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