Thursday, July 16, 2009

Dearest God,

As I entered the monastery and took my seat in the spiritual direction room, I took off my shoes. I felt the sacred ground beneath my feet. I drank in the room set apart for your spirit to do your work.

That simple act, taking off my shoes, reminded me that holy ground is where we are when we acknowledge your presence in it. Holy ground, the ground of God, space dedicated to the wondrous workings of your Holy Spirit. Just to enter it is to acknowledge a life of faith, a need for the Sacred Holy.

The minutes of silence help to settle the soul, allowing you to pervade the human soul in ways no one else can. Silence, sitting in your presence, is the one thing we can do to honor you, Lord. To sit before you, to listen to your voice instead of our own, is a way of saying I love you, I give to you my quiet heart. Silence, a gesture of trust, an act of love.

My colleagues serve as your faithful assistants. They are present to be still, to listen, to embody hope and faith. They ask the questions of faith: Where is God, Andrea? Where is Christ right now in your life? Almost always there is a breaking down of the self-imposed facade that projects a false image. Such questions demand honesty. I allow my vulnerability to show. I share my life's challenges, my hurts, my emotional wounds. But more than that, I account for the sightings of the sacred. Nature, scripture, worship, family love, one person helping another, unaccounted for insights, an illumination all reveal to me your incredible presence. So many. I shared each one. I must give thanks to you for my uncanny ability to see the sacred even in the midst of the sorrowful.

As I slipped my shoes back on, I still felt the holy ground on the surface of my feet. I knew that your presence is not limited to a monastery. You are always with us. But when we experience the holy in life then we have the responsibility to carry it with us, to share it in small ways with others. Not to bring import to our own lives but to share the mercy God has given us.

Merciful God,
today I
saw you
once again.
My friends' compassion
was a gift
of heaven.
I learned again
that you
are present
when people
dedicate themselves
to discover
the wonders
of the Holy,
persons who
purposefully sit
at your feet
to listen
for your voice,
to share
the wonders
of heaven.
Shaky and
still bearing
the marks
of suffering,
I breathed in
the air
of hope
as my
friends promised
to also carry
a vision
of hope
for me.
I thought
about it
on the drive
to my daughter's...
four people
carrying a vision
of hope
for me.
Such acts
of grace
fill me
with hope.

Loving you, Andrea