Friday, April 3, 2009

Dear God,

As I am learning the art of detachment, I am considering what it is I attach myself to. I look around. What I see from my chair are books and videos, children's games and toys, my computer and equipment, my writings, the filled Easter baskets for my grandchildren. I see the picture of St. Francis above my desk. "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace." It says at the base of the picture.

What if a fire destroyed it all? What would I be left with? What would I miss most? What would I grieve?

To some extent I am already answering some of those questions. What do I value the most from what I have?

It occurs to me that the things around me need to speak to me of deeper things. When I look at the books, I realize that knowledge is more important than the books. When I gaze upon the toys and games, I realize how precious my grandchildren are to me. When I walk around the room, I recognize how blessed I am to have a home. I am sheltered from the storms. When I look up and witness St. Francis with open arms, a sun above his head, birds at his shoulders, butterflies and animals at his sides, I confess I need to be more open to creation and all that is around me. I hear the challenge to be an instrument of peace, your peace.

Ironically these objects ultimately lead me to you. Books lead to knowledge and knowledge leads to you. Children's toys and games lead me to grandchildren, to love and love leads me to you. My home leads me to shelter and refuge and both lead me to you. St. Francis, a man of honor and faith and trust and devotion lead me to ministry and ministry leads me to you. Every thing around me leads me to you, O Lord, to you.

O God,
help me
to cling
to those things
that speak deeply
of you.
And yet,
not so tight
that I begin
to value
the thing
more than you.
Make every thing invisible,
O God,
because the invisibility
will provide
a transparency
where all
I see
is you.

Love, Andrea