Friday, March 13, 2009

Dearest God,

You brought a book to me: A Room Called Remember. It's been sitting on my desk for a couple of weeks. I am remembering.

I was asked to provide a guest list for my retirement party. As I have looked through old church picture directories, so many stories have come to mind. People whose lives intersected with mine for a time. Precious people who reached out to my single parent family, individuals who entrusted their struggles to me, teenagers and women on retreat, persons who challenged my faith and gave me opportunity to challenge theirs. People stacked up in my soul who have loved me and let me love them back. You have blessed me immeasurably in my years of ministry.

You have allowed a divine weaving to take place, a tapestry of lives interwoven together. On one side there are the knots and pulls, the snags and weak strings, the tears and tattered places. But on the other side there is such beauty, so much beauty. Bright, warm colors, patterns so gloriously planned. Breathtaking because through it all there is a single golden thread that holds it all together. You, Lord, you. You did it all. You left nothing out. Even the horrible times, the losses, the God-awfuls, the suffering pain, they are all there, but so are the transformations, the threads and colors I had missed during those times. You wove them into my being and for the first real time I am seeing them. I am overwhelmed.

Faces, voices, lives, faith, trust, courage, I see them all. What extraordinary beauty! What gifts you have given me, so unearned, so unplanned, so unexpected.

I gaze upon
your work,
O God,
the loveliness
of it all
is spectacular.
I am filled
with joy
and gratitude.
How lavish
are your gifts,
what remarkable creations
come from
your hand.
That you have
entered my life,
that you have been
my potter,
that you have been
my weaver,
that you have been
my basin
of living water,
that you have been
my wellspring
of joy,
grace,
peace,
hope,
comfort,
compassion,
and mercy
is too much
for me.
I can
only fall
at your feet
and cry out,
"Holy, holy, holy,
Lord God Almighty,
praise to you,
Lord Most High.
My heart beats
with thankfulness.
I shall always
love you more
than the rest
because your blood
runs through
my veins.
Your love
pumps my heart.
Your joy
is mine.
Let my heart
and soul
and being
forever praise you.

Love, Andrea