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