together,
Lord,
draw us together.
Make us
a people
of peace,
an earth brimming
with hope,
peace and joy.

Loving you, Andrea

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Dear God,

I sit here nestled in the Red Rocks. Sprawling grounds leading right up to the mountains, red, cream, pink, and reddish brown, an exquisite display of nature, always leads me to you. Who can deny the creative act?

Just moments ago I was headed toward the chapel when I was stopped by an older, white-headed woman wearing a Ghost Ranch T-shirt. "Hey, Cowgirl, where you headed?" She called me a cowgirl, I thought to myself. I was, of course, wearing my black felt hat with a silver and turquoise band with suede tassels hanging from the back. Out here I am a cowgirl, feel like a cowgirl, even though I don't have boots, a horse, or a silver belt buckle. I feel like I blend in to the environment. I am becoming one with it.

Am I a chameleon, one who can change to become something else? Yes, I think so. I am learning to adapt to your ways wherever it is I find myself. And the changing itself brings me to my knees reminding me that I can change when you lead me to change. I know I don't need a cowgirl hat in New Mexico to be one with you and I don't need a white flowing dancing gown in Maine but the different settings lead me to unique adventures with you. I learn that you are to be found at the ocean, in the mountains and on the mesas, at the rodeo, in town, among children and alone. You are everywhere and a heart that is open, eyes that are willing to see beyond the usual and a soul hungry for the livingness of God will find you, will suddenly become aware of the spiritual treasure chest this cosmos is.

These red rocks have probably been here nearly since the beginning of time. Oh, that they would speak. But then they do. They tell me, "Let us tell you of the Creator. " And then the stories of "beautiful" are told. I sigh with great joy and then I tell their story to others and more faith is borne.

I am destined to live your story and to allow my story to merge with yours. What better story is there to tell?

Let me
sing along
with you,
Creator of the Cosmos;
let me dance
the dance
of creation.
Let me be
a sign
of wonderment
to those
around me.
Make my story
your story
that all
your creatures
will be confounded
by the wonder
of it all.
To you,
Lord,
to you,
I open
my soul,
wide.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Dearest One,

I drove up the mountainous hills to get to Ghost Ranch. Following the map I parked in the parking lot not far from the labyrinth. I found the little path among the scrubby ground and followed directions to the sacred path designed in Chartres, France. A way to the sacred, I wanted to begin my morning there. A walk to the center, home to God, seemed an appropriate and meaningful way to start my day.

Made with stones from the area, I stood first at the opening. I looked into the middle of this divine maze and felt drawn to walk where countless thousands have walked before me. I carried a heavy pack on my back and I was cognizant how much every human carries on our back, our sins, disappointments, hurts, misunderstandings, worries and anxieties, but I was also aware that I carry hopes and dreams, faith built up throughy other experiences, joys and an attitude of peace. Burdens and miracles carried on one back.

As I stepped into the holy space, I found myself again standing in the middle of yet another blessing. Does it ever stop? Each step I took I realized how awesome you are. The thought that came to my mind was the beauty, the exceptional invitation you make to every person to join you at the center. Why would I want you to join me where I am rather than follow your leading to a higher, richer, more beautiful place.

So often, Lord, I want you on my own conditions. I want you to step into my living space and care for my needs where I am. You help and guide me, but I realize in such moments as these that to truly live the spiritual life is to follow not lead, to listen not talk, to love and not expect to be loved even more although that is just the nature of who you are. I love it when you turn the tables on me, making you the point of my destiny instead of expecting you to be the small god I make you out to be going where I want to go.

When I step out of my comfort zone, out of the familiar, out of the known I suddenly find myself in a place where trust can grow, where faith can stretch, where I can become. And somehow through your great mystery, I discover that I can lead others in this journey of trust and faith. And when I come to the great realization that you have used me for your purpose and another is inspired to trust and faith themselves I am blown away, inspired, touched, humbled.

I stood and paused at the final turn of the labyrinth. Tears filled my eyes as I waited patiently, giving time for my heart to well up with more love for you. I sat on the huge stone and chanted, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

At the center
of the circle
you stood
waiting,
waiting for me.
You called
to me,
like you call
everyone.
Come,
you said,
come,
join me.
And I did.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Dearest God,

Sometimes being lost isn't being lost at all. I thought we were on the right road to Abiquiu but I wasn't thoroughly convinced when I failed to see signs for the town where I was headed. I turned off the highway into a conference center. As I stood in the little booth with the woman in charge getting directions, I saw several busses arrive, loaded with kids. A 20 something young man was hoopin' and hollerin', talking to every bus. The woman told me that 1100 Baptist kids were spending the week there at camp. The young man came over to ask us if we were also new arrivals. I told him no but that we would pray for all the kids. "That would be great!" He said.

A charge to pray for young persons was on our minds as we headed up the 13 mile one lane dirt road to the monastery. I determined to drive all the way, even with the perilous spots which included no guard rails, high rises, and some badly rutted areas. Wanting to face my fear of heights, I wanted to offer you my gift of faith in the time of my fear. "One mile in!" I would call out to my flock. "Two miles in!" When we really had to climb, someone would say, "I could never have imagined a road like this."

Seeing the chapel rise high in the desert mountain, I told my four passengers, "You're home." Only one has ever been there before and she couldn't wait to return. A hush came over us because we had entered the silence of the desert, the place where God's voice can be heard above the bird calls and chapel bell ringing.

It is in settings such as this that I find myself incredibly awakened to the Spirit. I have traveled to so many places at so many times in so many ways, each of them speaking to me of spiritual things, but then one doesn't have to travel far to hear your voice speak. I know when I am standing in the midst of blessing and that is now.

There is something extraordinary about mountains, especially those made of sandstone and gympsum. Yearly the wind and weather ride its course making mesas out of mountains. And the mountains and mesas both speak the same language of creation.

Who can top this kind of experience? Only you, Lord, only you.

Amid the mesas
and mountains
I hear
your sweet whisper,
the song
of creation.
I am
so small here
and I acknowledge
your greatness.
I am astounded,
O God,
how nature
speaks your language
and they teach me
to speak it too.
Offering up
my devotion,
I remain
yours.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 23, 2008

My dearest God,

I lost my energy. This thing can happen at any time. Not sure how and why. Not always a warning. We were on our way back to the car about two long blocks away. Not so far unless you have no energy. I walked a few steps then sat down or leaned against a pole. My friend couldn't go get the car because we were in the midst of one way streets and we had already been lost a couple of times. I'm not complaining. It's where my exhaustion took us that the real story happens.

We were just half a block from St. Francis Cathedral, a great cathedral that literally rises up out of the middle of town. I whispered in my soul, "St. Francis, please help me." I finally walked up the steps and sat down on a bench in front of the church. As I sat there pondering, trying to take each breath offering me life, I turned to see my favorite people. St. Francis was standing nearby. The statue is a beautiful one, the familiar picture of him holding a bird. Even closer yet was Ketari Tekawitha, the Native American woman who was the first to become a Christian. A beautiful smile on her face, I know she surely must have felt she was in your presence. I felt happy to be so close to these spiritual friends.

Turning my head to the right just inches from me, in fact, so close that I could lean in and touch the sign were the words The Labryrinth. I read on...the path is like life...turns and twists, encounters and revelations... I looked ahead and realized I was inches from a wonderful labyrinth like the one in Chartres, France. Tears welled in my eyes. I could see the center from where I was seated. At a time when the life force seemed to be going out of me, I felt comfort being so near. I said to my friend, "How blessed I am that God would put me in the middle of faith."

You and my friend got me to the car and we made our way down the highway 70 miles to our destination. I recovered somewhat, but then it had been a long day. We ate and then I went to bed.

I write these words because I have come to believe that each day you place us with spiritual friends. Perhaps it is a saint, a wonder of nature, a special friend, a song, a thought, an act of compassion. Comfort can come from any direction at any time. When we are afraid, when I am afraid, you come to me, take my hand and lead me "home."

O God,
Good and Wondrous,
I can never
leave your presence.
For you are
all around me.
I do not
have to look elsewhere
to find you;
for you are here.
I breathe in
your spirit
and I am comforted.
A scene
will unfold
before me
and I see you
in the middle
of it.
My eyes
have seen glory
over and over again.
O God,
Good and Wondrous,
I give
to you
my offering
of love.

As always, Andrea

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Dearest God,

I began to feel anxious about where I would stay in Abiquiu. A fragile health condition bars me from staying with my friends on the mountain. I've already been sick once but I was able to keep from becoming sicker and having to make my way to the hospital.

Heat wilts me. It robs me of energy. My body just can't maintain itself in heat although I try to do everything I can to keep it in balance. I can't keep up.

With weather forecasts promising high 80's and low 90's weather, I can't make my trek to the mountain to stay for five glorious days of silence. Instead I am being reminded of my own limitations. Today I honored those as I prayed for an answer.

Last night one of the retreat participants took charge when I asked her for more information about the area near the monastery. Before I knew it she had called her brother asking him questions since he lives there. She had called a place and I had reservations for four nights. Just like that. In ten minutes it was all taken care of. And she told me places where I could visit for a quiet time, places that had air conditioning. A lavender farm, gardens, an art exhibit, a chapel, places I could pilgrim to in the early morning and later evening in the cool part of the day and places to go in the heat of the day. With numbers of her brother, her father, and her own cell phone I no longer have to worry about where I will be safe from the scorching heat.

Who can expect God to provide in every situation? You are always nearby, Gracious God and through my surroundings you speak a word of hope and provision. I do not know what lay ahead for me. Perhaps this was in your design all along. Perhaps I am to deliver my flock to the mountain with a prayer, stay the cool night, then in prayer leave them behind. I am sure you have a work to do in them. Perhaps I am not supposed to be with them although it is the desire of my heart.

Learning to change, to trust you to alter my plans, to lead me in a different direction is ever before me. I may think I have everything under control but then I am told I do not. My ability to follow, to take a different turn is a sign of my faith in you. Who can I trust as much? No one. My heart is quiet now, no longer worried or anxious. My soul is still open to your plan, my Beloved. Lead me and I will follow.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Dear God,

I wandered into the center from my casita, darkness still holding on to the night. I wanted to capture the image of the sun rising but the cloud cover was so thick. I did capture just a crack of pinkish red through the clouds.

As I began to write my daily letter, my early morning joy, I looked up from my seat at the round table in the dining area and what I saw was the son rising instead. From my vantage point I looked right into the round chapel area, the altar laden with white cloths, two black floor candlestands on both sides and from there above was the Christ on the cross, his eyes open looking out. The sun shone through the window on the left causing a white shadow on the rust colored wall. The shadow of Christ's legs bent his feet being held by the nail reflected upon the wall. My desire to find the rising of the sun had lead me to the son rising.

One does not know when the face of Jesus will show up. The most unlikely of situations can lend itself toward a revealing of God. In this holy place I can find Christ in every room. St. Francis is just feet away from me. The living water fountain is just adjacent to this room. In the blue room sets pottery, all its elements from the earth fashioned with love from on high. The landscape of this 10,000 acre paradise bespeaks of creation's best.

As we stood early in the morning feeding the horses at the nearby ranch, I eyed the wonder of the Arabian colors. These massive animals are so beautiful. Just one more evidence of God who makes beautiful things.

And I am witness to these things, an amazing recounting of wonder, your own wonderfulness.

To you,
I sing
my praise.
To you
I offer
my thanksgivings.
To you
I offer
my devotion.
To you,
I give
all my love.
To you,
I owe
my life.
With you,
I grow
my faith
in gratitude.

Love, Andrea

Friday, June 20, 2008

Dearest God,

This is a God center, a holy space set apart for travelers, pilgrims, seekers. A round facility, one cannot hide in a corner; we go round and round until we find ourselves at the "center." Holy ground, people gather here in this desolate northeast corner of New Mexico to find God or their own being.

My friend lead me down a broken clay path today to a labyrinth. Laden with white and black rock native to the area, I stepped inside. Walking toward the center, I breathed a prayer of happiness, one that shared my heartfelt thanks for the blessing of places on earth dedicated to discovery.

And discovery was mine as along the way I found surprises. Colorful ceramic faces on stone, faces smiling inside the circle. Could be someone else's or it could be mine. I know it was yours. In the small center circle under the hot sun, I wanted to linger, but felt myself wilting. Yet, I felt that sense of spirit, that unity that comes when one is intentional to union with the Creator.

The spaces created in the center lead one away from where they are to where they are going. A round stone fountain in the center of one room leads one to water, waiting to be living for the thirsty. Another is a round room with windows all around. Through these windows of the soul, I see plains and mountains, puffy white clouds that touch the earth and go so high as to never see the end. Like an artist with a paint brush painting God, I find the Creator looking back.

We sit at round tables in the open cathedral kitchen/dining room. There are no lines from here to there but rather circles that keep drawing us in and around to God and one another. Subtle, so subtle, we don't even notice it but my eye this morning was drawn to the circled rooms that lead to God.

One can wander to wonder here.

You are glorious,
Great and Wondrous Creator.
In your arms,
we find shelter
and refuge,
but not for long.
You want
to move us along
to new vistas
of creativity,
of learning
to let go
and take steps forward.
You want us
to take the challenge,
to surrender
the idea
of yesterday
for today.
Too much time spent
on yesterday today
leaves us almost
without a tomorrow.
And so
leaving yesterday behind
we discover today
right here
right where we are
and we give thanks.

Loving you, Andrea

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Dearest God,

Driving across the high plains of northern New Mexico, the storm clouds layered in the skies with a visibility more miles than we could imagine in every direction including up, we gawked at the magnificent beauty all around us. When the rain hit, hail followed closely behind. We were being pelted with nowhere to go for shelter when all of a sudden to our right, two arching rainbows appeared in the sky. “Stop!” I told my friend. “Stop!” She pulled over as one rainbow disappeared. With rain pouring into the car, we both grabbed our cameras and started shooting.

It was a very long day already when we arrived at our destination, the Mandala Center. Perched atop a high hill at 7,000 feet we could circle around 360 degrees and view mountains in every direction, plains for as far as the eye could see, pines trees, mesas, and cattle grazing. At home we ate together.

There is something in my soul that rejoices at yet another place in the cosmos where the earth has given way to the spirit to make something so beautiful. Here we will capture images of the Creator. We will find your face smiling in nature. And what delight we will take as we click our cameras holding a memory that will continue to cry out, “Holy, holy is our God.”

Wondrous and Beautiful Creator,
even with
weary bones
and blurry eyes
I called out
your name.
And through
your creation
you cried back.
How grateful
my heart is
to participate
in the wonderment
of the joy
of your creation.
Speak
and I will listen.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Dearest God,

I listened to the angels sing one last time. I could barely see the words of the song as tears formed and spilled. My beloved sisters, my spiritual family, women living the gospel, wearing the flesh of Jesus. How did you make them so lovely?

The Carmelite community has fed my soul in so many ways. Every Wednesday I received a double and triple dose of Spirit. My being absorbed the spirituality present in the rooms. I did not know on that first Wednesday in 1988 what you had in mind for my covenant group. We could not have known the feeding that would take place across the two decades. What we also could not have known was that they would feel the same way about us.

We have stretched one another. We have taught love through example. We have waded through our denominational differences to find the beauty in one another. We have grasped at what we saw and learned. We took it into our souls allowing it to fall upon fertile ground so well prepared by you. The seeds fell, took root. You have watered us together into one great and beautiful garden. The fruits of your spirit have formed and we have offered those gifts to one another.

We hugged one another, not the kind of hug that says I will never see you again, but rather embraces that say I will see you again. In fact our words gave way promising that we would again delight in one another's company on earth and in heaven. We would join you in the sacred circle and we would see the loveliness of one another's faces.

As I walked down the stairs one last time, I touched the rough stone surface and I thought of all the stories that have been tucked away, stories of discouragement and hope, stories of despair and life, stories of doubt, fear and insight and faith. Stories of tragedy and peace. This, your home, has been our dwelling place for 20 years. We have wandered through the pathways of life, a journey of great proportion for each of us, discovering what we knew we would find, the gift of sacred love and joy.

Hope took root as we shared our stories of pain and struggle. Your spirit spoke mightily, calling for the broken, fractured pieces to come back together again, rearranged to be sure, as one whole. But this time each piece moved with Spirit in its soul, never again to be the same.

I heard the angels sing today...

Your song,
we sang
your song,
the song
of blessing,
of promise,
of joy,
hope and peace.
We sang
your song
and the melody
lifted upward,
up,
up,
up.
Did you receive
our joy
and praise?
Did you feel
the earnest yearnings
of our hearts,
the love
of our souls
for you?
Did you hear
the angels
singing
on earth?
For we sang
your song
for you.

Loving you always, Andrea

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Dearest God,

I sat in the throne room where the angels cried, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lamb of God." We paid homage to your Son whose life in us was being revealed. We had come together to celebrate an event, a milestone of faith, of love, of discipline. Yet, it came to pass that we were praising the God of the Cosmos. We sat at your feet, Most Loved One, and we opened our mouth with praise.

The things that happen in our lives are not random, a careless act of atoms coming together. We witness daily the coming together of faith, two people, an event, an insight, a revelation. Hope that wells up within our hearts causes us to acknowledge the beauty of the God of our faith. You sit at the center of our humanity and we gather 'round to pay honor, to give glory, to offer you our love.

We shared one after the other the gifts we've been given. We lifted up your name. Words of hope, a saved life, blessing upon blessing, the universality of experience, the light shining in a dark corner, transformation. These were the blessings of faith that we heaped upon you, Lover of All Life.

What can one say who sits in the throne room, witnessing love poured out on the Beloved? What can one human say to the God who makes all this happen, even our desire to praise? What can one do but bow down realizing at once the touching of the human with the divine? The utterances that come from our mouth erupt from the deepest part of our souls. And these words forming on our lips are meant for One and only One.

The silent beauty of sound stirring from our souls, of devotion coming to life is none other than praise for our Creator. We could hear the resounding sounds of praise filling the space of the House of Blessing. Our hearts became full, our souls rejuvenated, allowing the praise to erupt to empty the space in our hearts and souls for the work of the continuing Spirit in our lives. This live activity is the work of faith, our faith in you.

Such softness of Spirit, such wondrous love building up, spilling over onto each one, we knew your Presence and our ability to reach out and touch you. Glorious, this celebration of You, did you know that is why we gathered? Did you know the ceremony of breaking bread, of lifting the cup, of prayer as one body was for you? Did you know the words forming in our hearts was for you? Did you know the song was for you? Did you know the love was for you? All for you.

God in flesh
walking the world,
did you know
we gathered
for you?
Did you know
the praise
erupting
in our hearts
was for you?
Did you know
our recognition
of Spirit
was for you?
Did you know
the joy
that bubbled up
was for you?
Did you know,
Lord of the Creation,
it was all
for you?
Praise, joy, hope,
testimony, faith,
love, peace, transparency,
it was all
for you.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 16, 2008

Dearest God,

My daughter invited us to the Imax Theatre to watch the showing of Dolphins and Whales. My little red headed three year old granddaughter wanted to sit next to me. We put on our 3D glasses as the documentary began to play on the six story 85 foot wide screen.

These ancient swimmers hold many secrets the narrator told us. As they swam effortlessly in the ocean waters, it seemed that I could simply lean forward and kiss them, pat them on the head, talk with them. One dolphin in particular, white and beautiful with a smile etched on his face, seemed to want to know more about us. Laying motionless in the water he seemed to delve right into our souls. As he was studying the human before him, I wondered what he was learning, what he was capable of retrieving from that one soul. And as this wondrous creature was examining the human soul, I asked him, "What can you tell me about God?"

What can you tell me about God? Indeed. What can any creature tell me about you? Is it possible that every creature holds a key to unlock the secrets of the cosmos? And what is the cosmos but God? What good is it if it does not reflect you? What is so amazing about the Milky Way if it does not tell the secrets of the Lord of Creation? Or a magnificent sunset with all its colors blending together? Or a human who loves you?

What is the meaning and value of life if it does not reflect its own Creator? My key can unlock the secret of another's as they can mine. And the two of us, we can piece together a puzzle so wondrous, so sacred and beautiful that always leads us back to you. And who would not want to?

Last week I watched a whole line of ants carrying away tiny bits of food from my screened in porch floor and I wondered how they knew to do what they were doing if they were not taking their direction from you. Following your voice to destinations that always lead to spiritual food.

This incredible life journey I am taking where I wander asking, "What can you tell me about God?" is one like no other. There is absolutely nothing more more wondrous, more titillating, more beautiful, more sacred than the life pilgrimage that always leads to you.

What unfolds before me, unbelievable revelations of the spirit strengthen my weary heart at times giving me a new kind of courage, hope, a life force that fills my veins with grace that I must share or perish. A new kind of love emerges from me, one who calls me to love in a new way, a deeper way. How can I hold onto a hurt when so much love is coming toward me?

The birds sing their song and the song tells me about the sweetness of heaven. The trees grow, their branches reaching higher and higher and the stretching nudges me to do the same. A poor child in Africa smiles the biggest smile I have ever seen and my world of accumulation collapses before me. A grandchild wants to sit next to me in a movie and I witness eyes so filled with love that she takes me by the hand and walks me straight to you. What can you tell me about God?

What can you
tell me
about God?
What can you,
tiny ant,
tell me
about the Creator?
What can you,
small child,
tell me?
What can you,
disappointment,
tell me
about God?
And you,
disillusionment,
what do you have
to say?
Your wondrous hand,
O God,
has created
the question
that leads us always
back to you.
Oh, ask the question,
Lord,
ask the question
of me.
And let me
tell you
the ways
I love you.
Let me honor you
and glorify
your name
forever more.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Dear God,

I watched a magnificent red male cardinal land on a patio chair just outside my kitchen window. I stopped mopping the floor and just watched him. "How beautiful!" I whispered as I watched him perched on top of the chair. Turning his head from side to side, I could see very clearly the details of his beak and crown. Each line of his feathered body were someone different than the rest. Yes, it was beautiful.

After he flew away I thought of all the minute details of a cardinal. Just one bird and then I remembered when my husband and I traveled to a state park and at dinner watched the birds feeding just inches from the window. Red, black, white, yellow, blue, green, so many colors, so many teeny differences one from the other. Billions, zillions of details in this great and wonderful cosmos.

Although at times there is the occasional doubt, I am drawn back into the circle of faith, espousing your goodness in the world. Random happenings don't appeal to me. Destinies being fulfilled does. Your will being revealed in the world touches, inspires me, heightening my faith. Dots, eternal dots coming together tell me there is this divine design, a grand design to life and creation. And once again I fall into praise.

Yesterday I cared for my two year old granddaughter Lucy. What I saw through her eyes was amazing. I took her outside with me to trim some bushes. She took the plastic thing you close chip bags with. While I trimmed, she pinched leaves and flowers. She would lean down, take hold of a flower petal and pinch it with the plastic closure. She stood up, proud that she was helping and I saw yellow all over her nose and upper lip. Apparently, she had stuck her nose into the center of the flower. "Oh Lucy! The flower kissed you." I told her. "I can't see it." She said trying to look at her nose. I carried her into the house and held her up to the mirror. She smiled so big. "A lilly kissed your nose." I said. "Have you ever been kissed by a yellow lilly before?" "No!" She responded.

Such an incident massages my faith ever more deeply inside. The wonder on Lucy's face, the beauty of the color yellow, the helpful pinching of the flowers and leaves, the delicate features on this wondrous child and the love that ever bursts forth on my granddaughter deepens my faith in you and your plan for the world.

A cardinal, a granddaughter, and a clean floor all give me cause to smile and praise today.

The slightest sound
of your coming
causes me
to rise up,
to listen,
to watch,
to see
the images
of life
around me.
What can
one do
but give praise?
I thank you
for the rich details
of creation,
each one
a testimonial
in itself.
Praise,
praise,
praise,
to you.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Dear God,

I awakened early, then fell back to sleep. When I awakened the second time, I was in the middle of a dream. I still remember the pieces of the dream.

I think I'm living in the dream you made for me. I look around. I'm living in a House of Blessing. My yard and garden, the landscape bespeaks a House of Blessing. I looked over the list of persons who want to engage in spiritual direction, those who will stay in the House for two days. Women who want to explore a deeper dimension of spirituality in their lives, women who are searching for spiritual treasures locked within them. Women who want to surrender to your perfect will for their lives.

Twenty years ago I participated in a mentor program at SMU and there the leader, the facilitator dreamed of a retreat center for me. Not a dream at nighttime but a daytime dream, watching, listening, imagining. In my final meeting with him, he envisioned a retreat center where I would lead people in a deeper walk of faith. The dream is no longer locked inside me but rather is coming to fruition. We've even talked about the church's ministry including a retreat center. All part of the dream?

I sit back and reflect upon your wonder workings. Do you plant within each person a purpose? Do you "seed" an idea in each one? Is it your desire for each person to fulfill this purpose as it connects with your greater purpose? What is my dream if it does not link with the greater scheme of life?

I only pray that at some point I will completely fulfill your will for me, the purpose you have for my life so that you will reap the benefits of my work.

I'm livin'
in a dream,
a dream
of great dimension.
I'm livin'
in a dream,
a dream
of great dimension.
I'm listenin'
for your voice,
takin' my instructions
from you.
I'm livin'
in a dream,
a dream
of great dimension.
Call on me,
Lord,
call my name
and I'll come runnin'
cause I'm living
in a dream,
a dream
of great dimension.
I wanna
sing your song,
wanna
preach your word,
wanna
teach your message
cause I'm livin'
in a dream,
a dream
of great dimension.
Gonna sing Hallelujah,
gonna preach Hallelujah
gonna teach Hallelujah
cause I'm livin'
in a dream,
a dream of God dimension.

Loving you always, Andrea

Friday, June 13, 2008

Dear God,

I looked forward with great anticipation to writing my 1000th letter to you. And yet, when I wrote it, it was like any other day. A quiet celebration between us, you and I.

These intimate talks, conversations open so many doors for me. Doors that lead to hallways I have yet to enter, doors to new topics, doors to challenges, doors to relationships, doors to questions, doors to the light and sometimes to the darkness. While I still have questions as to why you have chosen me to write these letters, I take it on face value that the greater work of faithfulness is simply to write, trusting that it is your design. I need not know why I was chosen. I do not need to examine this desire of yours; my time can better be spent doing what you have asked.

The daily writing we do is refreshing, a labor of love, a discipline, a quiet listening, a coming to life. Surprises emerge all the time, the turn of a word, a phrase, a new concept, a way of looking at something from the underside. Although I rarely reread something I've written before, I will at times recall a thought and revel in the joy of meeting you through a word or phrase even when I am not writing. Our connection does not end when I click on "publish."

Daily living with you teaches me to be mindful about the way I live, love and share. Either faith enters me and remains inside constantly being lived out or it does not. And that faith drives me to consider my life with you and my life with others.

Writing, putting pen to paper or rather key to page, is this disciplinary act that causes me to listen to you, to wait for your word, to be obedient. And if a day comes when I am grouchy, tired, irritable or difficult, the act itself is a gentle reminder that I am in your presence and my emotional state is something to be reconsidered. There have been many times when my grouchiness or ugly thoughts or state of mind has changed simply because I reckoned with the fact that I was in your space. You were not in mine. That knowledge inspires me to change, sometimes to beg forgiveness, to bow my head in shame, to fall at your feet. And always, yes, always you pick me up, set me upright, and offer me your daily lesson.

I am never far from you because I must come to you to write. How grateful I am, blessed to have this short daily walk to you. In this way I can't go too far off the beaten path or I could lose my way, stumble and fall.

And so on this 1001st letter I just want to say thank you. The journey is one never to be forgotten.

A well-worn path,
there's a well-worn path
from me to you
and you to me.
We know
the way
to one another,
not that we are equals,
that we will
never be.
We just know
the way
to one another.
Keep me
on the path
to you
and I'll never
be far away.
You'll always
have my love
and gratitude too.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, June 12, 2008

My dearest, dearest God,

"Yahweh, I know you are near...and you lead me in ways everlasting." I sang almost as soon as I awakened at 4 something yesterday morning. "Yahweh, I know you are near." A song we have sung several times at the monastery, how many times have we sung this song? How many times have I listened to the Sisters reach out for notes not on the page and sit upon them as they, arrayed in glory, sang praises to you, Most High?

And then as I drove to the monastery at 6:15, I sang along with John Michael Talbot,
"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord
and my spirit exalts in God my Savior.
For he has looked with mercy on my lowliness
and my name shall be forever exalted.
For the mighty God has done great things for me
and his mercy will reach from age to age
and holy, holy, holy is his name.
Holy, holy, holy is his name.
Holy, holy, holy, holy is his name."

Tears formed in my eyes as I looked at the sunrise and thought about all the great and wondrous things you have done just in my life, not to even speak about the greatness shared with and for others. Such high and holy moments are indeed a praise from earth to heaven offered to you.

How much praise can I offer? What more devotion can I lift in my hands toward you? As I write this 1,000th letter to you, all I want to do is offer you praise. I want to live in the middle of thanksgiving to offer myself to you as a living response to your greatness.

Hundreds of letters ago I gave up wondering why you would bless me with your words of hope and faith. I stopped focusing on the reasons why you could possibly give me words to write. I stopped wondering and just let myself go, freeing up my mind and emotion to put words on a page, words of love and honor, words of praise and devotion, words of release and joy.

You have called out my name and I wandered toward you. You whispered to me and your own words fell on the page; sometimes I stumbled over them toward you. At other times I simply leaned down for the words, lifting them up, words like grace and love.

As I wander through the halls of the Holy when I write, I wonder about you. I reflect upon your majesty and what it means to be closely tied to faith. For faith is that thread that connects me to you, a thread so beautiful, so sacred, so golden that I can barely conceive it.

You are holy, Lord. And holy is your name. I want to somehow show my thanks to you for this offering. And yet how do I do it? How does one thank the God who gives even the offering of praise? The words that find their way to heaven are your own words. I do not initiate anything new. I do not pray my own words. I do not even offer honor alone because these actions, these acts of faith, gestures of love come from you. I simply go to the well each morning, carrying my bucket. I lean down, drop my bucket in, then drag it up, completely full. Splashing on each side, I carry it back and drink.

The livingness
of my faith
is your life
in me.
I am
but a mess
of flesh
without your spirit.
The water
I drink
is yours.
I live
because you live.
My thirst
is quenched
when I daily
go to the well,
your well
of living water.
I am alive,
so alive
when I walk
to the well
and drink.
Let this life
in me
be a sign
and a signpost
for the thirsty.
I love you,
Lord,
I really love you
with all my heart.
Thank you,
thank you.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Dear God,

With friends we entered the halls of the Holy. Like a scene out of Indiana Jones, we wandered and wondered what it meant to travel to such a height. We touched things unseen, shared earlier experiences, and dug our pick axes into the rock. What we found astounded us.

Travel to the Center is like nothing else on earth. It is a spiritual journey dependent upon the movement of the Spirit, yours alone. We simply show up and begin to dig. With spiritual tools, resources and each other we discover what once seemed undiscoverable.

Tuesday night study has become a night of venturing into the seemingly unknown. Not like usual studies where we read, discuss, pray and go home, we become quiet, our minds on heaven, our eyes not seeing the usual sights. We prod and probe, knowing full well who it is that leads us. Such finds do not come by human hands.

We want something more from our study than answers. Although we have a full page of questions, we are not looking for answers as much as we are a connection, a link to something sacred that compels us to look deeper, to lift each rock leading us to a doorway, a window, a hall that will lead us to you. And we are not disappointed.

In our remembrances of earlier experiences, we acknowledged the Divine mystery that unfolded before us. We know we are not special, travelers higher or more spiritual than others. But we know we are on a trek leading to heaven, not as a permanent residence necessarily but rather as investigators who are looking for clues into the Holy. One day that will be different but for now we are on a search, a holy search for you.

Up and down,
around, beside,
we travel
the road
to the Divine.
You are He
that we seek,
not to gain
earthly treasure
or great favor
from you
but rather
as an hour
of visitation,
a wondrous
in gathering
of a people
hungry
for its source.
Like looking
for the source
of water
that spews out,
in no way
being held back,
we lean down
and drink.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Dear God,

The words keep coming to me: "The earth is not happy with us." With all the natural disasters occurring around us, I wonder if there isn't a message to earth's inhabitants.

I look around the world and I see fighting and conflict. I see one people destroying another. I see violence on the rise. I see the need of one group to lord over another. I see national leaders robbing their people of life sustenance. I see no remorse, a brokenness of spirit that lays at your feet crushed by their own actions, with a deep desire for repentance. I see a desire to hurt, harm, terrorize and break the spirit of your own people. And I wonder.

Last night as I lay in bed falling asleep, I heard the crack of thunder, a wicked sound so loud and mean that I was tempted to be frightened by what I heard. But instead I was lulled to sleep by the knowledge that I lay in the cradle of my God.

I have to be attentive to my own thoughts and actions. Am I contributing to this destruction? Am I harming others around me? Am I a robber of the spirit? And then I have to think again once I have owned my part. How can I offer beauty to the cosmos? How can I sing a lullaby to the world's people? How can I let the earth know that I respect and appreciate her own nature? How can I offer love, a truly repentant love that brings healing and hope?

Today I will sing to the earth a love song. I will lift up my voice so that it will rise up to heaven. Perhaps the song itself which is your Song will somehow be transmitted to the uneasy spirits, the broken spirits, the fearing spirits, the demonic spirits. Perhaps your Song will ease the restless spirit, bringing new hope and promise. One song, not mine but yours sung by a repentant singer.

May all
our love songs
calm the earth.
May we sing
just one great song,
the song
of faith,
the song
of peace and joy,
the song
of hope and healing.
Forgive us
and our errant ways.
Heal our earth
and all
her people,
Loving Father,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Monday, June 9, 2008

Dear God,

St. Francis appeared on stage at the end of Annual Conference. My spiritual mentor continues to appear to me. While we almost never talk, this saint carries me or at the very least I carry him.

I don't have to explain to you how this happens because you are the Great Orchestrator. In your grand design, the great scheme of the cosmos, you make things happen. Nothing is a surprise to you except our own transformation. But to those of us on this side of things, everything is a surprise to us. A surprise in the way of amazement, creating wonder within us.

When we see a spiritual unfolding, when we witness a miracle, when we experience the Spirit, when our eyes are opened, our ears too, when we hear your voice, when the Song touches our heart, when we turn toward you, when we worship and let our spirits soar, when we relent and repent, when we open up, when we release, when we ready ourselves for an infilling or indwelling, when we take a step forward, when we trust, when we recognize our sin, when we grow silent, when we acknowledge how little we control, when we love...all these and much more surprise us.

Remaining open to your revelation, living in the middle of a juxtaposition, a side-by-side encounter with the Divine, we can see, really see the world and life as it really is. The blinders are taken off, no need for them. We want to see the reality of the Spirit. We want nothing to be between us, you and I. The veil lifted, the way made clear, life at the center reminds me that I do not want to be in the center of my own life. I want you at my center or rather I want to be at your center wherever, however, whenever that occurs. I want to look at life from your perspective, see it the way you view it in all of its ugliness at times and all its beauty at other times. What is my perspective next to yours?

The Christian journey is one in which I have to shake off all the accoutrements of life I have picked up along the way. Like a dog that shakes off water during a bath, I have to release my need for control, my beliefs that tell me how much I deserve, my wants that I have packaged as needs, my own greatness, and more. Only then, only then can I be enabled to see the truth of who I am, who you are. Only then am I able to see my own smallness in your greatness. This process gives me perspective. I both realize I am but a tiny speck in creation and a loved speck because I belong to you.

My friend St. Francis helps me, guides me along my pilgrim path. He whispers the truth of who I am. He reveals the insanity of some of my attitudes, decisions, and behaviors and he lets me know the love of God. I don't know how all this happens, don't really know any part of it. Why focus all my energy on the process when I can view the Processor whose name is Yahweh, Great God, Lover of the Cosmos, Healer of my Soul.

In the moment I saw this saintly troubadour on stage and heard him through his song and words, I knew my role in my House of Blessing. I am the keeper of the door. A keeper of the door is one who helps open doors to the spirit; it is one whose doorway is love, safety, and quiet joy. A doorway is the entrance to the heart and soul. I don't do the work of revelation. I just lead by helping to open the door.

And so today, I am in awe once again.

Awe-inspiring God,
I'm willing
to be lost
in you,
traveling through
a sacred sphere
where all
is clean and clear
and wonder-producing.
What more
could I want?
My "travel"
teaches me,
pointing out
the lessons
of life
and its practice.
I see
and hear
and believe.
And I smile,
my lips
turned upward
to offer
my praise.

Loving you, Andrea

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Dear God,

I feel my spiritual insides now when I preach. Whether it is because I am in my final year and I say to myself, "what do I have to lose?" or because I believe your message more than ever or I have truly found my voice in the Gospel or I know we live in precarious times, I feel a greater nudge, a greater importance to your Word. And I am no longer afraid to preach it. I owe it to my people, that beloved community you called me to serve.

Sunday mornings are so beautiful. I know I have the opportunity to meet your friends in worship. They will gather just like me and I know they are looking for you the same as I am. We arrive and when we see each other we get filled up. Just seeing your people, your "faith" people in your holy home, well, it's like a grand gala event where everybody comes for the party and everyone brings faith with them. We put it all together and suddenly we have this great and wondrous event where you are the both the recipient of our faith and the celebrant of it. What a truly beautiful thing.

As I reflect on my way home, I see happy faces. I see the eyes of those who found God sitting with them, those who discovered strength for their arduous journey, those who picked up courage, those whose love for you was so full that they just loved you full force. I see it in my mind that holds the image with great care. For I know this has been what you came for, to touch and inspire each child of faith.

There is nothing like worship. There is no act so fully faith. I know that sentence doesn't make sense, but then it makes full sense. In worship our hearts are intentionally drawn toward you. We can't see our hearts through our skin and clothes but we know it happens. We know our minds are readied to receive a powerful Word. All our senses are heightened because we want to capture everything that comes our way. We hush ourselves for minutes, waiting to give you as much attention as we can muster. It is THE event of our week. And then it happens, God appears in us, around us, in front and back of us, beside us. We see you up front and out in the crowd. You're laughing with children in the hallway (running, of course) and in the lounge holding a cup of coffee listening to your big kids talk, hug, smile at one another.

One breath in worship means we breathe in you and we leave breathing you out into the world around us. There is nothing like worship for that is when I know my spiritual insides are fully alive.

Faith happens
every time
I breathe in.
I intentionally
take deep breaths
wanting to take in
more and more
so I can exhale
more and more
into the world.
This process
of faith
teaches me
to pay attention,
really pay attention
to what
is happening
all around me.
You
are
what
is
happening
all
around
me.

So incredibly grateful, Andrea

Saturday, June 7, 2008

My dearest God,

The aftermath of a great worship service continues to speak to my soul. And I am grateful because I awakened this morning to yet another wicked storm, the lightning striking from sky to earth, the thunder rolling for several seconds.

During our time at conference we have suffered a flash flood, a fire alarm ushering people out of the building, an earthquake at 3:00 in the morning and tornado warnings last night, lots of rain and two hot, muggy days. We'll always remember this conference, not because of all the weather-related incidents but because I think we have indeed experienced a spiritual earthquake.

We have changed as a conference. We are changing into one conference. We will learn the outcome of our vote this morning. But we've already changed. We are a changed people. All during conference I have been very interested in all that is happening. That has not always been so. Who gets excited about committee reports?

But there's something different this time. We are a different people. Our bishop has been about transforming us. He had his work cut out for him. We are not an easy people. Yet, he has lead us by your spirit to a new place in our corporate life together.

Change, it's all about change. Everything's changing, our world, our economy, our church, our lives. As I looked at the stage yesterday where the retirees and their spouses sat, I realized that I will be next. I will join my sisters and brothers in a new commitment next year. Tears formed in my eyes. But it's okay; I know it is what you want from me. Just as I said yes at the age of 27 to follow you into ministry (took seven years to begin the process) it is time to say yes at the age of 62.

Trusting you in the middle of change is a real gift. Stepping into line behind you, I realize how simple life can be when I simply follow and stop trying to take the lead. I haven't always known where I was headed. I just walked forward. Sometimes I hestitated, many times I stopped. But you prodded me to get moving again and I have to say the favorite times in my life have been when I kicked it in gear and starting moving again, following right behind you.

I have always known that I can't see around the corners in life situations. It's impossible and it is good because if I could see everything clearly with my own eyes, why would I trust? Why would I feel the need?

How well I remember walking the Wadi Kelt between Jerusalem and Jericho. A very narrow dirt path with no rail high up in the hills of Israel, I remember all the turns and twists. I recall one especially where it looks like the path leads to the edge where you simply fall off. It is a very tight turn.

On occasion I think of that spot in the path. And I think that faith rests on that ledge. I believe that every situation, condition, happening, experience can lead to the precipice but that we meet faith first. We can stumble over it, attempt to go around it (although it just means you fall off the edge somewhere else) stop and refuse to go further, or we simply pick it up, welcoming it like an old friend who has been waiting to see us for a very long time. A reunion always takes place.
And when faith is in hand, we turn the corner carefully trusting that faith is enough because faith is always linked eternally with you, Great God.

The uncertainty of the weather and the world's life coupled with the changes taking place in our conference, in my church and in my own life reminds me that I too stand close to the edge. Today I have been lead back to that spot where faith rests. I will pick it up and take the turn.

Most Loving God,
who would want
to go the distance
without you?
Who would want
to take the sharp, tight turns
on their own?
Who would not want
a friend,
a companion
on the path
with whom
to travel?
You make life
real
and spectacular.
You make life
a wondrous journey
where learning
takes place,
where the call
for adventure
is always present,
where your presence
always awaits us.
I know
the turns and twists
will always be present
and they will always
have a modicum
of fear attached
to them.
But that's
the beauty
of it all.
Fear
always leads us
directly to you.
Whether wicked storms
or life experiences
reincarnate fear
within us,
you are present
to guide,
to lift us up,
and even keep us safe
in some dimension.
Falling off the edge
can happen
but in the process
of falling
you fall with us
and we always
rest with you.
Thanks
for letting me ramble.

I love you, Andrea

Friday, June 6, 2008

Dear God,

It could have been heaven for all I know. The great auditorium filled with folks ready to see God's glory. The stage had been set for heaven's own and they processed in following the brass cross lifted high.

I could hear your voice lean down, calling out to a people sorely in need of praise, praise to the highest heaven, to you, my Great and Wonderful God. They walked down the aisles, the aisles to our left and to our right. Adorned in white robes and black, wearing red stoles, the sign of your spirit, faces were lifted high, eyes fixed on the cross, the cross of Christ.

The ordination service is a high ceremony, the worship of God, our saying "thank you" to you, for our call to ministry, to the new ones, the latest ones, the current ones, those who just a few years ago cried out, "Here I am, Lord, here I am."

There's something unsettling about a call to ministry, like a rug pulled out from under your feet. Falling backward, no real stable footing, the breath gone from your lungs, one feels humbled, a shrinking to the smallest dimension. It's the voice, that voice that declares, "I want you, I want you to..." You're never really the same. You walk into a different realm and when you return to your seat, it is never the same. You can't go back. And you can't reconstruct life the way it used to be.

A bishop from South Africa spoke the prophetic challenge. A warrior against apartheid, he spoke the word of courage to us, all of us who have said yes. "Love your people," he said. "But speak the truth even when they don't want to hear it. The Word is not about making them comfortable, but rather taking the risk to move them from where they are to where they need to be. You are there to change their lives."

Such power taken humbly can indeed change the world. You have given us this message and this power and we only have a lifetime to do what you have called us to do.

There was one great roar as we sang out your praise. Deafening, because we were singing with our whole heart. No one held back. We wanted to sing; we wanted to praise. We wanted to offer our very best to you, the One to whom we love, the One whom we adore, the One to whom we owe everything, the very breath we breathe for it is yours. We breathe the air of your existence, the air of your love, the air of of your joy and peace. There is no contentment without you. Our hearts are always unsettled unless we stand with you.

When the time came we listened to our brothers and sisters in faith answer yes to the historic questions. "Will you..." A resounding yes came from lips who tonight love you more than themselves. Then we watched among the tears forming in our eyes as one by one knelt at the altar, the bishop laying his hands on shoulders, "Take thou authority..." "AMEN!" We responded.

And we sang out our final song, as a way to renew our commitment to you, to follow, to lead, to say yes again. We could not have been more stirred; our spirits could not have soared higher; we were indeed in your presence, your lovely presence, giving thanks with our all.

Thank you,
Great and Wondrous Spirit,
Living God,
Holy of Holies,
for your stir,
your power
that calls out
to speak
to your people.
We hear you;
we hear you,
O Lord,
and we want
to follow,
and to love,
and to sing,
and to dance
and to lead
as you say.
We are yours
again;
we are yours.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Dearest God,

I walked into the auditorium to hear the voices of my three friends – Allen, Leslie and Rene. Singing their praises to you, I reflected back some years ago.

I stood in the hallway between the choir room and narthex. “What do you think about participating in a men’s retreat?” I asked Allen. “Sounds great, but we men are just too busy. Maybe we could get away for a couple hours. But a weekend, no way. Maybe some day.”

Leslie sat in her chair at Sisters of St. Joseph in Tipton. Attending her third, fourth or fifth retreat, I watched her face when suddenly her creativity kicked in, like something coming to life that had been crying to get out for a long time. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

Rene just showed up one day needing to talk to a pastor. He sat on my couch, asked me what I believed about this and that. Searching, your voice told me, this guy’s searching.

They’ve come a long way. A long way, a pilgrim journey filled with twists and turns, heartache and questions, wanderings and wonderings. But some way, somehow, mysteriously you brought these three together. Time now is something you own and they simply step inside it each day, praying, meditating, being silent, smiling and listening for your voice. And now they are singing your praises at the IU Auditorium for our Annual Conference.

This is their story, but really it’s your story. It’s your story because you were there at the beginning. You saw it all, you set into place the beginning of a story. Then you breathed upon the idea and it all began to unfold.

I am a bystander, a friend and pastor who from time to time lived my own story, preaching, counseling, teaching, leading, befriending and during that time our lives were entwined in a way only you know. But that is because we are all caught up in your story.

You breathed your spirit upon creation and suddenly we all existed. That breath is the air we now breathe and what we do with what you have given us is our gift back. Today Allen, Rene and Leslie will breathe out, sing their devotion to you for the wonderful gift you have given them. They know this is not just their thing. They know what they are doing is exactly what you have called them to do. They know they are standing in the middle of the miracle you created.

Wondrous, Life-Giving God,
we stand
in your presence
smiling in the spirit
because to be
in your presence
is to be
joyous and filled
with hope.
We know
your voice.
We have heard
its sound
so many times before.
Sweet,
so very sweet.
It’s filled
with grace,
grace so big
that even
the cosmos itself
cannot hold it.
You have called
and called again.
Sometimes
we answered
and sometimes
we didn’t.
But when
we answered
your call,
nothing was
any sweeter,
any more magical
and mystical.
This is why
we exist.
Sweet, so sweet.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Dearest God,

How far do we go in our deliberations about faith? Do we go the distance, sharing with each other what we really believe? Do we share unafraid that we believe in universal salvation or a life of faith even without Jesus if we need to? What if, I ask myself, what if there was revealing evidence that Jesus did not ascend into heaven or was not resurrected, would we give up an abiding relationship with God?

I choose to believe in God because I have witnessed the Presence of God. Have I seen Jesus in the flesh? No, I have not; but what I have observed with my own eyes is a presence so powerful, so loving, so tender as to cause me to believe that Jesus is indeed real and all that he claimed to be. Do I believe that God exists in a chaotic world? Do I believe God cares about the messes we make?

My last few years have taught me that a belief in the Almighty makes great sense to me. Do I follow blindly like Mother Teresa when she said yes to you, to create a new missionary society, to focus on the poorest of the poor? Have I followed that blindly? Or have I needed more evidence of your presence in order to say yes to my own call to follow?

On occasion I ask myself these questions because I want to be honed, refined, purified. I want to be tested so that my faith can precede me into the places of service and mission and heaven. I need to be willing to allow the God of my faith to constantly be remoulding me, allowing sin to be replaced with grace, love for hurt and anger, forgiveness for mistakes. I am in need of renewal and restoration every day.

I do not put myself in the hands of a figment of my imagination, but rather I fall backward, leaning toward the Divine, falling endlessly into the arms of a God not fashioned by me but trusted by one whose sins have been forgiven, whose life has been given meaning after all seemed loss, one who has experienced love when I have fallen short, one who has known true restoration, one who has discovered spiritual treasures, who has found her way when horribly lost, and has taken the hand that was offered when I lay on the ground broken and afraid. This is the God in which I believe, the one who has remade me again and again and again and again and...

Holiest of Holies,
Grand Designer,
Wise Teacher,
Great Comforter,
Potter of my Soul,
I bow down
next to your feet
made dirty
by many
on the road
of human life.
You have indeed
traveled
the pilgrim path
where many
of us lay.
And you have stopped
and picked us up.
You have quenched
our thirst,
shaken off
the darkened sin
and put us
back on our way.
No entitlement,
no sense
of deserving.
Just grace,
just grace
picked me up.
Just grace.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Dear God,

What is the real source of music? How does it get locked in the heart, a lock with no key? How does music rise up out of someone?

How I remember being at the farm, standing at Grandma's old upright piano, just singing away, any kind of song, mostly hymns, gospel songs, church music. Grandma had all kinds of songbooks, mainly hymnals from the church. I'm not really sure she could read music but she did know how to play chords. She mostly played by ear.

I have loved to sing since I was a little girl. Singing always makes me feel good even if it is a sad song. There's just something about opening my mouth to sing about you. Often I feel I am singing you a love song. And that alone makes me happy.

But where does it come from? Heaven? It can't just solely be a function of the body. Vocal chords, mouth, and mind. It has to be more. Because it draws so much from the human and divine spirit, it has to be more.

I've been watching my flock very closely on Sunday mornings. I'm seeing a strange phenomena. Spirits are coming alive as the music lifts toward heaven. They're movin' and swayin'. I can't make them do that. Our musician is releasing something within us. But I'm not completely sure he has the power either. He can play and play wonderfully well; however, can he really stir us up, releasing a joyous power within us? I still believe there is a divine power within the music that does much more than the music itself, no matter how beautifully it is played or sung.

What is the source of this music?

Let it flow,
Lord God,
let that music flow
out and in,
in and out.
Let it release something
within us.
Let it
get trapped
inside us.
Let it be
the song
of the spirit,
daily singing
and playing.
Let your song
be the song
we sing,
the song
of truth,
of revelation,
of hope
and strength,
of purpose
and joy.
Let the music
be the
song of God
and
let the song of God
be the only song
we sing.

Loving you, Andrea

Monday, June 2, 2008

Dearest God,

Today is my father's birthday. Daddy was a twin. My uncle will celebrate his birthday today. I will call him. I know what he'll say. "Hi Andy. How are you Sweetheart?" I know because that's what Daddy would have said, well, unless he had been more well. Then he would have said, "Andeet Skeet, happy birthday."

I looked up to Daddy. He was 6'4" tall. I loved walking in his size 13 shoes. I loved sitting on his foot when I was real small as he walked through the house. What a ride! I loved dancing with Daddy who could only do the box step. I loved playing spelling games with him. I loved hearing about his travels.

I remember the only time Dad ever disciplined me. As a child I said something I should not have said. I don't even remember what it was. But I do know he slapped my mouth. We both cried.

One of my most precious memories of my father was the time he visited me shortly after my diagnosis with cancer. As he sat in the rocking chair in the living room, in the first stage of Alzheimer's Disease, he told me that what I did during my cancer experience would be the legacy I would leave behind. I think he thought I was going to die.

My father was not perfect. He was flawed like me and the rest of us. But Daddy was an example of someone who saw beyond the confines of his environment to dream dreams. He grew up on an 80 acre farm in a tiny town but he accumulated maps so he could travel the world. His travels kept him away from his family for long periods of time but he was happy.

Today I miss him.

I miss my daddy,
Lord.
I miss his smile.
I miss talking
about tomatoes
because it's
planting time.
I miss
his welcome
when I came
to visit.
Dad had eyes
that smiled
when we kids
came back home.
I miss
his presence.
I miss
my daddy.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Dear God,

Something is happening at church. Something is happening. People we haven't seen for a while are returning. New people are coming. Brown faces are finding their way to us. They are an answer to our prayer.

The feel in church is changing dramatically. Joy is erupting in each pew. The very young and the old and everything in the middle are finding their way to you. I am watching it unfold. An answer to my own prayer.

It can't be stopped now. Too many happy, joyous, inspired people. Can't stop them. Wouldn't ever want to.

Something is happening at church.

Somethin's ahappenin'
in church;
the spirit's
asingin' its own song.
Bodies are amovin'
'cause somethin's ahappenin'
in church;
the spirit's
asingin' its own song.
The preacher's apreachin'
and the music man's aplayin'
'cause the spirit's asingin'
its own song.
The dance is acomin'
as the bodies
are amovin'
cause the spirit's asingin'
its own song.
Joy is arisin'
and the people
are asmilin'
'cause the spirit's asingin'
its own song.
Love is abubblin'
and the church is achangin'
'cause the spirit's asingin'
its own song,
'cause the spirit's asingin'
its own song.

Listening, Andrea

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Dearest God,

I entered the House of Blessing at 7:30 p.m. I had been gone, working on our Pleasant Street home. I had worked on our Timber Lane home before I left in preparation for the dedication of the retreat center. When I entered the door, I already had a sense that indeed this house, this home had already become the House of Blessing.

I rang the Corinthian bells at the front door, beautiful chimes that speak of a Corinthian love for humanity. And the bells were at my front entrance. I walked down the halls, looking into the bedrooms that would house pilgrims in a search for you in their lives. I thought how much you could use this sacred space for your purpose.

My husband walked the grounds, not in the least anxious about the white painted labyrinth in the back yard. He looked at the flowers and trees, told me how beautiful it was. Could he see what I could see? Could he hear the sound of heaven ringing at the entrance? Could he sense that this home was different? Could he know that you would work your purpose here? I don't know. I didn't ask him. Sometimes it is better to leave things unsaid, allowing the spirit to speak differently to different folks.

It all looks different to me. It is transforming itself, making its way toward your purpose. It is like a sacred anointing is falling gently upon this House of Blessing. What will happen here I have no idea. I have no preconceived notions about it. It is your work. I am simply a caretaker, of this House and of those who will be lead to enter, to tarry for two days, to work on their inner life, to commune with you through spiritual exercises, nature, prayer, meditation and above all silence. A spiritual caretaker, I like the sound of that. I am a spiritual caretaker, not a caregiver because a caretaker takes its orders from on high. A caregiver decides what to do next. I will simply hold the simple sacred truths that will come and together, you and I, will aid in a next step ministry of love, challenge and change.

I can feel the sacred power descending here. What it will bring I can't conceive. I am not even trying to imagine it because I want to be quiet, listening, waiting. I want you to lead and I want to follow as I assist as spiritual companion to those who want more, who want to meet you at the intersection of truth and revelation, who want to hear your voice, who want you to transform them. This House of Blessing is yours.

Who can maneuver
the glory
of the Lord?
Who?
Only you can
reveal your presence,
speaking in sounds
too deep
for the mind
and soul.
Yet, sounds
that prick the heart,
changing the rhythm
of life
are possible.
Fifty days,
the time between
Easter and Pentecost,
a waiting time
where the spirit
was swelling,
getting ready
to explode
in ways unimaginable;
it's 50 days
before the first pilgrims
will enter.
A blessing time,
a waiting time,
a beautiful time.
When you're ready,
Lord,
when you're ready.

Love, Andrea