Saturday, November 29, 2008

Dear God,

As I listen to Christmas music playing in my quiet home, I pause to give thanks. Each moment I realize is a time to assess my life, to express my gratitude. Just hours ago grandchildren sounds filled my home. And now alone I give thanks for the peace and quiet. The beauty is that I find you in both the noisy expressions of children and the serenity of being alone after a big day with family.

My pilgrimage continues as I anticipate your presence each day, Lord. Whatever the situation or condition, you reveal yourself and I smile, acknowledging the glory of it all. A home can be filled with you in so many different and unique ways. I just have to attune myself to your spirit, being aware that the human experience is never void of the sacred.

And so on this day, I am quietly giving thanks.

You are
so full
of grace
and compassionate mercy,
dearest God.
We can live
every day
in hope
because
you are
a very real presence
in the world.
I find you
or rather
you nudge me,
making me conscious
of my surroundings
where you are.
I am grateful.

Love, Andrea

Friday, November 28, 2008

Dearest God,

Four little girls, ages 3, 4, 7, and 8 lay sound asleep in their sleeping bags on my uncommon room floor (most people call it a living room) as the Christmas video credits scrolled. Wearing Grandma's Christmas jammies and socks and worn out from a great day with cousins, a floor picnic, goodies, and prayers, they fell into slumber with no worries. They know the peace of God as they rest.

Although I felt a weariness in my bones, I made two forts (using most of the blankets and all the sleeping bags in the uncommon room) one for the little ones and one for the older ones. We had a frosty the snowman breakfast, the light shining from two little ceramic frosties. We learned manners, put a napkin on your lap, ask for food to be passed, say please and thank you, eat with your fork, not your hands. We prayed two prayers. I prayed the first not realizing that Stella had wanted to pray. Through tears and a hug, she sang her prayers learned at Preschool.

In the early afternoon still in our jammies, Gabrielle read a story from my new book while the others listened. They were interested because they were in the story. I told them a storybook will last a very long time even after the author dies. I told them I would probably only live to be 100 and Sophie said I would live to be 1,000 years old. What sweetness arises from the mouths of grandchildren.

This day after Thanksgiving I was still celebrating the gift of these precious ones. They bring such great joy to my life. Their comments, smiles and hugs, their "I love you, Grandma" remind me to model love, to be an example of what you would like them to be. I often fail and yet, they bring grace, modeling for me. God in little clothing.

How swiftly
time passes
as I gaze upon
these precious grandchildren.
One day
they are born
and the next
they are
seven or eight.
How can
I keep
these innocents safe
from evil
in the world?
Precious God,
I bring
these treasures
to you,
asking for
wisdom and discernment
as they walk
each day.
May your light
forever shine
in their darkness
teaching them
of you
and your ways.
This is
my prayer
for my beloved ones.

Love, Grandma with the Curly Hair, Grandma Andrea

Thursday, Thanksgiving, November 27, 2008

Dearest God,

A trip to the grocery at 5:00 a.m. can be enlightening. One can find God in the aisles.

A young man in the baking supplies aisle was restocking the shelves. Looking a little weary, I stopped to talk. After all he had just helped me find the powdered milk. He had worked all night and was about to begin his second shift. When I asked what time he would get off, he said it would be late tonight. He acknowledged that a lot of people are working more in order to keep their jobs. I told him I would pray for him. He wished me a Happy Thanksgiving.

In the next aisle a young man with a long ponytail helped me too. I just didn't have much energy and wasn't able to find what I needed so he helped me too. Then he asked me if I knew the song that was playing. I told him I was familiar with the song but not the title. We decided that the words has something important to say. We listened. He said that there weren't any musicians like that any more. They will come if we just wait I responded. He smiled. He wished me a Happy Thanksgiving.

Throughout the store I talked with people and they talked with me. I think I was only one of three or four customers. I had to go through the self checkout or whatever it is called and I talked with a husband and wife who had a full cart. We too had a nice conversation and we wished one another a Happy day too.

And then I walked off with an empty cart. The wife called out to me not to forget my groceries.
If I had been in the store with long lines and no carts available, I would have missed these conversations. I think each one offered me something and I offered something as well. Perhaps we needed one another. Perhaps we needed you.

Lover of troubled souls,
I find you
in the every day aisles
of life.
You constantly
reveal yourself.
You tell me
you are nearby.
You speak
to all
your children.
Today I am
counting you
as my greatest gift.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Dearest God,

Today was one of the hardest days I have had in a very long time. Multiple issues were revealed today and I had to deal with each one. Health, family, friendship all seem to have come at the same time. Today was filled with grief and pain.

I look at myself and it is easy to become focused just on me. Yes, I could sit for a while and cry. But I already did that. I could believe that my life is just one big sorrow at the moment. But that would not be true. My life is still full of blessings.

Like the author of Ecclesiastes says, "There is a time and season for all things under God's heaven." This is my time of loss, sadness and grief. This is to be expected. Not the particular circumstances, but every life has its share of these. It's the yin of the yin and yang. It is a yin time. The yang will come.

You work, dear God, to lift my chin, to remind me that I am yours, a child of your own loving. You whisper to me the secrets of the universe, unfolding to me your plan for creation. You show me new life in the midst of death. You call me to rise up, to remember, to trust. And while at times I have no energy, you place in my mind and spirit a promise that even this will one day pass. Life will be assuredly different; yet my life with you will remain.

You are constant,
a life-long friend,
dearest God.
In this life
my greatest walk
is with you.
Although
I may be weak
of body,
mind and spirit,
you breathe
into me
your transforming spirit.
You tell me
it is mine,
made for me
like no other.
You teach me
again and again
to trust,
to walk
in faith,
to let go
when I need to,
to pick up
when it is time.
Oh Great Helper,
help me
to learn
from you
the great truths
of divine
human living.

Love always, Andrea

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Dear God,

Sometimes you just have to say goodbye. Sometimes...you just have to say goodbye.

I gave up my friend today. A friend who used to be a friend but who decided some time ago to walk away from the friendship without saying she intended to walk away. Sometimes it happens.

I hurt today. My wounds which won't go away until a few months from now are still fresh. Like scabs that are knocked off, an injury can take a long time to heal.

I turn to you, Lord. I stand at your feet, remembering that you did not promise joy every day. What you did promise was to be present every day. "I will be with you always." You said in the Bible. I trust in your promise, knowing that I can walk each day with a loving presence.

Your words of compassionate comfort give me hope when I struggle. You remind me that I am to trust you in every situation. I am not alone in the wrestling but rather you come to me bringing me a kind of peace that heals however slowly. And I am grateful.

Beside you,
I want
to walk
beside you.
The journey
beside you
is one
where I walk
in step
with you,
where the
divine rhythm
is constant.
My eyes lift
from the ground.
I look up
to see you
beside me.
You take
my sorrow
and you make it
your own.
Divine Helper,
you are
the God
of hope
and peace
and comfort
and mercy.
As I care
for others
in my loss,
may I remember
your gracious act.

Love, Andrea

Monday, November 24, 2008

Dear God,

I am feeling the pangs of change. As we spoke about Christmas, someone said it would be my last. As long as I was the one saying it in my own mind, it didn't seem as gut-wrenching but when someone else said it, it seemed much closer.

It will be my last Christmas as a parish pastor. I remember several of my Christmas Eve experiences, each one lending itself to a deeper experience with Christ. Mystical experiences of the Divine, reminding me again why I am a pastor, why I have dedicated my life to serve as a shepherd of the flock. The birth of a Savior changed my life 2,000 years later.

We are planning, creating a setting, preparing for the celebration. We are determining the liturgy, the music, the candle lighters. We are checking on candles, a Christmas tree and communion supplies. But the real work of changing hearts, inspiring both the non-believers and believers and touching the spirit is your work. We can't manipulate that. Without your spirit, we would would have a one-act play without a real message.

Yes, it is my last. But for my spirit it is one more, another beautiful encounter with the Holy.

I sing for you.
I pray for you.
I prepare for you.
I dance for you.
I offer myself to you,
willingly, joyfully.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Dearest God,
.
Another day in your presence. I felt emotional as I awakened. A sorrow struck me and I felt sad and weepy. Yet I still had to finish my sermon. I still had to trust you. I still had to fulfill my call to preach the gospel. I still had to stay in your presence.

As I walked the halls of your home, I saw again signs of holy joy. Those who were preparing the Thanksgiving dinner. Those who were singing special music. Those who were greeting people. Those who were hugging. Those who were sharing with one another. I saw so many smiles. Your home on 52nd Street is a happy home.

I realize that life can always be better, not because my situation changes, but because I am always challenged to rise up, to lift up, to reach up, to hold up. When I am open to looking around, to anticipating, to searching and finding, I am enabled to move up in my spirit and my trust in you.

Although I was weak and my energy slipping away at the hospital when I visited a friend, I still knew your holding power. My trust brought me home to my bed where I could rest. I have learned to take hold of your hand, to breathe in trust, and know that my ultimate destiny rests only in you. When I feel my health failing in a moment of time, I rest in the belief that I am in your hands. Whether on earth or in heaven, I know trust is always the answer.

I trust
in you,
my Wondrous God.
You make
my heart beat,
my lungs breathe,
my mind
to be fixed
on you.
You teach me
in precarious moments
to trust
more and more deeply.
With no guarantees
on the horizon,
I learn
to trust
in you.
My health
and everything else
about me
is in
your hands.
I am grateful.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Dear God,

Working beside Linda gives me a sense of being in your loving presence. She sees, feels, and understands the working of your spirit. I know what she is going for when we work together on my book. She has an eye for the Divine. As a macro photographer she is able to capture the intricacies of a snow flake, the iris in a bird's eye, the smile on a running squirrel. And when I tell her what I "see" she is able to make things happen on a computer with her pictures.

Today we completed our work. I wrote the check. I am pleased. I feel as though there have been three of us working on my book, You, Linda and I. I wrote my first story the day after Christmas last year. You had put the project in my spirit. By New Year's I wrote several more. Now 50 in my collection I am ready to put it all together. A gift of Christmas.

Some days I wonder how it is your spirit is so powerfully present in my life. It is true that I am on a constant search. I want to know you more. I want to live in the middle of a spirit life with you as my center. I want my life to count for something more than the daily regiment of activities. I want to live in gratitude. I want to give my best to you and my worst in the hopes that you will rub the raw edges making something useful to the world. I want to live meaningfully every day knowing that my days are spent in you.

I am grateful to the Lindas in the world, those persons who seem to know the way to you. They have a sixth sense if you will, a sense that there is more to life than what meets the eye. Oh yes, the eye can see it but not in the usual sense of things. A teeny falling snowflake is a sign of you to Linda, a webbed design of your making. She believes that you are in the flake because you are the source of its being. When she is able to capture a perfect flake, the picture becomes yet another sign of your presence in the cosmos.

What joy
my heart feels
when I
encounter you,
Ever-Creating God.
My love
for you grows
as I
wait and watch,
as I
long and search,
as I
listen and follow.
You direct me
and every time
I am mystified
by our presence.
Nothing
is so beautiful
and sacred
as you,
Holy God.
In your presence
I can
only give thanks.

Loving you today, Andrea

Friday, November 21, 2008

My dearest God,

I volunteered to clean the bathroom. We were preparing to leave our temporary retreat home to return home. We needed to clean up.

I looked through the cleaning agents. I found a spray. I used it to spray the shower down. Then I realized it was a poor quality, really only slipped and slid over the soap scrum. I looked closer. The shower hadn't been scrubbed in a long time. Obviously others had used the spray but nothing got it really clean. I started to walk away but your voice came to me. "You are not cleaning up after yourself, you are preparing the holy space for the next person."

I thought about the words, the call to prepare a holy place for another person whose longings would bring them to San Damiano. I searched through the cleaning products. I found Comet. I poured the stuff on the bottom of the shower and then worked my way up. I scrubbed, rinsed, and then scrubbed again. About 30 minutes later the shower sparkled, looking like new. I cleaned the sink and washed down the toilet. I cleaned the mirror and swept the floor. I stood back looking at my work. I would probably have simply cleaned the shower as best I could, then the sink and toilet. But your word came to me and I realized it was not about cleaning up after ourselves but rather a labor of love for the next person.

How often, O Lord, I just work to "clean" my own space and fail to realize what I am to do for the next person. I forget that life is not all about me but how I live my life, preparing the soil for the next person to follow. The universe is not centered on me but rather I am a temporary wanderer following you. I often fail to remember the call.

I am grateful for your words as I leaned on all fours in the shower. I am thankful for the call to clean, to really clean, to make sparkle, to beautify, to humble myself, to love another sight unseen. Life is not about me but about others and how I love them. It is about listening and following. It is about obedience that ultimately brings joy.

I felt joy
in the dirty shower,
Lord,
because
you were present
with me.
You showed me
the way.
You spoke
your words
of love,
love for
my neighbor,
love for me.
I felt loved
as you called me
to serve.
I remembered
how you said,
"When you do it
unto the least
of these,
my friends,
you do it
unto me.l"
Thank you
for joining me
in the shower,
in the bathroom,
at the toilet.
At your feet
I learn
so much.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Dear God,

Rest. What value can I place on rest? Without it my body would collapse. Without it my mind could not think. Without it my spirit could not soar. I would not be free to resume my life.

I rested. My colleagues rested. We sat back in your arms like a child in a mother's arms swinging on a porch swing. The lull, the rhythm brought calm, serenity, tranquility. I could feel my breathing relax, trusting in your will to be at peace.

The words break through my crusty soul, "The Lord is my shepherd...he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul." The words lead me to you, to safety and security, to peace and still waters, to restoration and renewal. I know the feeling of the psalmist. I too know that restoration.

O Lord,
teach me,
teach me
your ways.
Teach me
to rest,
to ponder
and reflect,
to trust
and see
your hand,
to breathe
and know
your spirit
inside me.
Teach me
to linger
more and more
at your side.
Teach me
the way
of peace,
of harmony
and unity,
of rest,
restoration
and renewal.
Teach me
your way,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Dear God,

Portiuncula. I had seen the word somewhere. Italy. St. Francis, it was associated with St. Francis. Of course, these were the Franciscan Sisters. San Damiano. Oh, my goodness, San Damiano. Assisi. The small two bedroom retreat house was called San Damiano, the name of the first church St. Francis ever repaired after his calling of God to repair churches.

We walked into the house to find signs of St. Francis everywhere. In the dining room the cross beneath which he sat to meditate and pray. The living area a picture of St. Francis with his arms outstretched, the sun and moon above his head. Colorful birds, butterflies and animals at his feet. In the bedroom an icon. St. Francis, his presence so very visible. My favorite saint.

I had walked away from work so very weary. My concerns for my flock, my travel the day before, two long days, actually weeks getting ready for our annual report. My worry over sick friends and lost ones too. I was ready for this retreat. All the more beautiful that I sat on a couch in a house filled with St. Francis. And in my own view out the window in a cottage nestled among trees and cows at pasture, I could see the monastery housing the Franciscan sisters. Nearby is a building where our own Carmelites now reside in retirement. We will worship with them tomorrow.

Later a rip-roaring fire with colorful flames licking high and a balsam cedar Yankee candle wafting its scent through the holy space, my friends and I talked, recounting the goodness of God, the countless ways our lives have been touched, inspired, transformed, helped, guided, and held during 20 years of covenanting together. Our lives have been moulded by a power from on high, your power, Loving God. We named them, our transformations, a family reunited, a child made whole, discovering the hidden treasure tucked inside by God at birth, the relationships with a monastic community whose prayers lifted us all, newfound courage, a new spouse, unconditional love, forgiveness, from you and ourselves. On and on it went as I sat on the couch and my friend rocked back and forth, the sweet sounds of our other friend asleep in the bedroom.

All your work, all your ministry, all your love, we acknowledged all this as the movement of your spirit. I would not have known to follow this path, I thought to myself and finally saying it aloud. How could I have fashioned a spirit life this way without my colleagues? How could I have ever faced the utter loneliness of lost love, a fractured family, a church in trouble? I could not, but your generosity drew us together, revealing a path to follow where the secrets of the universe, the mysteries of the cosmos, and the hopes of the human soul would diverge and then come together. The whispering sounds of the Master would alter our being bringing tears, the healing cleansing of the human heart and mind. The soul’s uncluttering, finding its greatest joy in you. As the fire died down, we reiterated once more the goodness of the Lord.

God, Most Holy,
loving, faithful
and kind,
to you
we owe
our complete loyalty.
You have
fashioned us
anew,
calling for sin
to be forgiven,
for our lostness
to dissipate,
leaving space
to be found.
You have released
our pain,
easing the salve
of salvation
into our wounds.
You have
called us
into wholeness,
reminding us
that your love
can heal
the greatest sinner,
the least holy,
the worst injured,
the poorest soul.
We pour out
our blessings
to you,
God Most High
in grateful thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Dearest Wonderful God,

They waved at me, two children among 100. My grandson 8 and my granddaughter 4. They sang, Jack as King Leo with a solo. Wow! I smiled the whole time. Couldn't get the smile off my face.

When the performance was over, they each had to line up with their teachers to go back to their classrooms. But Jack ran over to me, threw his arms around me, hugged me for a long time and then ran back chatting with friends. Later at school when we picked them up, Gracie ran down the hall to me and then leapt into my arms, jumped right into my arms and we hugged and hugged and I swung her around. Imagine, Lord, when Jack did the same thing. Oh my goodness, my goodness, my goodness!

You. You did this! You took teeny, tiny broken parts and you glued them together. Thirteen years in the making. I see the glue lines, the uneven parts but oh how beautiful it is, a wonder really, a miracle.

We are family again, maybe truly for the first time. And the joy I see in my grandchildren's eyes is worth more than diamonds to me. Even in my daughter's eyes. Have I ever seen anything so beautiful? No, I haven't.

A living miracle, it's a living miracle and I'm still in the middle of it, welling up with praise and excessive joy. As I followed them in their car to a restaurant for snacks, the kids and I kept throwing kisses back and forth, so many I lost count. I'm living in a miracle," I said to myself. "I'm living in the middle of a miracle."

As the kisses were being thrown to me, I captured those tiny gestures of love. I put them in my heart and my mind and my soul. But then tears, warm tears welled up in my eyes. Oh, Lord, I thought, there are many who have no kisses, no relationships, just enmity. They are like me just a few years ago. Hanging onto a thread of hope, trusting that somehow, some way, something might change. Prayers and thousands of them being lifted up. A mother's cry, a grandmother's plea. I received my pot of gold. But what about the others? Those who remain in their suffering? I diverted some of those grandchildren kisses to other parts of the world, to other mother's aching hearts. And to other children, grandchildren longing for a mother's or grandmother's love.

When I drove home, I celebrated all the way by smiling, praying, meditating, singing. A miracle, I'm in the middle of a miracle.

Miracles,
they come
from you,
Lord,
miracles.
I'm in
the middle
of a miracle,
a miracle
of your making.
What can
I say?
What can
I do?
How can
I say
thanks?
How can
I offer you
my praise?
How can
I say thanks
for my miracle?

Loving you always, Andrea

Monday, November 17, 2008

Dear God,

As a pastor I sometimes question my effectiveness as a shepherd of your flock. When people leave the church, I always feel a prick in my soul. What have I done? I ask myself. But then I think again and realize I don't have that kind of power. It's not all about me.

Tonight my soul tripped over itself in joy. My desire, my goal, my hope and dream for your church has been to create the setting whereby your spirit could soar, reaching hearts in ways that would cause souls to trust, to learn, to hope, to dance and sing, to grow, to believe, to change, to try new adventures in faith. I have known your Spirit for so long as an active, dynamic force in the universe. I have known its guiding power, its love and forgiveness, its joy and comfort. I have also known its challenge, how it stirs, calling for change and transformation. I wanted to help shape the environment for this meeting of faith. I am wise enough to know that I only have the power to remould a setting for you. I have no power to change, to transform. That power belongs to You only, Great Change-Maker.

But tonight as we prepared the profile of the church and the skills needed for a new pastor, I heard music sweet to my ears. They were describing the church I had hoped to help build. That's when my heart joined my soul in singing your praises.

My work
is nearly done,
Great Love of My Life,
my call
to ministry
finally made clear.
Your beloved community
of faith
has learned
to trust more,
to love more,
to sing and dance more.

I sing my song for you only, Andrea

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Dearest God,

A day in your house is like none other. There is an air of your spirit. While all looks like a church building, it is so much more. Here faith gathers. We bring our baskets like the little boy who brought the two fish and loaves. We offer them to one another by our presence. And before we leave, our baskets are overflowing. We carry them out to the world, not even aware of what we are doing. How beautiful!

I am so aware of last times, last Thanksgiving, last Advent season, last Christmas and Epiphany. It's my own awareness of true thanksgiving in my heart. I see how faith has taken root and grown in the last few years. Not that I had much to do with it. I just sowed seeds. It was others who watered, pulled weeds, tended to shriveled plants, and uprooted others. I am aware how this process works making faith more real and alive. That's what we bring with us on Sunday morning. Our baskets are ever changing. Some need more while others' baskets are overflowing ready to share with someone in need. During the service I look out among your people and I think about how we sometimes are like you sharing faith with another needing it. This is the best of who we are. I am taking in while giving out faith.

Great and Wondrous
Faith-Making God,
your life
in us
is faith.
We exist
with joy
when we know
you are
in us.
We walk
the life
of faith
when we
earnestly follow you.
Your house,
full of faith,
is beautiful.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Dearest God,

Maybe it will snow today. I look outside, waiting for the tiny white flakes to fall. This is the most important season for me, the greatest time for reflection. I wait and anticipate. I feel the cold on my skin and I know the change that is occurring. I revel in the moment.

This is the time when my spirit really kicks into gear. When I begin to think more deeply, when I give way to my spirit's longings. The trees will soon be free of their leaves. The flowers will drop their last petals and I will see what lay hidden behind them. Everything will be revealed.

My life is like that too, Lord. I will drop my pretense, release my outer covering revealing my own true self. It will be evident who I am, that I am imperfect, flawed, and yet have my own God-given beauty. I will have nowhere to hide. In the winter white of faith, I will stand ready to drop my roots deeper into the soil of faith where a new life always awaits those who are willing.

I am willing,
Lord,
I am willing
to be exposed,
to allow
my imperfections
to be seen.
I have
so many areas
of need,
Gracious Creator.
Redraw the lines
of my heart
and spirit,
Great Artist
of Humankind.
Teach me,
Lord,
that your will
is always better
than my own.
Make me
a sign
of faith,
Great Comforter,
a faith
that trusts wholly
in you.
Make me
more imperfect
that I may
more clearly reveal
your perfection.

Love always, Andrea

Friday, November 14, 2008

Dear God,

My book is becoming a reality. My life, my family life revealed in stories. Although the stories are transparent and revealing, it is faith, the eternal cord that connects one story to the next, one character with another, one truth hitching itself onto the back of another. It is a story of hope, faith and transformation. In many ways the whole book is about trusting in you...for everything.

These days I live in anticipation of an appearance of your presence. It comes many ways, in many forms, through many means. I am never disappointed; for my life is lived in the daily rhythm of your presence. The book is a testimony to your presence.

As I ran off the first copy without pictures, I realized I had my whole life in my hands. My life's funny moments, my hard moments, extrordinary moments, transforming moments, my moments of doubt and wondering. A willingness to write them, record them for always, to share them as something more than stories has driven me all year to complete the project. It is nearly finished.

I trust
in you,
O Lord,
for you are God,
the Great Creator
and Comforter.
You are
what gives sense
to my life.
You make
my human experience
one of
your Spirit.
Every awesome moment
comes from you
and when
I try
to take credit,
my own spirit falters
and I realize
once again
my own
human frailty.
Whatever is good
in my life
is you.
And how
I thank you
from the bottom
of my heart.
Take all
my love,
dear God
and use it
for your purpose.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Dearest God,

I saw our little ones today. Some with bald heads. Some with IV's connected to their little arms as they rode around in their little red wagons. Some looked very sick. Others looked like they had been sick for a long time. I suspect some are dying of cancer.

A trip to Riley always gives me a sobering view of life from underneath. Parents and children suffering, getting help, finding a whole staff whose primary work is creating the setting for healing. I admire their work, their devotion, their love, and their God-given talents to be parents of sick children, doctors, nurses and child-life specialists who show up with toys, books and games. It is a season of family at Riley Hospital.

I join that family as I show up at the entryway as a pastor. I too have a focus on healing. I too want to bring gifts of hope, faith, joy, peace and love as I walk the halls. I try to take extra smiles with me to deposit as I make eye contact with worn out parents, weary nurses or doctors, and especially with the children. Can a smile make a difference even if only a minute or a moment? Yes, I think it can. A smile means I care about you and I do. For every one.

How many smiles have others offered me throughout my lifetime? How many times did I connect for just a moment or for a whole day as I clung to a caring gesture of hope? More times than I can remember. I still have a lot of smiles to offer today wherever I go. In the grocery story, the library, the post office, school, work, the church and on the street. I am sure I've received more smiles than I have yet given away. I have work to do today.

Put a smile
on my face
and hope
in my heart,
Precious Lover
of Your Children;
help me
give it away
to everyone
I meet.
Make it
my day's goal
to give
a smile away.

Loving you always, Andrea

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Dear God,

I touched his feet. The feet of Jesus called out to me. I saw the hem of his garment and I remembered the bleeding woman who dared in the crowd to crawl over to him and touch his hem. Jesus knew energy went out of him. She confessed.

There is something very meaningful to me as I look at the picture of Jesus. His hem, his feet. I would never dare touch his hand, his face. But his garment, his feet, that is a different matter.

I was at the retreat center when I saw the picture. I was immediately drawn to it. I thought surely healing was in the picture for me too. I touched his feet and asked for help. I touched his garment and asked for guidance. Healing was too big to ask for, so I asked for help and guidance. Healing could come as I reached for the others.

Day by day I would look at the picture until I was ready. And then one day I stood by the picture and kissed his feet. I gave thanks. I had found the courage I needed.

I remember the unfolding of this experience. How close I felt to the Jesus in the picture and to the Christ of my faith. I trusted in his help and guidance. I found my healing

Such memories
give me hope,
reminding me
that a close walk
with you
will bring me
to face-to-face encounters.
Even a picture
can bring comfort,
compassion, love
and mercy.
I trust in you
when I stop
and gaze.
You are
my hope.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Dear God,

All around me I hear pleas for help. A man who recently lost his wife. A friend who lost a friend. A woman feeling condemned. A man who lost his job. A woman who is very ill.

It is a season of sorrow, it seems to me. And this season is not one we like to enter. But like all seasons, it cannot be avoided. Loss will come. Misundersanding will come. Illness will come. It is part of the cycle of life. But the truth is that while all these weigh heavy upon us, it is then that the sweetness of your loving comfort will also come. We may want more than this; often we will devalue the great value it is. We may think we need more or something better or quicker; but what can be of greater value than eternity wrapping us in love?

How many times have I felt this love? When I have felt myself at the bottom, in the darkness and despairing, my pleas brought this package from heaven. And when I have allowed it to touch me, I have been saved. I let go into your arms; I trusted you to warm my heart again. I have felt joy and peace I could not otherwise have manufactured myself.

Yes, it is a season of sorrow. But it is also a season of compassion. Although we may want to retreat, to step away from others, to draw back so sorrow will not claim us as victim, perhaps we need to just remain steady, allowing the forces of heaven to minister to us, lay its claim upon us as children bringing love, hope, comfort, and grace. Sometimes another person's sorrow projects its pain on us and we think another is just trying to hurt us, when in reality their own pain has spilled out. When we fail to wait upon the Lord, we take our sorrow out on someone else.

Oh Lord, to live in the NOW waiting patiently for the angels to arrive, is the only place I long to be. In that lane, that open place where you come to visit, to help, guide, comfort and strengthen, I stand in faith. Everything I believe about you becomes my shield from the piercing darts. I stand tall knowing that my strength is being made new.

I am not alone in my suffering. And neither is anyone else. For you come bringing the salve of eternity, the salve of hope, the salve of grace, the salve of love.

Pour out
your salve
upon your
hurting people,
dear God.
Make our trust
grow deeper
and wider
so that
any situation
can become
a waiting time
for you,
an anticipation
that the
forces of heaven
are even now
moving toward us.
Teach us patience
for in waiting
we are refined,
strengthened,
built up.
Our resources
are renewed;
our resolve
determined.
You are
the God
of compassion,
the One
to whom
we cling
when our hearts
are broken.
You hold
the pieces
in your hands;
reverently,
you take
each one
and begin
the process
of refashioning
a new heart
because the oil
of gladness,
your oil
of gladness
mixes in
with our
heart pieces
reshaping us
with a part
of you.
When I think
of it,
I am overwhelmed
with joy.
For my God
has come.

Love, Andrea

Monday, November 10, 2008

Dearest God,

What a serendipity! I did not know when my friend and I went to eat at a local restaurant that we would run into friends who left our church some time ago. Not because they didn't like us but because of the crisis in their own lives. We all have them; some last longer than others.

We hugged and hugged. We shared an update on what had been happening in our lives. They're coming back, coming home. A reunion will take place. We laughed and laughed. And then other members came in. I hugged them too. Half a dozen of us church friends stood at the doorway greeting one another with faith, joy and hope.

Moments like these give me a new perspective. Loss does not have to be loss forever. And whenever I feel somewhat disconnected or too tired to connect, you enter and I feel your presence. You sing to me the song of delight.

On days when I feel overwhelmed with so much, you bring me a special joy. And the greatest joy for me is being conscious where the joy came from. I can offer you praise, rejoice in the joy I feel, breathe in a new kind of hope.

You are
the essence
of joy,
the oil
of gladness
in my heart.
I can smile
because you
are smiling
through me.
I look
in the mirror.
I see
your eyes
looking back.
Filled
with joy.

Loving you always, Andrea

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Dear God,

I saw the spirit dance in their eyes. As we sang the music of the spirit, I saw the dance of the spirit. In church no less.

There is a joy that wells up when your people get together and sense the spirit of the Living God. Even as I felt my own heart come to life, I watched your happy children come to life as well.

When your spirit captures us, when we release the tension of the week, when we let go, falling backward into your arms, a new breath comes into us. We feel at once at home, comfortable, secure, even joyous. When we allow that new breath to fill us, our eyes begin to sparkle, our bodies begin to move, our feet are not content to stand still. It is your spirit alive.

I will surely miss seeing this happen as I begin my journey toward retirement. I will miss standing up front, watching your children alive in faith. I will miss the joyous dance, watching it take hold, seeing its reality, touching and tasting that Source of all goodness. Yes, I can be part of it somewhere in another place and time although I have no idea where that will be.

Does your spirit come to life like that in all places? Does it flow in ceaseless praise? Does it come as a natural outgrowth of faith? Does it, Lord, Majesty of All Wonder? Does it?

O God, sometimes it all seems like a dream, a fantasy. But then I look again and I see it. It is real and I have a teeny, tiny part in that. My own spirit leaps, my faith alive, I know who it is we are adoring...together. And I find my heart so warm, so full, so happy.

Source of All Joy,
I dance
at your feet.
I sing
to you,
giving praise.
You are worthy,
worthy of praise.
You are
the life
within us.
You are joy
at its best.
You are hope,
hope that wrestles
the darkness
and wins.
I am full,
full of you
today, Lord
and I am glad.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Dearest God,

My life is appearing before me. My stories, all fifty of them, have now been recorded. When I exchange this human flesh for a white robe, my stories will remain for those I love.

Lucy, my three year old granddaughter, called me to tell me her sister had read her one of the children's books I wrote, Sophie at the Seashore. A story about my granddaughter Sophie, Lucy found Papa Harold, a picture of him on the page.

How much can you tell someone you love them? How can you be sure they know the depth and width of the love? Can Lucy know, by seeing the photos I took and placed in the story, how much I love her and her cousins, my family?

I wonder the need for my writing. Have I written my books as a way of saying, "I love you?" Is my writing, the formulation of my stories, the retelling of my experiences a way of ensuring that others will know the depth of my love?

Only in the last few years have I found solace, meaning and value in writing. I discover things about myself when I write. I learn more about you. I ponder the eternal.

I ponder the eternal!

Loving God,
I spend
a good deal
of time
thinking on matters
of eternity.
Not just heaven,
but glimpses
of eternity
in every day.
I live
in anticipation
of finding
daily treasures
of the sacred.
This anticipation
allows me
to soar
when I feel
heavily grounded,
some times
pressed down.
When I set
my mind
on you,
and the
sacred dimensions
of human life,
I am enabled
to soar,
fly like
the eagles,
sometimes
even flying
with angels.

Love, Andrea

Friday, November 7, 2008

Dear God,

How much trust can one place in you? How much does the human soul have to move in order to make the deepest connection? Is it possible to be lost in you or is the deepest connection the hope we gain?

Sometimes the connections I hope to make do not materialize. I draw back, retreat into myself, lick my own wounds. I become more hesitant to try again, yet I do. Often I am disappointed. I feel my own failure. Yet, I have to ask myself. Is this failure? Can love fail when it tries to reach out? What do I hope to gain?

Someone recently said that a relationship with you is best known in a relationship with another. Is this true? Must I have a deep connection with another in order to deeply connect with you? A human relationship has its rises and falls I know but I have always trusted that a relationship with you is not like that. It is different. Where one can collapse, fall apart, the other remains intact. Is this not so?

Must I work harder to trust in a human relationship in order to more deeply connect to you? And what if I fail? What if my best efforts do not bring me what I hope for? Am I destined to live in a relationship that remains elusive? Does my failure on earth mean failure in heaven? Will my inability to enact change in a human relationship mean I will not reach the highest level possible with you? How much trust must I place in both the earthly and heavenly relationships?

Daily I ponder such questions. I try, attempting to find meaning in relationships all around me. Sometimes I am able to trust; other days I am not. I turn off, close myself to anything that will require vulnerability on my part. I draw my circle, keeping myself inside and others out. I can be happy in my self-created world. But not for long. I know I am not destined to live in such a small world. When I look on the inside of my circle, I find respite from life's challenges. I feel safe, secure, yet alone. When I look at the outside of my circle, I always find the word trust. It takes trust in order to move toward someone, anyone, depending on what I am looking for. It always seems safer to trust in you, allowing other relationships to be secondary. Some days I am too tired to try. Other days I am up for the challenge. But it always takes trust and some days I am fresh out.

The dance of life is the dance of relationships, I know. And trust is the key to open the door to relationships. Teach me, Lord, how to make trust work.

Some days
I am
like a child,
needing a mother,
a father.
I cry out
for help.
You never fail
to hear
my plea.
I draw in
your strength,
knowing this courage
is divine.
There is
a power
that helps me,
teaches me,
loves me.
I am
so grateful.

Love always, Andrea

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Dear God,

He was walking with his IV partner, the nurse following him. He was weak, peaked, but determined to make four laps around the hospital. I smiled and said, "You can do it! You're going to make it!" "I know I am." He said back to me.

Later I made a phone call in the corridor. The same man was on a gurney being pushed by a nurse. I moved to the side. He lifted his hand to take mine. The nurse stopped. He looked into my eyes perhaps looking for hope. Our hands clutched, I nodded and smiled again. "You'll be fine." I told him.

The human touch. Two strangers in a hospital hallway, holding hands. I remember the last time I held a hand like that. The man was also a stranger, in a primitive hospital in West Africa. We too bared our souls to one another. He lay dying. He could not speak English. I could not speak Twi. But something happened between us just like today.

Sometimes I am drawn to another for just a moment. Generally it is someone hurting, struggling in some way. I don't know what I have to offer but the human touch, a touch that is more than I can offer alone. I'd like to think I'm offering them your hand. My hand isn't worth much; yours is worth everything.

I prayed for both these men. I knew the condition of the one man. I knew his days were limited. I knew his death would be horrific. The other I did not know, but I felt led to connect. And so we did.

Great Physician,
Comforter and Friend,
you bring
your children together
in ways
I could never do.
Your love
is the touch
we long for.
We search
for hope
wherever we can
find it.
In hallways,
and corridors,
at home
and half way
around the world.
You always travel
the miles
bringing your people together.
Our hearts
are grateful.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Dearest God,

The mystery of love. I hold in my hand the picture of Sister Kateri. Wearing the Native American clothing I bought her in New Mexico, she is lifting a basket of bread as part of her Indian Dance she did in Rome to commemorate the 25th anniversary of religious life of two Sisters.

How well I remember her. Our "chance" meeting. Our love for Kateri Tekiwitha, the first Native American woman to hold onto her Native American love of creation theology and her conversion to Christianity. Our love for dance. Our love for you. Rome, Italy.

She wrote me telling me about teaching Native American dance in Rome, how she wore the clothing and later gave the skirt to an African woman who wears it while doing celebrative dance in memory of women who have died in Africa. My love for Africa.

Love's golden thread is woven through the story. New Mexico. The mountain. Kateri. St. Francis. Italy. Africa. The connections are startling.

I observe with great joy the links of faith. Strangers becoming friends in minutes, now writing one another. Who could bring us together? You only.

You link me
with eternity.
The past
connects with the present
setting the stage
for the future.
Peoples together,
the start
of friendship.
Faith speaking out,
crying out
to be heard.
I hear it.
I see it.
I revel
in it.

Yours to praise you, Andrea

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Dear God,

Chance encounters remind me of a connection far deeper. I was just leaving the hospital, paying my fee when a woman asked me to pray for her son. I had only told her that I was a minister because she had asked me to pay for my parking and ministers receive free parking when we visit parishoners. And then she told me she was praying for four others. "Could I pray for them?" She asked me. I reached out my hand from my car and she reached out from her booth. We held hands as I promised to pray.

As I drove away, Lord, I felt the urgency to pray for her son and friends. With tears in her eyes she had seemed so pleased that you had had a minister visit her to pray for her loved ones. She held tightly to my hand out of desperation.

I don't know what the problems are. I don't know how serious. This woman was a stranger, still is. But she's also my sister, my human sister in need. I could see the heavy burdens in her eyes. I reached out my hand because she looked like she needed a human touch and I was the one you asked to do it. She reached back.

My sister
cries for help,
O Lord.
My sister
has burdens
too heavy
to carry.
My sister,
Lord,
my sister,
may she know
your loving presence.
A stranger
my sister.
Thank you.

Love, Andrea

Monday, November 3, 2008

Dear God,

I have moved over to the next lane. The path I have followed until now is being made new for someone else.

The view from the next lane is okay. I can see the first lane very well. I have lived there now for some time. I have done what I could. I have worked hard, prayed hard, loved hard. But now I have a new role to play in the next lane. I want to work as hard, pray as hard and love as hard to prepare the first lane for another, to make sweet the transition when I will need to hand the baton to the next person.

Entering the next lane is somewhat new to me. I have had to move over before to help prepare for a next person but I've always had a new lane to jump into. Not now. The time is coming rapidly when I will soon move from this lane too to the outside lane.

Trusting you in the change has been my heart's desire. Why make the move without you? Is this not ministry of a new sort? Is this not a call to faithfulness? Is this not a new thing you are doing?

Keep my eye
on you,
Gracious Love,
for I want
to follow
you only.
When I allow
my eyes
to move
from you
to another,
I will surely
end up
at a dead end
or worse.
You are God,
the God
to be followed.
Everything else
is false,
a cheap replica
that will
lead me nowhere.
I long only
to be somewhere
with you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Dearest God,

The fresh scent of a newborn baby! The beauty of a new life, a small, little person at the very beginning of life is a sacred sight to behold. Today I beheld the wonder of new faith.

Rick is a sign of new faith growing, a trust in you, like a newborn. I have watched him take hold of faith much like a toddler reaching out for a new toy. He is real; his faith is genuine.

Like tender shoots rising from a spring garden, there is a freshness of faith erupting in our midst. How refreshing from dead, stale faith that has lost its passion, its fervor or from faith gone astray for its own benefit.

I have given my life to help seeds take root. On purposeful occasions I have watered, even uprooted weeds that have come up to distract from the real thing. I have watched the seed grow and bear fruit. And I have bent down to give thanks for a new sign of God.

Your tender
new shoot,
a new sign
of your presence
has been revealed.
New growth,
a pure heart,
faith in progress,
we bow down
to give thanks
to you.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Dear God,

Tonight I took a whirlwind trip to Russia, to the Middle East, to Africa and back home. Along the way I visited churches, a couple of hospitals, and a slab of concrete that would become a library. I returned to a former parsonage. I saw faces of the faithful, children in need. I saw an extended filthy hand of a six year old boy who lived in the garbage dump of Cairo with his family. His handed was extended not asking for coins but rather offered with hospitality.

Because I am preaching on risk-taking service and mission tomorrow you lead me backwards, to places I never dreamed in my early life I would ever visit. I saw poverty, persecution, and suffering. But I also heard and saw the stories in real life, of faith lived in the midst of it. I realized the goodness of your grace as I witnessed my own experiences of mission and service. I had to acknowledge what happens when we allow ourselves to travel into another culture, one where there is so much lacking and yet, surprisingly, joy. Joy in the small things.

I wondered if I could possibly in just a few minutes interest my flock in caring about others at a deep level. Because there is so much that happens in the human heart and soul when we encounter people who live simply and expect so little, the experience changes things for everybody. We gain so much more than we give and our conscience is pricked at a place needing pricked.

As I turned off the light I was grateful for my mini tour, reminding me of what I have and what I need to give away, so much, so very much.

I dare not
look you
in the eye,
Most Holy God.
I have
so much.
I confess
that I do not love
my neighbor
as much
as myself.
I live
my life
in comfort
while my neighbors suffer.
Prick me often,
Lord,
I pray.

Love, Andrea

Friday, October 31, 2008

Dear God,

I watched with great interest the beautiful colored leaves of the tree outside my bedroom window. Each one painted just a tiny bit different than all the others. The uniqueness of beauty set me free to work on my book.

The seasons delight my soul. One day I look out and the trees are barren and then overnight buds appear. At the blink of my eye I see the tree in full bloom. And then one day I come home from work and you have painted the leaves. If there is any certainty in life, it is this one: The earth revolves on its axis at your word.

I am writing my book perhaps as a fulfillment to give a longer lasting meaning to my life. I write to tell the stories of my family, my experience, my learnings, my longings, my joys. But particularly that time period of the days leading up to Thanksgiving through Advent, the Winter Solstice, Christmas, Epiphany, the long, cold days of Winter. It is during this time cozy in my own skin I drop my roots down, down, down, into the deep, rich soil of growth. No one can tell I am doing anything. I may look still, quiet and I am. But more than that, I live in a season of trust during times of barrenness. It is quite possible that it is the most important time of my life. And I am recording what happens to me during these least likely visible times of life.

My moments of reflections are growing. Why, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is because I turned 62. Maybe it's because I am in a time of great transition. Perchance it is because my health at times if very fragile. I want to reflect on the greatness of this thing called life. And the intentionality of reflection means that I am conscious, aware of my being, my surroundings, and you, of course, O Lord, who gives the greatest meaning to every move I make.

My book is important to me. It may seem like a collection of stories to others. But it is much, much more than that. It is like catching on film a child at play. It is what is not being said that says so much more than the experience itself. It is like dancing with you when no one else is watching. What happens during that time is the season of the spirit.

I'm in
a particularly
quiet time,
dear God.
Although
on the outside
I appear
to be
the same
as usual,
I am not.
I'm living
under the surface,
taking in
the beauty
of the unseen,
the great mysteries
of life.
I am trusting.
I am reflecting.
I am leaning.
I am learning.
I am loving.

For you only, Andrea

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Dearest God,

Feeling sick can alter the emotions. Things can look bleak and gloomy. If I'm not careful, it can be the reality out of which I live.

I didn't feel well today and I began to fall under the bar of hope and joy. Trying to push through my work, caring for others and continuing to do the work I do in my home felt overwhelming to me. As I looked outside myself, I felt somewhat lost.

As I fight my own health battles, I realize that hope is not fed by emotions nor by health issues or by any other human condition. Hope is a belief founded in God. It is not a hope that I will get better or win the lottery or that my life will be made rosy by others. Hope is much more. It is the foundation that I get up to stand on each morning. Hope is a connection, a connection to you, Almighty. Hope is the air I breathe. It is the ability to smile whether the weather is blue skies and sunny or gray and cloudy. Hope is an inner joy that my life is more than my health. It is more than my relationships. It is more than my work. It is more than my own pitiful offerings in life. Hope is trust. It is putting my small hand into the Creator's hand, one simple gesture.

It is when people lose hope in whatever they have placed it in when they come to see me. By that time they feel hopeless about a certain situation or condition. It is my work, my ministry to help declutter the foggy picture. It is my challenge to help them transition from the paltry, polluted air they breathe to the air of the spirit, so full of life, harmony and peace. It is not a false hope that I lead them to. In reality I can't change anyone. I have no power, no authority, no responsibility. However, I can pick up my paint brushes given to me at the throne of grace to begin to paint a new picture, one with greater resources, with love and faith. It's all I can do plus live out of my own hope. Sometimes I share a story of my own loss of hope and how it returned, not because my situation changed but because my inner self moved into a different direction of faith. I turned to you.

I had to stop for a moment today, to redirect my thoughts. My life is not my sadnesses or lackings but rather it is my joy in my one great relationship with you, my Beloved God.

Love of my Life,
I turn
to you
on gray days.
I lean
on you,
O Great One,
knowing that
you are the One
who is
sure and steady
when everything else
around me
is shaking
on its foundation.
I pause
to listen
to eternity's whisper.
May it
always be so.

Loving you, Andrea