Thursday, August 28, 2008

Dear God,

I lie on the floor, palms up, listening to the music play. Be Thou My Vision, Amazing Grace, It is Well with my Soul. Songs that inspire me, strengthening my inner core, preparing me for hard work. But it was the next song that caused me to weep. "Nearer, my God to thee, nearer to thee..."

I once wondered when it was that I had my earliest experience of you. I could remember a time when I was in elementary school. I could recall a time at my grandmother's house. Maybe five years old.

But when the song played, I remembered vividly a time when I sang it. I wanted to be the queen of Job's Daughters. I wanted to wear the crown and the purple robe when I was 14 or 15 or 16. But I didn't. Instead I was asked to be the soloist, the one who stood at the very bottom of the cross, the last one in line. While everyone else knelt, I stood to sing, "Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee..."

I didn't get to shine, to sparkle. Instead I sang the message. Nearer my God to thee. Although the queen conducted the meetings and all the focus was on her, I was honored and privilege to sing the message of our organization. I sang about God and our need to be close.

As I lay on the floor, tears sliding down both sides of my face, I realized that you've been priming the pump of faith for me for a very long time. You have observed my life, my mistakes, my wrong and right turns, the twists and up and downhill paths I have taken. You have heard my every word, the good ones and the not so good and you have seen my every action, every time I failed and each time I reached higher.

As I lay on the floor of my House of Blessing ready to do your work, I waited for you to open me wide, to fill me with your direction, your guidance. As the music played filling my heart with inspiration, I knew again that I am nothing without you. My ministry is nothing without you. My service is nothing without you.

Then I sat up, wiping away my tears, praying for your direction and I began to dance.

Oh God,
I dance
the dance
of hope,
the dance
of obedience,
the dance
of mercy
and grace.
I can only do
what I do
in service
when I'm being lead
by you
rather than
the other way around.
How grateful
I am
to be loved
by you,
to serve you.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Dear God,

I want to preach a sermon on Sunday entitled Lean on Me. I went to bed last night when it came to me. Lean on me. Lean on me.

Suddenly the country song started twirling around in my head. “Lean on me when you’re not strong and I’ll be your friend and help you carry on.” The words repeated over and over.

Lean on me. How much do I realize I need to lean on you? I think of all the other things in the world to lean on. Money, success, dreams, drugs, anything shiny. How often have I leaned on something else or someone else? How many times did I grab for substitutes? How often was my own healing delayed because I grabbed for the cheap plastic model? And then later as I did take your extended hand, how I was able for the first time to read the label on the plastic god revealing its truth? I had to fall at your feet in pain because I had turned away, rejecting your offer, your help. I had not been willing to lean on you. I saw in my own mind’s eye the list of times.

But you were always generous. You always received me back. Mercy stood beside you, grace at your other side. I wept bitterly knowing I did not deserve your hospitality or any other gifts. But you offered them to me on a golden platter, reminding me I was one of your children. I see those times too.

Today I am giving back, offering that same gift to others.

I feel
your frame
next to me,
evidence
of your presence.
I know
your compassion,
the Divine
looking upon
my heap
of flesh.
You restore
my dignity;
you renew
my soul.
You return
my hope
and my love.
You restart
my heart,
shaping it
to beat
in a divine rhythm.
And I sing
the song
of joy
once again.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Dearest God,

There are some days in ministry when I must attune myself closely to your heavenly guidance. I cannot dare to trust in my own resources alone; I must tune in to your channel. I have to trust more.

I never know when I will be called upon to guide others, to help others lift the veil, to seek the truth. My gifts and talents will never be enough; only as I trust you to lead me will I have all I need to serve others by serving you.

This is a day when I need to trust you utterly, when I need to catch the wind of the spirit and settle in, remembering that this holy wind will blow upon me, giving me strength and the spirit of discernment. Discerning your will and your way will enable me to gently guide others to your side.

On the day I whispered yes to you, to serve you, to follow you, I took a vow of trust, to trust you, to trust myself as I trust you and to trust myself to help others trust me in their time of difficulty. Each time I encounter a wounded sufferer, I return to my vow of trust and lay down my own resources for your blessing, for the kiss of your spirit at work. How humble I become as I acknowledge my own littleness and your greatness. I pick up my resources giving thanks and return to work.

You are pure greatness,
God of love
and power.
Your teaching
brings me
new assurance
and confidence
in the gifts
you have given me.
I stand
and wait
upon you
while I watch you
at work.
In some mystical way
I am part
of you
and I am renewed
in your service.

Loving you always, Andrea

Monday, August 25, 2008

Dearest God,

How high can we climb in the Spirit? Do we ascend spiritual mountains that reach above the clouds? And what happens to our own spirit?

In my wildest imagination I could never imagine climbing as high as I have climbed. I could not have conceived the view from spiritual mountains, nor could I have reasoned what the world in the valley would look like from the heights. Psychologically and emotionally I could not have dreamed that I could become so wide open. What can happen then?

It seems that the heart stretches, the soul may reach beyond the line of safety, and one can enter a period of vulnerability. During that time it appears one must remain in the company of the trusted or otherwise fall into darkness until the light can be seen once again.

Something happens inside one’s own self during the spiritual venture. Somehow, some way on the climb, we can lose our rootedness in you. Our desire to climb higher and higher overrides the warnings you provide. Our roots dangle with no soil in which to cling. We have no way of reaching living water and we begin to wither. We fail to stop and remember that we must have spiritual nourishment in order to continue our climb. If our arrogant soul fails to be obedient, to pause, to regain its strength, settle for a while, replenishing our spiritual supplies, no telling what can befall us. When we rise to become our own god, without needing you, we are in danger. The fall will be long and hard.

Lying half dead in the spiritual desert all we can do is pray, reach out to you, and crawl around in search of water that will restore us. Only in those moments when we wait upon you, learn our life lesson, and allow you to restore and renew us can we reflect upon your goodness to us, count our many blessings, and revalue our walk with you, our relationship first and foremost important, the walk second. Revaluing your precious gift can allow us to begin the climb once more, a more humble, sensitive servant, taking direction from the Almighty.

Desert moments can lead us to greater insight. We aren’t cluttered with all the world’s goods. In fact we are stripped down to the bare necessities so we have time, place and energy to really see what is happening. We realize our own sin and fall into grief, mourning our lack of trust in you, our desire to be God, and our disrespect of the One who has given us life.

When we take the reigns of our own life, moving you aside, store away our blessings, and refuse to know the truth of our self, we strut around like we are something more than we are, actually a plastic model of a false god.

In shame
we lie down
in our own sin.
We retch,
acknowledging
our own unwillingness
to follow you.
Some way,
somewhere
we let go
of you,
of faith,
of trust,
of humility.
O God,
forgive the little one
who has fallen,
whose lifeless form
lay at your feet.
Weep with us,
let your tears
fall upon us
washing us clean.
Give us
once again
the ability
to love you more
than the rest,
to listen,
to follow,
to experience
the joy
only you
can give.

In gratitude, Andrea

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Dear God,

What a beautiful day you gave me with grandchildren…three for a weekend stay. This morning we began our day in the contemplative garden. I picked a few weeds as they searched for the “shiny” polished rocks that I purchase when I go away and spread among the river stones. When I talked with them about the stones representing prayers, they spread them at St. Francis’ feet.

O God, how I want to equip these young children with the knowledge of you. How I want them to develop a faith that will root them in your love, give them tools of courage and hope. How I want them to integrate the experiences of you in such a way that they will be equipped to deal with the troubled waters that will befall them along life's way. I want them to know your love, feel the tentacles of that divine love holding them in every situation that develops. I want them to be models of faith to others around them. They are such beautiful children and how wonderful to make their own contribution to peace and harmony and hope in the world.

As we sat in church together, we were three generations strong, my grandchildren, my daughter and me. And today I remember how I sat with my own grandmother, a wonderful example of faith. I think of how faith is passed on and the loveliness of knowing you together.

Bless us,
O Lord,
that we may be
a blessing
for others.
Reveal to us
the models
of faith
around us.
Show us
the way;
point us
down the path
that will always
lead to you.
Let love
lead the way.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Dear God,

We hid behind each other to surprise my granddaughter when she stepped off the bus. Imagine hiding behind a three year old, a two year old, and an eight year old. When she walked out of the bus and onto the pavement, a smile spread wide across her face. She ran right over and threw her arms around my hips. I’d been missing for a month on vacation.

I looked into the eyes of my granddaughter and realized once again how blessed I am. This seven year old grandchild is growing up, finding her way, learning about life and she is including me in her adventure.

She has asked me questions about you. She doesn’t go to church but really enjoys it when she does go. She wants to know about important matters.

This child’s quest for faith challenges me to walk a little closer with you. The purity of her questions inspires me to be real about my walk of faith. In the course of her questions, I refine my own.

You have given me yet another sign of your love through this child. As I gaze into her eyes, I see the beginnings of faith and I want to cultivate that faith with you. I want to be a witness to her life. I want to be honest about my own questions and reveal my own experiences of wonder and amazement. The spiritual world that you have shown me is one I want to share with my grandchild. Yet, another blessing.

You are full
of love,
dear God.
You reveal yourself
in so many ways.
I see eyes
of love
when I gaze
into the eyes
of my grandchild.
The hug
in front
of her little friends
is so like you,
offering love
in the midst
of others.
Thank you
for the gift,
O God;
thank you
for the gift.

Love, Andrea

Friday, August 22, 2008

Dear God,

Everything was thicket. Couldn’t step in or walk through. Always stopped at the edge of the woods. What was in there? I wondered.

Little by little we’re making a clearing. And what we’ve found has amazed me. So much dead stuff and discarded debris, glass, rusted barrel, concrete, hoses, paper and more. Landscape specialists have probed their way through and have started cutting down dead trees, removing unwanted trash, burning limbs and branches, setting aside the good wood for neighbors to use this winter. Not only can we see our way through, we can actually walk in carefully, looking out for the stumps or tree roots. We can make our way to the water.

How often have I stood at a thicket too massive to walk through? How many times has my life become so complicated that I was paralyzed, made immobile, such that I couldn’t move?

Only when I turn slightly and call out your name am I enabled to see a way, a path, a spot in the thicket that gives me hope. Only when I trust you to show me the way am I freed to take the next step and the next and the next, discovering and learning how to let go of the debris I’ve collected in my own life. Resentment, fear, bitterness, hopelessness. Each of these steps takes me to the water that will nourish my soul, every parched crack drinking in life-giving water.

I know that you are the answer to every dilemma, every condition and situation. A renewed and deepened trust in you will lead me all the way.

God, Most Holy,
ever caring
and full of grace,
I always
wind up
at your feet;
I don’t have
to move
any further.
You are
all I need.
Plant me
beside you
so that
I will always
remain near.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Dearest God,

I saw the early morning sun beginning to rise, lending its rays to the branches of my neighbor's tree. Casting shadows across the street, I thought of how I can count on the light to shine, but also the darkness to fall.

I'm learning more and more to trust both the light and the darkness. Your activity goes on during both. The spiritual life is lived in both. It is when the sun has gone down and the darkness has begun to take its rightful place that trust has to kick in for me. It is when the darkness comes that I know I can fall into temptation and fail to see the light that always shines.

Temptation can be in the form of fear. When I allow myself to fall into fear, I know I am not trusting as I need to. When I am afraid, my mind gets jumbled and I think about all the things that can come along. When I'm focusing on fear's power, I'm missing the spirit's power.

Only you, O God, can maneuver me into the darkness' light. Only you can show me the way. Only you can alter my fear and upright me in your spirit. My joy returns when I trust in you.

You are
my light
and my darkness,
dearest God.
In you
I catch
a glimpse
of who
I am,
who I need
to be.
You light up
my goodness
so I can see,
but you also
show me
my stains,
the soiled places
in my life.
By your grace
and power
I know
that the stains
can be washed away,
cleansed and purified.
How many times,
have you changed me,
Lord, and made me
white as snow.
Make me
in your image,
clean and spotless,
a reflection
of your light.
My joy
comes from you.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Dear God,

Pruning! My husband and I got into this big discussion about pruning...raspberry bushes. He just wants to cut back a few inches. Our vines are more than 5 feet high. We talked and talked. I got on the internet and took the proof out to him that pruning is a must. Why? Makes for better berries, less disease. It gives the plants air and sunshine that they need. When we went for dinner at the neighbor's, her husband felt the same way.

Pruning is a difficult task. Because these vines have not been pruned in decades, they are completely out of control. No telling what we will find under them. It's hard trying to cut the old branches at ground level and the new a little higher. They are so intertwined.

Soul pruning is an even greater task. I'm forever in need of pruning. When I lose my way, I need a good cut. I need certain things in my life cut back. Without pruning I will eventually live my own life, won't take into account what you know is best for me. I won't listen; I'll forge ahead with smug arrogance. The branches in my life needing growth will be bogged down in extraneous other things. I'll be stunted in some areas. In time I'll lose my rootage, my source of living water and my Godshine.

As I look up into the Maine sky I see a magnificent blue sky with puffy white clouds but I know the sky can change bringing gray rain or storm clouds. It's the way life is. Anything can change at any time. When an event or experience comes my way, I have a decision to make. I can listen for your word and see the experience as one indicating that I need a little pruning. Painful, yes, but positive. It will make for a healthier me. My spirit will be in a better place. My habits will change. My spiritual health will be better, a good indicator that the rest of me is in good shape. When I practice spiritual obedience, I have a better chance of growing under the Master's cutting tool.

In the beginning
my soul
was yours.
You decided
when, how, where and why
to cultivate me.
You always
knew best,
still do.
Sometimes
I resist
the cutting process;
I always fail.
Eventually
I wound back
in your hands.
The cut
goes deeper,
hurts more.
But you,
O God
still know
the spiritual time
for all things.
My life
is yours,
all of me.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Dearest God,

A heavy heart. I'm carrying a heavy heart. How large does the heart swell when it is troubled? What becomes of it as the burden grows heavier?

I felt a heaviness come over me. I felt it grow as I went about my day. It rose until it met my my soul and mind. I prayed, asking for help and guidance. Where else does it come from?

A growing spirit and faith, renewal of one's own being, giant leaps of faith are dangerous, a very slippery ground. Traveling to great spiritual heights for a long period of time can lead one to shadowy, dark places in the soul. Remaining rooted in the spiritual disciplines, focusing on the soul's strength and realizing that temptation can catch us off guard at any moment, is vital to a true renewal of the soul.

How many times have I traveled to great heights only to fall off the precipice of trouble? How many times have I embraced the joy of faith only to forget that joy is always linked to obedience? When I come to believe that joy is my earned status in life and all seems to be going wonderfully well, I leave myself wide open for a fall, a really big one. And when the tumble begins, I can roll a long way down before I am able to begin the obedient work of listening to the spirit's voice speaking to me of deeper truths of who I am and what I am about.

How many times have I forfeited truly great opportunities of service because I was caught up in my own grand experience of life? How many times have I failed, because I believed more in me and the desires of my own mind and heart than I believed in you? When I followed my own heart's desire and forgot you or at least minimized your presence and will, I always found myself in trouble. And regret was deep and long. The fact that I failed myself and others was one thing, but to fail you who had blessed my life well beyond anything I could ever have imagined was nearly too much to carry. My body, mind, soul and spirit got weighted down in self judgement, guilt, and deep loneliness. I waded in my own tears for a long time.

As I remember those times today, my heart is heavy. I know the temptation, the fall and the long climb back up. I lived raw for a long time, barely able to hold my head up, knowing you were looking straight at me, knowing full well my sin.

Long periods in the light can often lead to long periods in the darkness because I failed to remember the darkness is necessary to teach me when I forget who I am. I remember living in darkness is the time when I fell once again, not into the abyss but into your arms. Only when I give you my full attention do I rise once again, however slowly it takes me to learn the lesson of humility and faith.

I have a heavy heart today.

The stains
of sin
I carry
with me
until I realize
once again,
I'm not living
my life
on earth,
but yours.
As long
as I live
my life
in the style
to which
I have
become accustomed,
I will remain
in the shadows.
The light
will not shine
upon me.
I will rise
only as
I gain
a foothold
on the spirit's life
in me.
Forgive me
when I forget
who I am,
when I live
in my own joy,
rather than
in yours,
when I fail
to love you
more than
my own will.
Teach me,
Lord,
once again,
teach me
your way.

Love, Andrea

Monday, August 18, 2008

Dearest God,

A Sabbath rest, a day of allowing my body to be still, to renew, recoup, and be strengthened. I've always been intrigued by a Sabbath rest; today I took one following a magnificent day of worship.

Your story has been told of creation designed and made in seven days. Not that I believe seven 24 hour days did it, but maybe it did. And then you rested. Refocusing after doing a significant work is a model to reflect faith, its work, its mission and its renewal.

Only when I listen to my body, listen to my spirit's voice telling me to rest do I renew and revitalize my whole being. This day of rest gave my body, mind and soul the time to breathe in, to permit my cells to deepen their root source.

I think of a tree, how its leaves pop out in the spring, how full the trees are all summer and then how beautiful their leaves are in the Autumn. This cycle is a miraculous act of creation. It's always renewing to watch the process, but it is in the winter when the tree takes its rest and deepens its roots, giving it the source of strength it needs for the cycle to begin again.

That's how it is for the spiritual life. Rest is always part of the cycle, the process of renewing itself. My day of rest renewed me and I sensed you were with me.

Oh, to listen, to follow, to be obedient, to do what you want will always allow my body, mind and soul to care for itself, allowing many more opportunities to stretch and grow, to gain new perspective, to achieve new goals, to trust more.

May my life
be a reflection
of your spirit.
May I
take my daily instructions
from you.
May I listen,
truly listen
always knowing
your word,
your will,
your way
is best.
May I reach out
to you
every moment
of every day,
trusting you
for that very day.
Not my will
but yours
may I always pray.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Dear God,

A day with you. A day to worship and praise and adore you. A day to sing with my whole voice. A day to see you. A day to love and smile and hug and see you living among your people.

Two worship services. Two churches, Episcopal and United Methodist. Two towns, Kennebunkport and Cape Porpoise. Two messages. Two prayers. Two hymn sings. Two doses of sacred love and faith.

One worship at the edge of the ocean, watching the sea gulls in flight, boats gliding slowly upon the serene water. Holy Communion offered, the holy elements placed on a simple, beautiful marble altar, the silver etched cup and plate, the bread and wine, the people standing with hands out held, receiving the bread placed in our hand, drinking from the cup, then stepping around and back into our seats, then just watching hungry people come, children being blessed by the priest. Singing Let There Be Peace...and let it begin with me.

Then driving up the coast to the tiny town of Cape Porpoise, hearing the choir rehearse yards away. Melodious sounds rising up to meet you. The welcome of greeters, literally happy people, glad to see every person walking through the entry way. Then singing twenty minutes before the service even begins, favorite hymns, one after the other. Ending with Joy to the World. What a beautiful array of smiling people, greeting one another, happy to be in church with the Body of Christ.

My, oh my, how I experienced you this morning. How beautiful was my heart toward you. How I felt your warm presence. How I loved sharing the experience with retreatants, friends in your spirit.

Two Sundays in a row I have worshipped with you in two different communities of faith. One whose service as a summer chapel will end in September, the other that will continue all year long. Once again I saw the extra seat in the choir loft, mine, I figured late next summer. What joy filled my heart as I considered inwardly my relationship to you. What grace to offer my voice of praise, of thanksgiving before the service and during it, to give you my whole heart once again.

Gratitude,
a heart full
of gratitude,
I place
at your feet.
Thanksgiving,
a heart
so grateful
to be alive,
to make known
my devotion.
How alive
is your church,
a people,
the hands and heart,
the voice,
the feet,
the Body of Christ,
in our midst.
Happy people,
made happy
by the Master.
Singing,
praying,
loving,
smiling,
hugging,
offering peace,
listening,
hoping,
giving,
filling up
the empty spaces,
with you,
with you,
with you.

A grateful heart, Andrea

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Dear God,

My fear was made visible in the sand. What was not suddenly became what is.

A spiritual exercise at the beach lead us to draw a picture of our fear. I saw it in my head and I began to dig until the sand was moist, nearly wet. Inches from me I picked up discarded items and natural objects washed and weathered by the sun and water. I threw the objects at will into my drawing. The precipice, the fall and the pit. At the slightest tremor of wind, tiny grains of sand fell downward just like me when fear strikes. I sat watching the shift of sand in the breeze, felt the rush that comes to me when fear attacks my own soul.

But then an image of peace came. With my finger I drew a large whirlwind and in the middle I placed a piece of bark curled by the weather, my boat in the center. A weathered piece of wood, the shape of a heart, I placed in my boat. And there we were, you and I, together in the storm, in the center where peace and calm resides. I sighed a breath of relief, knowing it was true that you and I ride in the boat. We weather the storm together. You and I. I am not alone. I felt joy in my own center.

Although I could see that I would have to make my way in some direction out of the whirlwind, I knew that our boat would hold because you can even quiet the storm, if it be your will. But if not, I could see that we were in it together. We would make our way as one.

As I scanned the fear, my own chaos, and the peace, I realized your power. You provided the images, the boat, and a wondrous symbol of your own self. You showed me the way out of my fear and into the boat that only you can offer. I felt such sweet peace, hope, and joy filled me as I shared it with my friends in Christ.

Hope of My Life,
you are
the strength
by which
I breathe,
and get up
in the mornings.
You display
your love
even before
the sun rises.
You whisper
words of hope
and encouragement
of love
and grace.
You urge me
to give
my best
to the world
to sing
one song
of love
for the creation.
You sing me
the song
of joy
and you
fill me
with gratitude.

And I am yours, Andrea

Friday, August 15, 2008

Dearest God,

Learning to flow like a river is a case in trust. Trying to swim upstream or fighting the current is a challenge, one that can lead to one's own demise.

This retreat I am leading has been one where together we've been flowing like a river. Flexibility, being able to adapt in every situation has lead us to learn from one another. I had more fun and found more meaning creating this retreat than any I have written for our east coast gathering. The questions for reflection were deeper and came from your wonderful resource.

On Wednesday evening we sat at a picnic table eating our hand-packed dinner and listening to music from the heart. The band played jazz, country, rock and roll and other kinds of music. Our conversation lead us to talk about memories of the past. And there was joy.

As we left the mini park located in the heart of town next to the Mousam River, we walked and talked. Enjoying an ice cream cone at the corner, we shared our lives with one another. We revealed more about ourselves and found that bonding grows relationships.

As we sat in the front room warmed by the small, old lamp covered with a wine-colored shade on my antique desk, there was a deep sense that you were in the room. We felt your presence and realized that there is sometimes a mystical feel to this home on Pleasant Street. We talk more freely when we know you are here.

We have learned to trust each other more and are even learning how to trust ourselves better. And because we know you are present we are more open to take hold of your outstretched hand, leaning in to you, then sharing our lives with one another.

We know that what happens to us is your miraculous work. We know that the joy we feel comes from you. We know that our ability to open our lives more to our own self, to you and others causes us to grow. We know that the spiritual path can lead us to places we could hardly conceive on our own. We know your strength and power and call it faith.

You are
our breath
of fresh air.
The breeze
of your spirit
blows upon us
and we experience
the winds of change.
You refresh
our stale spirits
and show us
higher levels
of joy and peace.
Blow as you will,
Fresh Spirit of God,
create in us
a new spirit
willing to flow,
to soar
to you.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Dear God,

Someone asked me in earnest how to face fear in a medical crisis. I returned to the mountain where you activated a plan to help me. As I told her step by step what I did, I heard my own words aloud and I decided to put them on "paper" before you as a way of expressing my gratitude and remembering the next time a medical emergency or a potential one comes along.

First, I know I have a choice. I can live in fear, thus exacerbating the situation or I can reach for peace. Second, with your grace I can immediately put the plan into effect helping myself.

I spiritual cocoon. I draw a circle of trust, a very small circle of trust and I climb inside. Everyone and everything else is on the outside. I begin to breathe in a pattern of regular breaths, thereby focusing on my breathing, bringing some calm to my soul. I breathe in light, pushing darkness aside. I open my mind to you, my trusting friend, and I sit at your feet. I listen for your voice.

Inside my well protected cocoon, I hear your voice speaking or singing or whispering to me. Cradled in your arms I hear and am comforted. Often it is a phrase of a song or words, like the time you sang to me a verse from His Eye is on the Sparrow and you kept whispering to me, "You are my little sparrow. You are my little sparrow." The image of being a sparrow in your hands protected from danger brings such a release from fear. I begin giving more and more of myself to you. Nothing is more important at that moment. As I live in the crisis waiting for it to pass or am on the way for help (driven by others), I am enabled to completely and utterly give myself to you by saying and really meaning, "I am yours, Lord, I am yours. Do with me what you will." Inside my cocoon, I am warm, comfortable, secure. I feel loved, cared for, protected.

Sometimes I join in the singing. I sing with you the phrase or verse you give me. I repeat your words over and over until the words become part of me. Inside the cocoon you and I and the song are one. We are part and parcel of one another.

As I shared my own story of how I live in the middle of a crisis, I realized the image of a cocoon is one where transformation takes place. A caterpillar becomes a butterfly. A helpless, fearful human creature becomes trusting, courageous, filled with faith. And I am very aware, very aware that the ability to cocoon, to trust, to faith as a verb comes from you. Otherwise, I would be left to my own devices which would only leave me in a more perilous situation.

As I come out of the crisis and I realize some day I may not, I am left with gratitude as I fly from my cocoon. I offer my praises all day long because I have felt not only your breath and hand and voice, I have discovered more strength in myself. I offer you my devotion out of that strength and know that my only choice is to turn to you...again and again and again and...

God,
most holy,
most wonderful
and gracious,
I am partof you.
I do not exist
as a separate creature.
I am partof you.
You have made me
this way
as you have
every other creature
on the planet.
You took
a partof yourself
and youcreated me.
In times
of difficulty
I return
your portion
to you
in trust
and you strengthen me.
You give me
a double portion
and you allow me
to become one
with you.
Help me,
O Lord,
to always
turn to you.
To live
every day
in your love
and light.
To faith
and trust
and remember
and release myself
to you.
You will always
have my heart.
It is yours.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Dear God,

Last night in the grocery store parking lot, I felt a gentle kiss on my cheek. I looked up and saw a beautiful display of creation smiling down on me. The way the sun, the sky, the rain and clouds had come together to offer the world yet another scene of beauty made me smile too.

Daily random moments where creation reveals its secrets, where the mysteries of the universe are unlocked tell me how wonderful you are. They make me think, reflect, contemplate on the meaning and beauty of human life in the light of a divine spirit. My faith swells, my trust is renewed, my devotion is revealed. I sigh, breathing in the air that gives me life and I whisper my own joy of knowing you.

As the sun peeks through my window on my left, making its rays move through the branches and limbs of the tree in my front lawn I am awestruck by the majesty of it all. I feel the cool air and I think of retreatants on their way here, ready to retreat once again in a search for faith and wonderment.

Divine Wonder,
how I celebrate
precious moments
with you.
Whether gray clouds
or brilliant sunshine,
I find myself
at your door step.
Your creation
reveals your hidden glory
and I light up
knowing
you are present.
Life with you
is my greatest joy
and I awe
in the fact
that even I have
a place
with you.

In thanksgiving, Andrea

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Dear God,

Inside our relationship, dear God, I find unknown words, phrases, that lead to new channels of your spirit. In writing my retreat, I discover new ways to ask questions from the inside out, from the side or underneath. Fresh ways that can lead to new discoveries.

How fresh it feels to find those questions lurking inside myself. Hidden tunnels that lead to you.

I remember being in the Middle East, in the Holy Land, and being lead downward into the ground where tunnels had been dug during times of persecution. Underground pathways leading to worship, study, faith.

Pilgrim roads always lead to you. There may be obstacles, danger spots and dark shadows but somehow a true pilgrim will keep on going to find you at the end of the road.

As I finish the retreat, I am amazed at the journey I've taken even as I write. The winding, twisting, turning walk that leads even me, the writer, home.

How wondrous
is the journey
toward you,
God-yet-to-be-Found.
Taking the path
that leads
to you
is the greatest path
on earth.
A thirst
for you,
a hunger
for you,
is all I want,
is all I need,
is yours
to reveal.
Standing on the edge,
awaiting your presence,
I anticipate
your coming.

Love, Andrea

Monday, August 11, 2008

Dearest God,

Someone said today that the whole town is depressed because we've had so much rain. Gray clouds, rolling thunder and rain sweeping down the street can cause the mind and heart and even the body to succumb to the same darkness outside.

It may be true but I'm finding the sweet spirit of your love in the dark and somewhat dreary days. I'm realizing more and more that real joy in the spirit is of much greater value on gray days because instead of showing myself to the sunshine, I am giving myself to the sun creator. I am trusting more, giving more of myself to you. I don't need the sunshine; I need the One who makes the sun shine.

These last days and weeks have been a challenge. Although I've been in places that I love, my health has at times not wanted to hold. I have had to rest more and more. I have had to give in to accepting the help only you can give. I've had to take a good look at my limitations and accept the ever-growing need to care more and more for myself. Perhaps the rest will enable me to be infused with more spiritual energy that I can return to my work of ministry with greater compassion and love.

I'm learning more and more what it means to trust, to understand the great value of faith, and to lean on the Lord of All There Is. Sometimes I can be vibrant with energy; other times I am depleted. What makes life meaningful is the grace I find in between. No day is a bust. Every day is a day of opportunity, a chance, a hope for something more, not to accumulate but to savor, to taste, see, smell and touch. How glorious is that to know the Lord of Life is watching over me, holding my hand, giving me the ability to lift my hand in praise.

I am trusting
more and more,
in you, Lord,
in you.
My days
are bright
with hope,
in you, Lord,
in you.
When I'm tempted
to give up,
my faith
turns on
and my trust
turns in,
to you, Lord,
to you.
A river
of joy
flows through
my soul
when I trust
in you, Lord,
in you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Dearest God,

A cacophony of eternal sound rushing toward the heavens...that's what it was like in church this morning. We had already attended one service at the ocean's edge. But we'd been invited to join a couple we just met at a roast beef dinner. And so we drove the winding road down to the cape.

The church was already buzzing with sound, the sounds of happy people glad to be together. Smiling, they greeted us and everyone else around them. And nearly half an hour before the service began, they were already singing favorite songs. Shouting out numbers, we turned in our songbooks. Lifting our voices, we didn't just sing; we sang with robust praise. Primarily made up of older citizens, I've never heard people sing so loud and joyfully. No deadheads there, no inhibitions, just offering the best they had to the God they love.

And me...well, some of the songs took me to places I never dreamed I'd go. People I lost some time ago appeared in my mind. I connected with them and the church grew bigger. I felt such joy as I had to move down in the pew to make space for someone else. We were packed out.

And the choir made up of older members, they were abright with smiling joy. I could see myself sitting there next summer, adding my voice to theirs. I can sing like that, lifting my praise with joy and thanksgiving. How great could that be?

I want to find my place with you. I've never had the time, nor the energy left at the end of the week to participate in choir rehearsals. Yet, whenever the choir sings, I always sing or hum as much as I know. I want to lift my voice, my praise, my love and devotion to you. I want to add my voice to the angelic choir of hearty singers.

By the time the service had ended, I was so full. So full of you, your compassion, your word, your strength, your joy. I had taken in even though I had given out. And there was still room for more!

Full of you,
O Lord,
I'm full
of you.
Your joy
fills me up
and spills over.
I'm full
of you.
Sing in me
a new song
of joy.
Sing in me
a song
of compassionate mercy.
Sing in me
so I can sing
in others.
Release your love
in my singing
so I can sing
a song of love
to others.
I'm full
of you,
Lord,
full of you.
Empty me out
so I can
fill back up,
a song
of love
for you.

Love always, Andrea

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Dearest God,

"One world. One dream." The picture of a world in total harmony was made flesh in Beijing last night. I could not believe what I was watching. What lived in one person's imagination is now a real picture for the 4 billion people purported to be watching the opening of the Olympics.

I was stunned to see the pictures of the world's children, so beautiful, so colorful, so diverse, so naturally wonderful. Smiling, each one smiling, in harmony with one another. Oh, that the world could stop on its axis, making us one true community living in love and harmony.

Some days, O God, it is hard to imagine that even one family can live in harmony with one another or a street, or a business, or one community of people. So to image a whole world living in harmony is inconceivable. But last night when I viewed the picture of what harmony looked like, my tears flowed. One moment I could not stop crying; I was so in awe.

Such pictures and images keep in the forefront of my mind the opportunity for people to come together, to live in peace and hope together. I know this is your desire. I know you have made us for each other. You have shown us that we cannot exist without one another's gifts and talents. One person's skills keep another person alive. We exist for one another. We are meant for human and spiritual community.

I couldn't help praying for such a vision. For doesn't community begin with a vision of what we can become? And aren't we one step closer when we accept the vision?

Steps,
one, two, three.
Steps
to make us
one.
You,
O God,
the Great Communicator,
paint the picture
of hope.
With artistic persuasion
you make
our hearts tremble
with faith.
You stir
our spirits,
causing us
to lean
your way.
Create
in us
the great desire
and the determination
to reach,
reach far
to our neighbor.
Make us one,
step by step.

Love, Andrea

Friday, August 8, 2008

Dear God,

Today is Mary's birthday, the mother of God. Your own blessed mother. The one who said yes when the angel asked her to carry you for the world. "Let it be to me as you have said." The scriptures report she said.

My Carmelite sisters will celebrate her birthday today. And probably for a moment they will think of me as they took great delight in my coming to love her across several years. A renewal of one life captured by this great woman gives them much joy.

I don't know how this day was determined. It doesn't really matter. It is a remembering one soul, one person who made a life-transforming decision to touch the world. And so she carried you, first just a seed of faith, then full blown.

Thinking of Mary makes me think of the Carmelites, the sisters who've moved to their retirement place aside the Franciscan sisters. I think of their daily prayers. Teresa prays very early in the morning by sitting in silence, listening. Others will verbalize their prayers by thinking of world events, people, even the Olympics participants. They will offer the intentions of those they know and don't know. They will utter their joy-filled meditations for Mary.

More than anything they will give thanks to you for her generous spirit, for her great love for an earth needing redemption. Universally and personally they will feel her spirit, take hold, offer thanksgiving and pray for our cleansing.

Today is Mary's birthday, a day of hope.

Mary, your mother,
I pray
for your mother,
dear sweet God.
How beautiful
her spirit,
how generous
her willingness
to serve you
and the greater good.
What great sacrifice
she made,
to be changed
and to allow
the world
to be changed
by you.
What greater gift
is there
than one
who gives life
to so many others.
What words
can I offer,
what song
can I sing
for this lady
of grace?
Weave my heart
with her
and my sisters
so we can celebrate
her birth,
of life
and the spirit.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Dearest God,

I wonder what it will take to scrub the earth clean. I can't get my mind around the kind of violence going on in the world. Seems to me people are finding even worse ways to kill others, some for a cause and others for none whatsoever.

As I bent down on all fours to scrub the kitchen floor that hadn't been cleaned for months, I literally had to scrub and scrub paint I had dropped on one of my painting sprees, scuff marks, spills given permission to accumulate more crud on top, as well as pick paint with my now all ten broken fingernails. I couldn't help think of how much work it takes to clean a dirty floor.

Later when listening to yet another murder somewhere in the world I wondered what it would take to clean the earth of all its sin and monstrosity. When I talked with my daughter, she told me she had made an intentional decision not to listen to the news anymore. She is too shaken by its contents.

And now I think of my grandchildren who will have to go through years listening to the world's tragedies. How will it ever get cleaned up, Lord? How will it ever get itself clean again?

Like cleaning my floor which is now mostly sparkling, I have to work hard to make it that way. But on the other hand now that it is clean, it will be easier to keep clean. Does the earth work that way? Wherever it is clean, is it truly easier to keep it that way? Because if it's not, how will it ever work to change itself?

Wash away
my own sin,
Lord,
cleanse me
from within.
Teach me
the ways
of purity.
Release me
from my own darkness.
Shine your light
on me.
Reveal to me
every hidden sin
so that
you can
wash me clean.
Help me clean
the earth
around me.
For you,
dear God,
for you.
Make me
stand clean
before you.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Dearest God,

You have taken me on a trail back to the past. Like riding in a trolley car being shown the sights, I am visiting events of my own history. I have written memories, lifted out of my soul. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Epiphany, Winter Solstice, Special Events that I am compiling in a book. Fifty some odd memories.

Today I sat at my new kidney-shaped desk from the 1930's, I think, and edited my stories. In the twilight of Maine, seated at my bay window which gives me a view of the old paver sidewalks and the restored homes of the early 1800's, I thought back with you. The characters in my life were living again. Parents, grandparents, extended family were animated, sharing their life experiences one more time.

Breathing in memories of the past warmed my soul. They got me back in touch with a part of myself carved out in a specific time in history. I remembered my loved ones offering me wisdom, challenge and admonishment about my own history-making ability. With decades of history to be shaped at the time, I now look back to see where I carried their priceless gems forward and how and where I veered, making my own path.

Wrapped in the warmth of family love, I gently edited each story. I realized the gifts I've been given across the years.

God of the past,
thank you
for the gentle walk
through my life.
For the memories
and a time
to reflect,
smile,
and enjoy,
I am thankful.
God of the present,
thank you
for present moments
of presence,
of love
and joy.
Thank you
for what
I am able
to see
right now,
right where
I am.
God of the future,
please be patient
with me
as I lag behind
at times,
not always engaged.
Pull me
to yourself,
cause me
to walk
with grace,
in peace
and harmony
with the world.
Keep your light
ever burning
so I will forever
walk toward you.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Dear God,

I am learning the value of resting. For many years my body was high energy, ready to go, on the move, and pushing forward. I have always been able to do many things every day. Yes, I confess I was ready to drop at day's end. But then I met you on renewal. You taught me a better way.

You have shown me that my body is not a machine, geared for work every day. It is a delicate, fragile creation with untold possibilities. I can use it however I choose. So for decades I chose to work it hard, long, way beyond its limits at times. And for the most part, it held up.

During my clergy renewal, you showed me how my body can fill up with grace. How it can be used as a spiritual vessel capable of holding wondrous amounts of peace and harmony. How it is able to move slowly and intentionally, picking up on spiritual nuances lost to those who are too busy. (How many did I miss along my life's crazy, busy way?)

You lifted my eyes to experience the magnificent "awe" of human living, acknowledging that I am first and foremost a spiritual body living a human life. This sudden turn of perspective has left me wandering the earth in search of spiritual wonderment, giving me more opportunities to live a life of gratitude.

I am better about not absorbing the universe of its beauty for my own sake and learning how to take in the beauty I am shown and then radiating it outward to others. I can no longer live just for myself, taking care of my own needs and forgetting those around me. For we are in it all together. What is mine belongs to someone else too. What is someone else's belongs to another someone else as well.

We hold our experiences in common. My common bowl holds so much beauty and what makes it even more beautiful is to hold it out for others. When I recognize that my body is my common bowl needing special care and rest in order to hold beauty out to others, then chances are I will spend my days acknowledging your presence in so many diverse ways. My own vessel will take on a renewed hue, something of beauty itself and others will find it meaningful and valuable to draw close as I hold out my bowl to someone else. If I am frenzied, busy and preoccupied, no one will want to come near.

And so I am trying to rest more often, drinking in your own self. What I am finding is that I am only able to go as far as I have rested. If I am tempted to do too much and fail to care for myself, I will drop, I will lose what precious energy I do have. I will be stopped dead in my tracks. I am not able to draw from a reserve any more. I have none.

Resting affords me the opportunity for reflection, to trust you more, to enter into a time of silence, remembering your goodness. As I rest, I am renewed. I can give back, share with others, do the ministry you have called me to do. I am learning now at age 61 that rest is invaluable. I'm taking it in so that I can offer it out.

Who am I,

but a child

of your own making?

I wander off,

making my own way,

failing to remember

that I am yours.

This fragile creation

that I wear

is your gift

to me.

It's flawed,

imperfect,

not well balanced,

crazy at times,

overweight,

but I am perfectly made.

Your own hands

have made me.

Forgive me

for not always caring

for this pot

of clay.

Help me listen

for instructions

on how to caref

or this beautiful

clay vessel,

a rare piece

of your creation.

Love, Andrea

Monday, August 4, 2008

Dearest God,

My friends are coming home today, friends in your spirit. You called them to South America where they would work for you. You whispered to their spirit, "Come to me, I'll show you my children in need." And they answered, "Okay, Lord, I'll follow you. Just lead me."

How many times have I traveled to places I never intended to go? How often have I heard your sweet voice asking me to pick up my spiritual bag to travel with you? And how much have I been so full to overflowing on the last day, on my way back home?

I remember the last days of many things. The last day before I was married. The last day before my children were born. The last day before I moved. The last day before I left my church behind. The last day before I left the Middle East, Russia and the Soviet Union, Africa, Europe, the last days of important times. My head was so filled with reflection that I thought I might burst. But one thing rang constant; I was aware of your presence in my life. I was enabled to think back to the days, weeks, and months prior to that day, to think about the ways you had revealed yourself. Learning I was pregnant, watching my belly grow as I sang and prayed with my children in my womb. Making a decision to travel halfway around the world to a new culture, engaging that culture, learning from it, giving what you were asking of me, sharing faith. I was always incredibly full the last day.

I savor the moments of last days. Time does funny things for me on last days. I am aware of minutes and seconds on last days. My mind is taking in everything with every one of my senses. I breathe in, see, taste, touch, and hear last things.

Perhaps that's why I spend a lot of time doing what I do on last days. The last days of my mother and father, of parishioners, people I will never see again. Last moments of last days are priceless.

And so I am thinking of my friends on this, the last day of their journey. Full of memories, God sightings, wonderings and transformations, they are riding on the wave of discovery, reflection and gratitude.

Wondrous and Ever-Living God,
you fill us
with life-giving
good news.
You allow us
to wander back,
thinking of prized moments
with you
and our friends.
You show us
the way
of eternity
now and in-the-moment.
You breathe
on us
the life
of your spirit.
God,
are we full,
so full
of you.
Sweet, sweet Jesus
sing us
your song
one last time
so we can
sing along.

Loving you always, Andrea

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Dearest God,

I sat in the second pew of the nearly 200 year old church. The sounds of the well-worn organ wafted to heaven. Two elderly women worked in the kitchen setting out home made goodies brought from home, all to be enjoyed during the fellowship hour after worship. The moderator lighted the candles then sat down in the choir corner. Some parishoners wrote down their prayer requests in a book at the back. My husband sat two steps up to the right and back of the altar. It was time for "church" to begin.

I've made it a habit praying early Sunday morning for all the people who will serve you all day around the world. Being the church means preparing to teach, serve, sing, preach, greet, help, pray, lead, study, hug, extend their hand, guide, mentor, clean, love and more. These people are your church in the best sense of the word.

As I sat in my pew with the worship beginning I thought of all the churches around the world that would lift up Jesus, the high and gracious redeemer. My eyes were moist as the elderly organist played familiar old hymns from long ago. All those composers who through their own life experiences wrote about life and faith, hope and joy. I closed my eyes to allow my soul to hear more deeply.

I am touched by faith every week. Someone else's faith. As I listened and watched the organist play, I thought of my own grandmother who played the piano and organ in her own church for decades. Her faith touched me again today. Just the sheer commitment of serving you touches my faith and I remember why Jesus told Peter to build a church on faith. We touch faith with Peter every Sunday because he said yes and then went about building the church for you and generations that would follow. We are our best when we bring faith with us to church and then share it with others.

As my husband preached a brilliant message, I could see the story of John the Baptist building. I could see him as a little boy with a cousin named Jesus. I saw him get crosswise with Herodius and Herod Antipas and finally I saw John's head on the platter after the execution. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the story again. John's faith touched me deeply.

As I drank the bread and wine, I remembered the final meal with Jesus and found myself at his table with all the countless billions who have claimed an alliance with him throughout the years. I was glad I had prayed, "...and forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors." I want to always to be at the table as clean as I can be. Why would I want to hold onto a sin in your presence?

By the time we left, I had truly experienced church with strangers turned family. I had witnessed your son and allowed his message to touch me. I crawled into the car heavier with faith.

That's what
I come for,
more faith.
At your church
I crawl
into your arms
and listen.
I witness
your people gathering,
watch their faces
fill with joy
as they greet
one another.
I see
the spiritually hungry;
I grab
for the bread
and light
and hope
myself.
I watch them
giving away
love and comfort
to each other.
I quietly observe
their prayers
lifting to heaven.
I hear
their pleas
for more faith,
courage,
and strength
to walk
the journey
of faith.
I know
the joy
of their giving,
placing
a part
of themselves
in every offering plate.
I believe
faith has expanded
when the doors
blow open,
the Spirit
breathing out.
I love
your church,
Sweet Jesus,
I love you.

In grateful gratitude, Andrea

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Dear God,

Teach me, O Lord, teach me. I have learned through experience, prayer and training how to be a servant in the church and in the world. I love to serve you as I serve others. As I prepared specialty foods for my spiritual directees several days ago and I held the food while they served themselves, I was indeed blessed. At that moment I know the meaning of service to others.

However, how do I serve in my own home? How do I make everyone in my home a subject of servanthood? How do I release myself freely to serve in whatever capacity to which I am called? How do I love unconditionally and not feel taken for granted?

A division of labor seems to be a good idea. But when I feel I am doing much more than my share and I have other work to do as well, I get irritated. I do the work but I resent it. I can't seem to let go of my feelings, although I am always crossways with myself because a servant does any and all acts lovingly without expectation.

I lived the life of a doormat for many years. I was not appreciated, nor especially loved. I did little things that were considered absurd, crazy or outrageous. I was mocked. And one day I decided to behave differently. Maybe they had a point; but my point was to do something special for someone else, making it easier on the other person. I felt unappreciated.

So I live in the betwixt and in between. I want to be a servant but not a doormat. How in the world do I live the life of faith, extend myself as a servant and be joyful knowing I am pleasing you?

Goodhearted God,
will I ever
get it right?
Will I ever
find my way
so much
in you
that I will not
be troubled
by other decisions?
Will I ever become
a loving servant?
I want more
than anything
to please you
while serving others.
Teach me,
O Lord,
please teach me.

Love, Andrea

Friday, August 1, 2008

Dearest God,

Looking through the lens of exhaustion can lead me to see things differently. When I'm feeling good, Lord, I see beauty around me. When I'm tired, things don't look the same. I don't react the usual way. I feel sluggish, worn out and the world appears as something I have to contend with rather than embrace.

I recognize that life is not predictable. Today will not be the same as yesterday. Each day is unique, a gift even if it brings challenge. The day is not determined by my view of it. It is still a gift whether I am weary and worn or full of energy. What you are teaching me is that beauty can still come from an otherwise dismal day. That higher level of consciousness can lead me to you because seeing spiritual beauty in the ordinary is an even greater level and quality of life.

When I trust in you, when I turn to you at moments when my energy is low, you show me what I couldn't see on my own. The scales of weariness fall from my eyes and I am enabled to see life at its finest. Then you give me a respect and appreciation for what is around me. And suddenly I realize once again that my ability to see is not predicated on how I feel. I begin to trust that there is always something more. So I take out my investigative tools and lo and behold, I discover your hand at work.

Wondrous and Ever-Beautiful God,
so often
I fail
to see your beauty
around me.
I lean into
my own weariness
and I am blocked
to see
what awaits me.
I react
rather than respond
to the goodness
of it all.
Forgive me,
I pray.
For I desire
to see
the noteworthy
in everything.

In gratitude, Andrea

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Dear God,

I learned today how to plane. My bedroom doors are sticking. I've painted them but they stick and the paint chips off, leaving the doors with spots of green instead of the snowfall white I've painted them. Not knowing exactly what to do, I asked my favorite lumber company specialist. "Do you think I can plane a door?" He picked up a plane and showed me how to do it. So I took the challenge.

My first efforts at planing didn't meet with much success. I got off a lot of paint but no wood. The door still stuck. After an hour or two I adjusted the blade and got my first curl of wood shaving. "I know how to plane! I know how to plane!" I cried out in pride. It took about three hours to plane one door but now that door closes. I was so proud.

As I think about learning a new skill, I think of the process of spiritual planing. My griping and complaining to you and your work of redeeming me surely must cause you to shake your head in bewilderment and disgust at times. I do know the pain of being planed. I can feel it within my own spirit. Yet, your own calm, steady strokes rid me of unwanted attitudes and behaviors. I am enabled to open up and stop sticking, making my way into you much easier. The doors to my soul freely open both ways and I breathe deeply of your spirit. Without the spiritual plane, how could I ever rise up to you?

There's a beautiful sound
to the rhythm
of your steady stroking,
the quiet calm
of sshh, sshh, sshh.
The discards
of my life
lay at your feet,
soon to be
thrown away
and burned.
No remnants remain,
a reminder
of sin forgiven.

In gratitude, Andrea

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Dear God,

Lord, I want to have a gentle spirit. I want to ease my way into the day. I want to be appreciative of my surroundings whatever the situation. I want to go through the day establishing myself with you more and more. I want to be more flexible and less criticial. I want to be open to see my sins more readily and less judgemental of others' sins. I want to respect the little things, knowing that sometimes it is the best that can be offered. I want to embrace difference and not want the world to be just like me. I want to listen more and speak less. I want to be a willing participant in life rather than a guide for the cosmos. I want more of you and less of me.

Sometimes I suffer with a critical spirit. I get frustrated by a lack of detail to what needs doing. I am not always nice to those I love most. I fail. And when my mouth is judging others, I hate my own words. I dislike the sound of judgement, of diminishing someone else. It sounds ugly. It is ugly.

I felt overwhelmed today by all the needs in our house. Not really cleaned for a year, there seemed more to do than I had energy to do it. And when overwhelmed, I can get really grouchy, not loving and kind. I find fault in what has been done. I throw up my hands and get ticked by what I feel should have been done. The work and the attitude together makes for an ugly display of resentment.

I have so far to go to reach spiritual perfection. Not that I am expecting ever to be perfect. I'm not looking for that. But I do want to follow a spiritual flow, whereby my "regulator" is always adjusting to whatever presents itself. I want to go along for the ride, trusting that whatever is before me is exactly what needs to be before me in order to help me learn more deeply what it means to follow the Redeemer of Human Life.

I wish I had been born with an eraser, one that I could use every time someone else sins. But also so I can erase my own. I want to be so totally free of judgement because to do so is to trust you to do what you do so I can free myself of being judgemental. I want to accept the fact that I am not the great judge. Only you have the capacity to judge the world and me in it. And when I think that sometimes I try to crawl up in your chair to rule, I want to break down and cry. My eyes look down in disgust. I am not able to look up just to see your feet that walk with me daily. My simple humanity gets me into trouble and I forget just who is the Great Master.

I am confident that trouble will come my way until I learn this life lesson. Teach me.

Teach me,
sweet Jesus,
teach me
the great truths
of life.
Teach me
the ways
of gentleness
and kindness
and goodness.
Help me
see the beauty
in my neighbor
every time,
never failing
to give thanks.
I am
a sinner
who fights
to rise above
all those things
than cause me
to stumble
and fall
and argue
with you.
Dear Sweet Jesus,
teach me,
oh teach me
the beautiful way
of life.

Love, Andrea