Saturday, September 27, 2008

Dearest God,

As I walked through the maze, the lines of faith, I noticed small pieces of flat, thin concrete. I leaned over and picked up a couple of pieces, not sure why I felt lead to carry them. Pieces of someone's lives I thought to myself. Maybe pieces of my own.

As I entered the beautiful center, I found pieces of every size. What are these? I thought. I sat down before the altar (really a concrete bench) and I picked up more pieces. Tears formed in my eyes as I held the pieces of people's lives. I prayed for them and for me.

As I held the material in my hands, I saw how fragile they were. At one time they must have been a foundation for something. But now they were crumbling, no longer a source of strength. As I sorted through the pieces it came to me. I began to piece crosses together first on the altar, small, medium, and large and then on the sides, underneath, and around. As I began to fit the pieces together, I saw before me broken lives brought together to form a cross, the cross, the strength of the pieces. More tears came. I thought how it is you bring pieces of souls together in ways we cannot. You fashion them into the sign of your cross, the cross of salvation, of reconciliation, of peace, love and hope. Every piece needed, somehow these broken, forgotten pieces became a whole again, only this time perhaps with more purpose.

I sat with the crosses nearly encircling me and I felt peaceful, content that I had done my part in providing hope maybe for those who would come after me. I claimed once again the strength of the cross at the center of my own faith. The cross is the glue of love that holds all pieces of brokenness together. The cross of Jesus, the cross of unconditional love.

As I began my walk outward, I looked over and saw the crosses from different angles. As I came upon other tiny pieces of concrete scattered about, I left them behind realizing that sometimes we have to walk on by, praying, acknowledging that we can't take up everyone's burden. Some are left behind for someone else to stumble across. As I exited, I turned and looked once more. Somehow the scene looked different than when I entered. The cross was a sign of God's presence and promise.

O Lord,
the lessons learned
are but
promises with flesh.
You are God
who guides
our lives,
teaching us,
loving us,
giving us hope.
Our flesh
sometimes grows weak
and pieces fall
upon the earth;
yet in your own
loving way
you piece together
what is broken,
giving purpose
to our brokenness.
You make us beautiful
with your own self
and we have
the possibility
of being made new.
I lift up
my praise
and offer you
my thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea