Friday, February 27, 2009

Dearest God,

Learning to trust, really trust is an every day challenge. I may trust you for yesterday but sometimes it is hard to trust you for today. I may trust you for one situation but not others. I may see no need for trust in one thing but definitely in another. But what is trust if compartmentalized?

Trust is for every day, every moment. Trust is my eternal connection with you, like a cord linking us together. I either trust you for everything or I really don't trust you for anything.

Every day I look at trust. In every situation in life I need trust, trust in you, in myself, in others. I want to develop a sure-fire trust, a permanent trust in you so this is never an issue.

Trustworthy God,
help me
begin and end
every day
with trust.
Teach me
an awareness
of trust
that makes it
as unconscious
as my breathing.
So I breathe,
so I trust.
In you.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Dearest God,

Beginning anew in some area of life is filled with possibilities. New light is shed on old subjects. Varying perspectives come into play. There is new air to breathe.

At times my soul feels stuck. I feel paralyzed, unable to move. I am prohibited from moving my head in the slightest to see other views. I see one thing, one way, one truth, one vision.

But when something breaks loose, there is a new kind of freedom, new abilities, a new realm of motion. Suddenly I have a 360 degree view of life. What I could not see before now appears on my radar screen. It can be refreshing, renewing, restoring.

I have felt this loosening. I am rapidly beginning to see life afresh. There is life after all on the other side of anything. Having believed that there was something on the other side is the stuff of hope and faith. Although at times I doubted something else could possibly exist, the bits and pieces of my faith whispered hope and I kept pushing myself to explore more, to try to move, to break free of that which kept me bound.

Perhaps today for the first time I breathed a fresh new air. I lived in to a new possibility. The stagnant, stale air of my past sorrow began to dissipate as the new air source took over. Hope was not some far off distant concept; rather it breathed into me new life.

Illuminating God,
you whisper
to me,
"Hope, my child,
there is
always hope."
Sometimes I disbelieve;
I can't
make myself believe
in other possibilities.
With my faith shattered
I just
don't possess
the tools
to make
the move.
But then
I am surprised
when you show up
at an entrance
I hadn't noticed.
You appear
and suddenly
everything changes.
When I
lean over
to take
your outstretched hand,
my hope
becomes trust
and trust
becomes faith.
Keep on
pushing me, Lord,
I need
your gentle nudge
and comforting word.

I love you, Andrea

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

My dearest God,

"...we beg you who have received grace not to let it be wasted." The line from 2 Corinthians lifted off the page as I prepared for my Ash Wednesday message. Grace, wasted.

Grace, that unmerited, unlimited, unconditional love you offer. My mind went sailing and reeling at the same time. The countless times you have touched my life with forgiveness, compassion, comfort, and mercy. The moments when light broken into my darkness, when you picked me up from the abyss and lifted me to heaven, when your warmth held me, when an answer came, when I was loved being my ability to comprehend it. Those experiences of faith conquering fear, hope destroying despair, joy dissipating sorrow. I realized how full my bucket was, a full bucket of grace.

But the second part struck me equally. This grace wasted. The times I turned away, separating myself from you. When I sinned, mocked someone, forgot you, failed to care for my neighbor in need. When I received grace but did not give grace to someone else. When I was stingy and neglected to help another. When I took matters in my own hand and ignored your warnings. When I said no, knowing yes was the better answer. When I did not forgive, provide mercy and compassion. When I was ugly, mean or cruel. When I massaged the truth, making myself look better that I really was. When...

Oh, God, how I have wasted your grace. I have grabbed hold of the shiny tin rather than the gold of heaven. I have disappointed you again and again. My bucket, so full of beautiful goodness became nothing more than a mess of pottage. I took what was beautiful and made it into something cheap and unusable.

This exercise, this self examination, wrought sorrow in my soul. I felt sad. Knowing the truth of myself, I felt my own self condemnation, my self loathing. How could I? Why would I?

But perhaps saying the truth aloud in my own soul is in itself an act of grace. On Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, you gave me another chance to redeem myself. And as we sang the last song, "When we are living, it is in Christ Jesus, and when we're dying, it is in the Lord. Both in our living and in our dying, we belong to God, we belong to God," I knew that grace had come again, yet another gift of your love.

Dearest, Wondrous God,
my flawed faith
is all
I have
to offer.
My inability
to follow,
to be obedient
at times
is simply
the truth
of who
I am.
My self will,
my broken places
my stubbornness
I place
before you.
Ashamed
I still long
for you.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Dearest God,

What is the reward of attachment? Attaching myself to homes, cars and stuff can at times make me a slave to them. When I struggle to make decisions about my future, my life, I am brought back to my accumulation. I am not free.

But in the night as I was praying, I thought back to an experience just a few days ago. When I was holding on to stuff, I felt anxious, worried, concerned, paralyzed. Emotionally I was drained, psychologically I felt trapped. Mentally I couldn't free myself enough to see a solution.

But you surprised me. From a back door entrance you spoke a word and I was free to let go. Suddenly I saw that stuff is nothing more than that. Stuff. Stuff will not bring me joy, oh maybe for a moment, a day or a week, but it has no sustaining power. Stuff will not help me love more. In fact it can get in the way of love. Stuff can make me look like more than I really am, giving an inaccurate picture of my personhood. Stuff can be trouble. If I can't afford it, I create more anxiety. If I don't really need it, it can clutter my life. If I have to spend so much time taking care of it, it can rob me of valuable time to do something more important. If it is the object of a fight, I can give away the purity of my heart because my stuff has more value than love, faith, trust, peace.

You revealed to me the value of detachment, the wisdom of detachment. You showed me a new path, a lighter burden, a freedom that opens new doors. In your generous vision you parted the curtains divulging greater truths. Detaching myself from stuff leads the way to a brighter future because it gives me more room, more opportunity, more time to attach myself more deeply to you.

God Most High,
my ways
are not yours.
Your vision
is not like
my own.
Wise God,
you reveal
new truths
to me,
teaching me
to trust you more.
My life
in you
gives me
pause and cause
to rid myself
of unwanted,
unncessary things.
The more
I cling
to the things
I own,
the less trust,
the less freedom,
the less peace
I have.
Detachment.
Wisdom.
Trust.

Love, Andrea

Monday, February 23, 2009

Dear God,

Sometimes I feel trapped, pushed into a corner. Nothing seems to want to give. I can only see from one perspective. The picture looks difficult, unbending. Emotionally, I feel nearly undone, overwhelmed, exhausted.

But then, out of the blue, dropped from heaven, a word is spoken that changes everything. Suddenly a new idea comes. The situation changes too. This new idea brings hope, another option, a new way to go. I no longer feel trapped. I feel new energy. I am revived.

This happened today. That which was burdening me, holding me down, feeling low and nearly hopeless all changed when the new idea came. I found a new way. Well, I didn't find it; you brought it to me.

Hope comes as the new idea comes. I grab hold and find myself moving again. Other ideas come too. And I discover myself with new options. A way of escape, a new joy emerging within me.

Sometimes my vision is narrow and small. I can't see my way clear or the picture just doesn't seem viable. In that teeny, tiny world I make for myself I am so limited, restricted. I can hardly move.

But through prayer, opening myself to a greater, more divine power, new opportunities come. And literally you remake me, renewing my spirit while restoring my soul. I find my way out while whistling a tune or dancing, making my next move.

All this happens because you release me, bringing relief, hope, comfort and peace.

You, O Lord,
you only
are the
the miracle maker.
You heal,
renew,
mend,
restore,
remake,
refashion
the human spirit.
Your power
takes hold
and things happen.
What joy comes
when I trust
in you,
when I call out
your name.
But more than
all this,
it is
when you
call out
my name,
that my joy returns.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Dear God,

I don't like not trusting someone. I want to have a purity of heart always. How can I ever stand before heaven with a rotting heart?

I predicted that a friend would continue to break a trust with me. And she has. The space between us has grown so large. I cannot imagine the chasm will ever be healed.

I struggle and wrestle with my insides. I have a growing resentment and I hate it. Yet, with a continuance of troubles, how can the situation ever be resolved? I say to myself that the day is coming soon when I will no longer see her. I will be able to continue my life, living with my sadness until it heals. Then it will be done.

But is this your will? Is this the way you would want me to handle the situation? Do you want me to live in bitterness until I don't have to literally see her anymore?

Do I
disappoint you,
Lord?
Do my actions
bring sadness
to you?
Have I failed
in my walk
of faith?
O God,
too many disappointments
have brought me
so much pain.
I'm loaded up.
My bucket
is full.
How do I
overturn it,
Great Redeemer,
renewing my heart,
soul, and mind?
Help me
to trust you,
O Lord,
so that you
can change
the interior
of my heart
from decay.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Dearest God,

The weariness in my bones gave way as my daughter invited me for lunch and some time together. We ate a wonderful meal of hot soup and sandwiches as we watched the snow flakes fall from the sky. Then we drove to a shopping mall not far away. We wandered through a couple of stores, finally making a purchase in Ulta.

I have been so preoccupied with my work and personal issues for so long that I really haven't done a good job of caring for myself. Although I have only purchased perfume for myself once or twice during my 62 years, I decided to try some different fragrances. With no perfume sticks to use, I sprayed five different scents on my wrists and arms. I smelled like alcohol at first. But when I walked out with a purchase, I was very fragrant, the fruity, flowery smell nearly overcoming us in the car.

Four hours later we returned home and I felt as if I had been on a mini vacation. My daughter had helped lift my spirits and I sensed you were with us.

The sweet fragrance
of your presence
restores and renews me.
I may be
very low
at times
but your power
lifts me up.
I cannot
stay down forever.

Thank you, Andrea

Friday, February 20, 2009

Dearest God,

It has been a week of dying and death. Two young people have died, ages 36 and 39, both from cancer. I have been in the midst of sadness and tears.

Although the weight of this suffering has taken its toll, I have also been in the middle of celebration. Two families have shown such love for their loved ones. I have listened to their stories of joy which further exhibits the kind of caring, loving relationships they have shared. I have seen the light shine in the darkness.

On Friday when I arrived at the home of the woman who had just passed, I was shown a telephone photo of a cross in the sky. Just taken on his way to the house, the man was strengthened and so was the family. It was a sign of your presence and what comfort it brought the family.

As I drove out of the driveway at 8:30 p.m. after having conducted the first funeral earlier in the day and made tentative arrangements for the second, I realized I had not only seen signs of your coming, I sensed your presence myself.

More and more I have come to the knowledge that there is no darkness so dark that the light cannot break in. The greatest amount of sorrow is still not so deep that joy cannot enter. No amount of brokenness is so large that healing cannot penetrate. All of this is possible because you come to us during those painful moments.

Although I have had my own tears for these two families and their loved ones, I have also discovered myself smiling, imagining the joy these persons have experienced with one another. There is blessing in all this.

I know the Ecclesiastes passage is true. There is a time and season for all things under heaven. I have clung to that truth so many times. When the pendulum moves toward loss and sorrow, I feel its despairing pain deep in my bones. My heart breaks, my soul wails. The time there sometimes feels so long, like maybe it will never end. But then it does. The slow movement in the other direction brings relief and hope. My heart, although never the same, begins the healing process leaving a faded scar. And my soul begins its rejoicing.

Only you,
Gracious God,
can make
all this happen.
You are present
in our midst
all the time.
You never
leave us.
Never.
We may not
see you
or sense
your presence
but then
something happens
and the reality
of your presence
becomes transparent.
Hope is born
at that
very moment.
And life continues.

Love, Andrea

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Dearest God,

I felt the tentacles of despair reaching upward to encompass me as I awakened this morning. I felt nearly bound to my bed. But I forced myself to rise up, to get the Holy Ground CD. I put the ear phones on and I lay there listening to your voice in music. I felt a soothing in my soul. When the music ended, I heard, "Get up and wear purple today."

The spiritual exercise got me going again. I trusted in your voice, got the music, played it, arose out of bed and after my shower, I put on my favorite purple outfit. Purple has always reminded me of you. For me purple is a divine color, reminding me of your presence. I carried that presence with me all day. I felt a quiet strength.

I remember a counselor once telling me that a person should carefully choose their clothing during a time of depression. Wearing drab, dark, dull colors can deepen one's despair. But wearing bright, cheery clothing can help enhance emotional health. Sounds simple. It is simple. I've used that tactic on several occasions.

This holy listening when I found myself sad and despairing helped me enormously as I acted out of faith and trusted you to guide my day. I needed it as I am in the middle of two families grieving the cancer battles of their young family members. One has already died. The other will not last long.

So helpful was my morning exercise that I was strengthed to spend two hours with the family whose young wife and mother still labors with cancer. Although she is not a member of my church she asked me to plan and do her service. While in the midst of dying we talked about the new life we will celebrate following her death. I looked at my purple and felt your loving presence guiding and helping me.

The more
I trust you,
the more
I am able
to trust you.
My own darkness
at times
threatens to
overtake me.
Yet,
your light
breaks in
like the sun
does sometimes
parting the
dark gray-green,
ominous storm clouds.
I feel
an easing
in my soul.
Your comfort
and warmth
puts strength
in my bones,
my muscles,
tendons and ligaments.
What felt heavy before
lightens my burden
and I am
enabled to
move again.
O God,
Precious Lord,
Redeemer and Friend,
what joy
fills my soul
as I trust
in you.

Love, Andrea

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Dearest God,

I am a carrier of good news. That means I carry good news to those who need it. No matter whether the sun is shining in my life or I'm in the midst of an ominous storm.

Steve died two days ago, age 36 of melanoma cancer. Yesterday I had to give good news to his father, mother and brother.

Kerry is dying of cancer and she is just 40 something. Today I am going to give her good news.

While pouring out good news to others, I have to let the good news surface for me too. My own dark storms have to part so the good news will reach my own soul.

How much of the gospel do I believe? Do I truly believe there is good news in the midst of trials and tribulations? Do I believe you are active in our lives at all times? Do I trust that imparting the good news in difficult times is something I do not do alone, but believe you are with me?

Faith wakes me up in the morning. Faith sings me its song of light, hope and love. It tells me that life is not only worth living but is fundamentally a joy-filled opportunity. I get to see the sun break through the clouds. I get to enjoy watching my sick grandchild recover. I get to see peace arise out of fear. I get to see people choose to walk toward the light. I get to see the green plant poke through winter's crusty soil. I get to hear the sound of the birds. I get to feel my four -year-old granddaughter's gentle kiss upon my cheek. Faith tells me I've been kissed by God.

You, O God,
are the bearer
of good news.
I just have
a small bag
to carry.
You are the
good news.
And your
good news
is always
joy to
my soul.
Break through
my own
long winter's soul.
Sing me
faith's love song.
Let new life
erupt from me.
Let your
good news
restore my
own soul.

I long for you alone, O God, Andrea

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Dearest God,

I prayed, "O God, please bless..." and then I went on to share the names of my children, grandchildren, husband, church, friends and the world. In the middle of it I suddenly said, "What am I doing?" Am I trying to tell you what to do? Is my role to awaken you from sleep to do what I tell you as if you didn't even know what needed doing? I stopped in midstream, do you remember?

What is prayer? I suddenly asked myself. Is prayer a mindful exercise on my part? But the work of prayer is yours? There's a problem with this, I told myself. I couldn't pray on.

It came to me: Each day, sometimes several times, I offer up names, praying that you would make lives better, those of family and friends, strangers in worn-torn areas, starving children, leaders of nations, on and on. What is my work? I asked you. And you whispered, "Live the prayer, live the prayer."

What good am I if all I do is bark orders to you? Living the prayer involves me in blessing lives around me and even around the world. What if the words of my prayer are your words, urging me to become involved in the lives of people desperate for your loving concern? When there is an opportunity to give a cash gift for hats and gloves for the homeless, is that not living the prayer? And for a tiny Native American library in New Mexico who offered me hospitality, a shelter from the heat when I was sick? A gift for books, a chance to tell their story to others? And when someone needs a word of hope, am I not to live the prayer and offer that word? Sharing love with humanity, living each day as a living prayer, is that not your intention for us all?

I began to look around me. Humanity is in need all over the world. My prayer is your prayer challenging me to share my life of light and love with others, friends and strangers. And sometimes when I am in need, I need to be willing to receive that same love knowing others are living the prayer too.

And now when I pray, I know I am praying with you, not just offering up some names, more work for you. I am listening to your calling, following your lead, taking those names, becoming more sensitive to the world around me. And when I see a need, a crying child, a weary mother scolding her child, a broken down car on the highway...you soften my heart, sensitizing me to those dramatic needs in the community and world. I don't have the ability to minister to each one, what I do have is a softer heart for those times when I can reach out to help with words, money, assistance, guidance, love...faith.

O Lord,
the idea
of giving you
a list
of needs
and then
going on
about my life
is nonsense.
What is
my usefulness
in the world
if I do not
help my neighbor?
Prayer
is not
about me
telling you
what to do
but rather you
inspiring me
to do
the beautiful work
of grace,
compassion,
mercy,
and comfort.
Partners,
you and I
Why am I
made in
your image
if not
for going
into the world
sharing your life
with others?
Why else
would I,
could I
carry your face
with me?
Make my prayers
a labor
of love
to those
in need,
Lord,
a labor
of love.

Love, Andrea

Monday, February 16, 2009

Dear God,

I take heart with courage. When I cleaned out the garden on Saturday, ridding it of storm debris and the leavings of autumn, I saw signs of new growth ready to burst into spring. It wouldn't take much to push them further up into the light of the budding season soon to come. Once again the dead is choosing to rise up with new life.

I hold on to that truth in my own life. There is surely signs of growth within me. I too am but a step from new life. I too have been ridding myself of the dead places. There is hope for me too.

But I wonder. The old dead leaves and brown covered the ground where beautiful flowers had once blossomed. Had they kept the the bulbs safe during the cold strikes? Had they prevented them from harm during the winter storms? If so, then they had been a gift to the plants. But has their effectiveness worn off? Is it now time to uncover the ground, freeing it for new life? Is it time?

A time
and a season
for all things
under heaven.
How often
have I clung
to that truth?
How many times
did I wait out
the season
of dread
to welcome
the season
of hope?
How many moments
did my heart
feel a surge
of joy
when I turned
to see
your face
instead of
the darkness
that had surrounded me?
A time
and a season
to trust you.

Love, Andrea

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Dearest God,

I am guilty of pride. I read and listened at the feet of St. Bernard of Clairvaux. I went through the 12 steps of pride and saw my own self moving from one to the next, building up pride along the way. No matter that it was built upon a decaying foundation.

Sometimes I do compare myself with others, especially those close. When I feel loss or grief, insecurity will lead me to pride as a way of coping. A poor way, of course. And the great tragedy for me is that I don't have anything more than I had before. I never get what I really want and I end up empty handed.

The truth that cries out is that what I want is not possible. As much as I want it to be, it is not. It is like an illusive dream; I grab for it but I can never attain it. This truth brings me sorrow and has for a long time. But how long do you complain, anguish, cry and rebel? How long before you grow weary of me, Lord?

I ask for your help. You give it to me. I ask for your guidance. You give it to me. I ask for your love and you pour it out. I ask you to show me the way and it is revealed. And then I stop. I sit on the ground and weep for I know the truth that will set me free. But knowing the truth and acting upon it, taking hold of it, trusting it, taking steps, and leaving behind my shattered dream is so difficult and painful. My whole being fills with sadness.

And then your words come to me, "The Lord is my shepherd; the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." "The Lord is my shepherd..." Yes, you are my shepherd. Like a lamb who has wandered off alone, fallen down and hurting, you come to my aid. You ease my suffering. You right me, moving me from my vulnerable posture so I can get up and get moving. As I move back in the right direction, you call out to me. "Little lamb, little lamb..." The sound of your voice brings more tears, tears of gratitude. Just knowing that you know my name brings a sense
of relief and I am enabled to move forward one more time.

Great Shepherd,
you have heard
my bleating cry.
You have appeared
to me,
reminding me
that the shepherd
always hears
the cry
of the lambs.
May I walk today
with that knowledge
and act
in faith
and trust.

Love, Andrea

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Dearest God,

Some days I hide behind third person. It is easier to talk about us and we than I and me. I moralize and philosophise rather than speak directly from inside myself. Sometimes my own voice feels paralyzed to be honest and forthright. I skirt the issues. I shuffle around. And why? Because the truth screams to be revealed and sometimes the truth is too painful to speak.

Some days I push and shove to get a giant boulder up the side of the mountain. I huff and puff, using every ounce of energy I have. Some days I actually get it to the top only to discover by morning it has moved to the bottom once again. Perhaps I should never have moved it in the first place. Maybe it wasn't even mine to move.

I am trying to make sense of my own little world. I am trying to live by faith but often I fail and plummet to the depths weeping from the inside out. My weeping gets me nowhere except that sometimes releasing the tears helps relieve the stress I feel.

Trying to keep my life in balance is my greatest task at the moment. Grasping for your help means that at least I am not trying to do this all alone. I know the source of love and hope is always you.

I fall
at your feet
again and again.
And I always
find you waiting.
My heart
feels sad
and I wonder
if I can
continue the journey.
But always,
always
you remind me
that the load
is carried
by two--
you and me.
In fact
you have
the greater share.
It's what
you do.
And I am left
with gratitude
and thanksgiving
and a commitment
to keep
on going.

Love, Andrea

Friday, February 13, 2009

Dear God,

In the early morning I looked outside. My contemplative garden was filled with debris and clutter after the storm. Limbs, branches and twigs were all over my yard. I decided it was time to clean and spruce up.

I worked for two or three hours, picking up the fallen tree branches. I pulled dead leaves from plants that will soon erupt with green. I cut back stalks and picked up the leavings of oriental grasses. It felt so good clearing and cleaning.

While working it came to me how I was doing the same thing in my life. My countless conversations with you have shown me the way to clear and clean in my own life. Although painful in some areas, I realize that clutter will remain in place until I ask you to help me move it or let it go. This activity is so important; yet, I often hold on and hold on even though I know the clutter is keeping me from leading a fruitful life.

Clutter and debris left behind from the storms in my own life rot and decay my soul. Not only that but they keep me in a fog. I just can't get clear about the direction in my life. I accumulate until I am full up. Your word of challenge calls for the clean up, the clearing work. I ask myself why I wait so long. But then I know the answer. The remnants of the storms have brought me the truth and the truth has shown me what I must do. Sometimes, perhaps even most of the time this is a painful process, one that produces tears and sorrow. If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I hold on for a very long time, way beyond when I should have taken action. It's just that the clean up hurts so much.

Cleaning and clearing
in my own life
must be
a challenge
for you, Lord.
You are always
revealing yourself
to me,
showing me
the way,
teaching me,
guiding me.
But I don't listen.
I can't
let go.
That which is
so precious
is so hard
to release.
Yet, I know
that true healing
will never
take place
without this action.
And I know
that if I
really want
to live
a life
of faith,
then I must
surely trust you
to know
more than me,
to lead me
in the ways
of hope.
Sometimes
it is
downright hard,
dear God,
and I want
to do
the right thing.
In the end
I want
to be faithful,
O Lord,
I want
to be faithful.

Loving you, Andrea

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Dear God,

I went to bed very tired. In the early morning hours I had a dream. People were in my home. I had to lead a study but I had left my book upstairs. I also needed to put on a dress to look nice. But I was so weak that I had to crawl up the steps. I had to crawl across the floor to find my book and my dress. I sat up to put on my dress. I crawled back downstairs realizing that people were waiting. Then I realized I had left the book upstairs. I was so weak and tired I could hardly crawl back upstairs and back down. Then I heard the crowd leaving. They weren't angry. It was just time to go. I sat down on the floor upstairs.

I woke up exhausted, weary, with little energy. I wondered if something had happened to me in the night or if I was affected by the dream. I lay there until after 6:00 a.m. pondering.

How often I am reminded that life is about trust. I do not know one minute from the next what will happen to me or to the world. The next minutes of my life may be planned but that doesn't mean the plan will run its course. I could live afraid, frightened by what may come or I can trust and get moving.

I have given my life to your hands. You had it in the beginning but then I had a choice to take it into my own hands. I wanted to give it back, to form a partnership, one where you reigned supreme and I was desirous of following, of conversing, of serving, of making life better where I could for others.

I don't have the strength I once had. I used to do cleaning marathons, to do so many things in one day. I kept myself extremely busy. But then something happened. My health took a shift and I couldn't do what I used to do.

This sudden change in my health has caused me to rethink how much control I have over my life. I am not a limp rag to be sure; however, I don't have earth's control panel in my hands either. I plan my day and orchestrate it the best I can. Lead me, guide me I ask you, lead me, guide me.

So much of life is up in the air. And so much of me is lying on the floor too tired to put on my dress and lead a study. What makes me get up in the morning is trust. What keeps me going all day is trust. What puts me to bed at night is trust. And when I am at my loneliest, I trust. When I fear, eventually I breathe in trust. Trust is the foundation of my life and that trust is you.

Every morning
I decide
to trust you
throughout the day.
I begin
with prayer,
an earnest attempt
to take hold
of your hand,
to let you
lead me
and guide me.
I want
to trust you
before I act
to love you.
Thank you
for the constancy
of your trust.

Love always, Andrea

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Dear God,

The menacing dark clouds hung low as I pulled out of the parking lot. Looked like they could turn angry at any moment. Was scary.

Such ominous clouds can sometimes collect around me. Attitudes, hurts and disappointments turn a blue sky into a dark one. In those moments my emotions run low, my spirit can take a nosedive, my heart can begin to sink. I can't see the blue beyond the black.

But then the unexpected will happen. Something deep inside me, a familiar voice will whisper. "Remember, I see the clouds too but I know what is behind them. I know the blue is there because I put it there. And there are plenty of white fluffy clouds painted on the blue. I know because I rolled them out. And the sun is shining because I..."

I am reminded that when storms rage, peace is still available. I may not be able to see it or feel it. But peace is possible even then. When something rolls over me in one of those dark times, I know who it is because you have an interest in my life just as you do each child. You bring peace so I can ride out the storm knowing I am not alone.

O God,
you do not disappear
when hard times come.
Instead
you show up
in surprising ways,
bringing with you
gifts of your spirit:
peace,
hope,
comfort,
mercy,
and compassion.
Your love
ushers all these
to me.
On dark days
remind me
to take stock
in all
you do,
in all
you provide.
Your light
still shines
in the darkness,
even when
I cannot
see it.

Always grateful, Andrea

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Dearest God,

Sometimes it seems we just walk into heaven, a sweet scent rising up, filled with grace's extraordinary love. I visited a home today filled with such love. I sensed it as I entered it, somehow knowing something very special resided there.

Our conversation was not one of simple pleasantries but rather about the essence of life. What is the meaning of life? Is it simply being born, doing your own thing, then dying or is there something more?

For me it is all about the call to be born, initiated not just between a man and a woman but a call of God. A call to creation's destiny, not just one person's but a challenge to purpose. What is my purpose if I live to care for myself only? What do I offer to the rest of the world?

One of my favorite images of God is one of holy light with heaven's arms extended outward. I fall backward into these arms, yes backward because I can't see backward. I can't really be sure I line up with those arms. I may fall. But trust allows me to fall backward, not forward, because then I can see, brace myself if there is a problem. Not much trust involved. But falling backward moves me closer to you.

How often have I come to a dead end, a standstill and realized that my only real alternative is to return from whence I came or take a backward move into your arms? So many times. What I have learned is that your arms not only catch and cradle me, they are the steadying force that give me courage to see from a new perspective, to rise to a new level of faith, to move in a new direction. Faith is born anew and I realize that my destiny is tied into creation's destiny because creation's destiny is tied into you. I move confidently forward because I know my steps are part of creation's story.

My visit today was indeed a line and verse from creation's story. I am a part of the story and so are the people I visited. Together we praised the God of love and light. You, O God, were not only the story we shared but the love with which we shared it. Your peace entered our conversation and we breathed in light that sustained us, will sustain us even into eternity.

What joy erupts
inside us
when we meet
the Creator
of all that is.
You, dear God,
are that joy.
Your love
draws us close;
your light illumines
our next steps.
All there is
left to do
is give thanks.

Loving you, Andrea

Monday, February 9, 2009

Dear God,

Each day I learn how important it is to say hello to God the first thing in the morning. To imagine going a whole day, a morning, an hour without you is unthinkable.

The greatest joy and delight of my heart is my relationship to you. Why would I want to move my best friend to the back?

Yet, I don't always act as if you are with me. My words and my actions do not always indicate that I am living with God at my side. I am sorry.

I recognize what a work I am. I am like wet clay; I am still being shaped and moulded. I am not finished. Just when I think this part of me is looking good, I come to realize I still am in need of a reshaping. What a relief it is to know that at least I am still in your hands, the hands of the potter.

Reshape this
wet clay,
O Lord.
Shape me
as you see me
not as
I see myself.
Make me
in your image.
Why would I
want to look
like me?
Create me
in your image,
Loving Potter.
I love you.

Always, Andrea

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Dear God,

There is a quiet peacefulness about me. Recent turmoil has turned to knowledge, wisdom and action. I wondered if I could ever get here.

Following the vision you have placed before me I have found the peace I needed. Yet, the peace is still laced with sadness that I know will be with me for some time.

For the last three Sundays I have felt this awesome peace. Whereas I thought it would be difficult, painful and exhausting, I have instead felt a sense of inner peace and confidence. I think my preaching has also revealed this spiritual trust.

In your peace I have found comfort and compassion. You have been the steadying hand these last few days and I can't imagine having to face the present and future without it.

I continue to be reminded that one does not walk alone, not in the good days or the bad.

Let me
walk beside you,
Supreme Lord.
Still my voice
and make me
listen to your voice.
Your words
are full
of wisdom
and hope.
This peace
I feel
is your gift,
I am sure.
I am grateful.

Loving you always, Andrea

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Dearest God,

Walking around in a fog, through a hazy veil is so frustrating. Important decisions and the ability to make them lie just beyond the curtain, yet, my best efforts haven't seemed to provide a lifting, bringing a clear vision. It's like walking around in muddy water and not being able to see your own feet.

I have prayed for clarity. I have worked toward clarity. These days at the abbey have produced clarity for me. It just seemed to come. The picture rose before me in a quiet, peaceful setting so full of God, so full of you.

Yet, clarity can produce sadness. When truth is revealed, the vision then has to be dealt with. If the picture involves loss, there is mourning that creates sadness.

I have answers to my prayers. I received them as I sat at your feet, worshipped in your sanctuary, listened to your voice. I met you on your terms , not my own. When I was willing to wait upon you, your response came. As simple as that.

But painful. When the truth is revealed, the answer comes, and the vision is what you did not want to see, suffering rises up in one's soul. But truth is still better than the murky waters.

What I learn from you is that there are steps to trust. The first is to be willing to believe you exist and the second is to be willing to sit at your feet. The third is to believe you have something to say. The fourth is to listen. The fifth is to respond in gratitude for the answer. The sixth is to act upon your response. I moved through all of these at the abbey. I have to now move forward in this sixth level of trust.

On good days I am able to look at the interaction between the human and the divine and be so utterly amazed. This connection allows for so much trust and growth. Growth in so many ways. I generally weep with peaceful joy because the interaction, the conversation is one of deep love. Knowing you love me, care for me at the same time caring for the whole of the cosmos blows my mind.

I stepped back today and reflected upon our work together at the abbey and I gave thanks.

You are a
wonder-working God.
I am
but a simple human,
filled with questions
and human emotions.
I wander
in the fog
while you
follow me around.
I know
you are there
but I seem
to always
have to wait
to discover you.
The waiting
I know
calls for
my patience.
You will answer
when you think
I am ready
to hear.
And I always
think I am ready
before you know
I am ready.
Trusting you
in this process
grows my faith
and builds
my levels
of trust.
Which also
increases my love
for you.

My heart is grateful, Andrea

Friday, February 6, 2009

Dearest God,

My life has been bared before you. The truths, the sorrows, disappointments, losses and failures have all been opened to you. There is nothing you do not know.

I sat in the sanctuary alone at 3:00 a.m. Tears collecting in my eyes, I whispered nothing more than what I have said every day since I came, "O God, O God, O God." Nothing else seemed to come. What more is there to say? You know it all. I could not pray for this or that. I just sat at your feet, "O God, O God, O God." I waited for you to speak. I didn't need to tell you anything more. We've already been through all of that.

As my eyes were fixed on the lone light shining, I continued, "O God, you have been my dwelling place. You have blessed me beyond measure, even me. I just want to say thank you. My time has all been grace." I allowed the tears to spill from my eyes because I realized my great blessing.

This morning as I ate breakfast the music played in the dining area. I sat like everyone else at tables with chairs on just one side all situated to look out the windows at the rolling hills of Kentucky. I had heard this same music at breakfast all week. I loved the tune. Now the words spoke to my heart. I remembered how we had sang at early morning vigil. "O Lord, open my lips and my mouth will declare your praise."

I listened as the woman sang, "...your light shining on me, Jesus, the glorified." I looked at my reflection in the glass for it was still dark outside. I could see myself, tears trickling down my face, your glory was on my face because I was indeed declaring your praise. She sang the next song, "I won't dance unless you lead me and when you lead me in the dance I will leap for joy." I don't have the energy to leap but I did feel joy in my heart.

When I came I was broken in so many pieces like the thousands of twigs, branches and limbs broken here during the tragic ice storm. There were not enough pieces together to say more than, "O God." During these days like the friends and neighbors of the monks, I begin to pick up the pieces, realizing that the pieces were rearranged. They will never look the same. As hard as I might try, broken pieces never go back together the same. It is impossible. They no longer fit. I had to allow them to mold and meld together as you saw fit. And although I wept in the process of transformation, I had to acknowledge that this is my self, the one I will carry into my future.

You have given me a vision of the future. On one hand I feel blessed at the possibility. On the other hand I feel a deep sadness because I will have to leave parts of my past behind. Surrender seems always to be on my heels. And yet, I have learned that surrender paves the way for the new thing you want to create in myself and in others.

Although I made one last trek to the sanctuary for terce, allowing my tears to flow, bowing before the altar and throwing a kiss to Mother Mary, I knew it was time to go home.

Lead me,
guide me,
my bidding mantra
is my prayer
to you.
I won't dance
unless you lead.
I won't sing
unless you lead.
I won't...
unless you lead
and guide me.
What is life really
if it is not guided
by you?
It is
but one
more life.
I was made
by you,
tended all along
the way.
Why would
I want
to enter
the winter
of my life
without your guidance?
O God,
I bow
to you,
Great Lover
of Life.
You always
know best.
Your word
is always
the right word.
And the truth,
it does set
one free,
albeit however painful.

My love and gratitude to you forever, Andrea

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Dear God,

Fear came early in life. My mother miscarried and I thought she was going to die. When I was young my dad was on an airplane that hit a flock of birds and the plane had to make an emergency landing. From then on I was afraid of losing my parents, being left alone. My greatest fear.

And so along my life journey I unknowingly gravitated to those who I believed would keep me feeling safe, secure and present. I was never alone - alone, however, I had a penchant for choosing persons who were really not available. With issues of their own, they simply could not care for my needs and what were those needs? I could never really articulate them but I could always feel them. I now know they were haunting feelings of loneliness. I spent years feeling lonely and alone, never feeling quite safe and secure. All throughout my adult years, I was never sure I really belonged enough to connect at a very deep level. My sorrow grew as my dream of making a real connection was shattered time and time again.

And so in the quiet, recessed places in my soul, I remained huddled alone, trying to comfort myself, trying to reassure myself. It was in my huddled state that you came and called my name. Although I heard my name whispered in the darkness I always knew it was the light calling me. I stood up, wiped my tears and followed the voice. I never knew how, where or when I would meet you, but I always did. I learned to huddle alone, knowing at one time or another you would call me.

Why have I needed this earthly connection so much? Why have I wanted desperately to unite in such a way as to be confident of my own security? Why have I cried out for it, blamed and judged in its absence? O Lord, you have been my dwelling place; yet, it was never enough for me. I wanted more. But my need for more has left me bereft. My yearning, my longing for more has led me down a dead end. As I huddled in my dead end I was once again brought back to you.

Forgive me,
Gracious, Loving God,
how can I
want more
when I have you?
How could I
be so arrogant
as to believe
that more
would give me
the security
I longed for?
For you are
my security.
Within me
you have placed
a lodging
of peace.
May I drink
this peace
O Lord,
knowing you are
always with me,
reminding me
I am never alone.
You have
shown me yourself
and whispered
to me
your love.
Forgive me,
O God,
for wanting more.
You have
revealed yourself
to me.
Please keep
that vision
before me,
I pray.
Let me search
no more
for what
you have already
given me.

Love, Andrea

Wcdnesday, February 4, 2009

Dearest God,

One single light shines in the darkness, one single light. One single light reveals, illumines, warms, instills, initiates, speaks, hopes, loves. One single light.

In the darkness of the early morning, one single light shines. It is you, O God; it is you, O Lord. One single light shines, opening the dark places in my heart. Nothing is hidden where your light shines. It finds every dark crack and crevice and shines there. The warmth of your love finds the cold places and thaws them. One single light.

One single light gathers souls, hungry souls looking for the light. My own soul longs for your light. The fire of your spirit eases my tension, quieting my soul, bringing me peace. I long for you, O God; my whole being longs for you in the quiet of the morning.

Bring me
your light,
Holy Father,
Holy Mother,
let your light
so shine
on me
that I become
your light
shining in
the world.
Let your light
restore my
broken heart,
renew my
broken spirit,
refresh my
weary soul.
What value
am I
without your light?
I am
but darkness itself.
What good
can I
do without you?
What hope
can I offer?
What comfort,
or peace?
What faith
can I carry?
What truth
can I know?
Shine on me,
dear God,
on all
my inward parts.
I humbly pray,
Great Light
of the World.

Love, Andrea

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Dear God,

We were strangers, unknown to one another. Some have lived here a long time. Your call brought them to the monastic life. The rest of us heard the call to come, to linger just for a while.

The tolling of the bell called us to gather, to worship, to praise and adore, to sing the psalms, to pray and give thanks. We were strangers, unknown to one another until we bowed in adoration singing... “Praise the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, both now and forever. The God who is, who was, and is to come to the end of the ages.”

Suddenly we were one, a unity of spirits become one in Christ. Didn’t matter who we were, what our backgrounds were, our economic status, our conditions in life or even our understanding of God; we were different to be sure, but we were the same…seekers, pilgrims in the journey of faith.

I sat in the darkness, one lone light shining way up front in the long, narrow rectangular sanctuary. My eyes were drawn to the light, like a firefly. “O God, O God, O God…” the only words coming to mind, then lifted up, “O God, O God, O God.”

My wounded heart found respite in my words of love for you, Wondrous Creator. As I sat before you, I knew the truth of my own life. I saw my life’s journey. Those moments you felt so close and other times so far away. I saw my wanderings away, trusting in my own strength and will rather than in yours. And the sweet mercy when I returned to find you waiting.

The daily schedule of worship beginning at 3:15 a.m. gives opportunity to draw close, closer and closer. To focus on you, to remember your promise of presence at all times, strengthens my inner self and spirit. Even the wounds of my soul find solace in the warmth of your loving grace. In the quiet silence between spoken and sung worship, I drink in the holiness of faith. I know the Beloved here at the Abbey of Gethsemani.

My life is changing. And I want to embrace the change, allowing for the joy of transformation. In some parts of my life I cannot stop the change. I must embrace it. In other ways I am reaching out for the changes you have placed before me. These are in some ways more difficult than those I cannot change. These hurt more; yet, I find comfort in your loving presence who has taught me that trust will always guide my way, leading me to greater trust which always leads to hope. And hope, as the scripture tells, never disappoints.

I believe
I am where
I am
supposed to be.
It may not
be the place
where I want
to be,
but it is
the place
where I
need to be.
You, O God,
have brought me
to this place
in my life.
You are
showing me
the way home;
for home is
always where
you call us
to be.
Home is
the lodging place
of divine love.
Home is
the return
to you.
Home is
the residence
of compassion
and mercy,
the place
where trust leads.
I am home
when I am
with you.
O, dearest God,
all my faults,
failures, flaws,
and imperfections
show on me.
And I
bow my head
in shame
for my attitudes,
behaviors, and actions.
So often,
I fail, Lord,
I fail
to follow you,
to be obedient
and loving.
Surely,
my following you,
my obedience
would not have
lead me
down paths
of heartache.
My disobedience
has brought me
to you.
Divine love
has returned me
to you.
These who were strangers
know the
same truth.
We find ourselves
at the seat
of mercy.
Accept my devotion,
O Lord,
and my prayer
of thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea

Monday, February 2, 2009

Dearest God,

I had a lot on my mind this morning as I prepared to enter the Abbey of Gethsemane. I had work to do, emails to write, calls to make. But I couldn't do it all. The email didn't work although I worked for an hour and a half. My stress grew and I felt weak all over. I finally had to let it go.

I am looking forward to the 20 minute drive that will return me to the place where I lodged fourteen years ago. At the time I had emotionally lost my daughter. I was drained, exhausted, half dead, my soul erupting with sorrow as I tried to lead a retreat.

But you sent me Madeline, a bag lady who showed up at the abbey. She lived in New Jersey. With all her belongings in the world she spent her days at the library reading. A former concert pianist in the eastern European block, both her parents had died. Something happened and she found herself on the streets.

One day she saw a picture of the abbey in a magazine. She got her next SS check, bought a five dollar travel bag, a skirt from Goodwill and a one-way ticket to the abbey. When she arrived, she called the abbey and one of the monks picked her up thinking she was with my retreat group.

I was eating in silence (that's what you do at the abbey) when I heard a rustling noise. Madeline pulled out her black trash bag and placed it on the chair next to me. Then she sat down and started talking. I tried to explain to her that silence was required in the dining room.

To make a long story short, Madeline and I became friends. I took her to a store where she could buy cleaning supplies to clean her bathroom for hours. Her obsessive behavior told me terrible things had happened to her on the streets. One night she shared with me about her life in music and the love she shared with her parents. The night before I left she passed a note under my door with her prized possession, a sewing needle. It was her way of saying thank you.

The next day the other retreat leader and I drove her to Louisville to the Jewish Center where they had promised to help her. When the classical music was playing on our car radio, Madeline closed her eyes and the look on her face told me she was somewhere else, in heaven I think.

Although this woman refused to be touched even with a handshake, she allowed me to hug her when we dropped her off. She smiled for the first time. As I watched her walk away, I came to the deep realization that she was Jesus for me. I thanked her when she left.

Every so often I think of Madeline. I wonder where she is, if she is safe, if she is alive still. And I give thanks. For during that time I recognized the extent to which you go for your children in need. I don't know whether Madeline needed me but I sure did need her.

I return once again carrying burdens too large to carry alone. I need to be in the quiet silence that the abbey provides. The seven worship services, the quiet surroundings, meals at tables where chairs are only on one side and all chairs look out over the hills, and the daily rhythm of monastic life will be the backdrop where my soul will discern, where I will listen rather than talk, where I will hope where hopelessness lives, where I will offer up my losses, and where I will drink from the well and eat from the table of Jesus.

Gracious and Loving God,
I have walked
through the
valley of the
shadow of death.
I have felt
the pain
and sorrow
of losses
too numerous
to count.
I am going
to the only place
I know
to go
when the pain
is too great,
when sorrow
is too long,
when anguish
fills my soul.
I come
to you,
Lord,
to you
I come.
May I sit
at your feet?
May I listen
to your voice?
May I open myself
to your compassionate love?
May I
long for you?
May I find healing?

Loving you with all my heart, Andrea

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Dearest God,

A dark night of the soul turned into a morning of Solomon's strength. Rubbery legs gave way to spiritual peace, hope and confidence. You, O God, are the source of my strength.

I remember the words of St. Paul when he said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." I know the feeling. Sometimes when I pray, I want instant strength. I feel like I need it to face a difficult issue. Yet, it isn't always instant. I have to wait. What I have learned is that waiting is a spiritual discipline. I wait until you are ready to act on my behalf. When I awakened this morning, I realized my answer had come during the night. Surely the angels of heaven had tended to me bringing me the resources I needed. You, O God, are the source of all my resources.

Taking all my notes from the night before, I wrote and my sermon flowed because I felt the joy of Brother Lawrence's faith. I felt his sweet communion with Christ and I knew that his joy was penetrating my own soul. I smiled as I wrote. You, O God, are the source of my joy.

I faced a situation that I felt would be difficult. But instead of being difficult it was okay. I trusted in your strength, in your loving compassion, in your great mercy. I acted on faith because faith is all about trust and I trusted you to be my peace and hope. You, O God are the source of my faith.

I drove to Kentucky nearly falling asleep several times but you awakened me reminding me to be responsible, to stop and take refuge in a local motel. I found a restaurant where I was the only one in the room. You gave me quiet, a quiet for my soul. I fell asleep in your arms. You, O God, are the source of my peace.

You, O God,
are the source
of all
good things.
You stand
before me.
You are
behind me.
You are
above me
and below me.
I am
hemmed in
by you.
Why does
so much
loving compassion
come my way,
dear God?
Why do
you restore
my soul,
refresh my spirit,
renew my being?
I am
but your child.

Love, Andrea