Friday, June 26, 2009

Dear God,

I was supposed to be at conference this weekend to "celebrate" my retirement. I was at home breathing in your grace.

I traded my conference hotel room for the key to my own home. My how I have missed this environment. I have missed cooking my own meal, sleeping in my own bed, washing my own clothes in my own washer. I have missed looking out the window watching my spring flowers poke through the ground, rise, bud and blossom. I have missed my home.

But what is home? Is it a place, a location, an address? Is it a spot I possess or call my own? Does that make it a home?

In the last several weeks I have had to carry my home within me. When I felt away, no rootage beneath my feet, I had to take hold of your hand to find my center. I had to pause, to draw in your breath, to look for your light, to live in the light of your home. A good spiritual exercise. Although I felt bedraggled, worn and unsettled, I know that this special kind of suffering has taught me to recognize that home is where you are not the address where I reside. When I acknowledge this truth, I am enabled to travel lighter, to give thanks for where I am knowing that the joy of life is not clinging to what I own or possess but rather standing in the midst of you.

You are
my home,
Great God.
When my
air supply dwindles
and I feel
alone, lost
or lonely,
I know
that my possessions
will never provide
permanent residence.
Home will
never be
what I own
but rather
who holds me.
In your arms
I am
safe, secure
and well.
I write
in gratitude
for your
loving presence.

Love, Andrea