Thursday, December 10, 2009

My dearest God,

As I ponder the prescribed scriptures, I consider the writers, their moods and attitudes, their thoughts, questions, doubts and wonderings. What I love is their thoughtful praise.

As I read from Zephaniah, I realize I could have written those words because I have experienced those feelings. I have released those bursts of alleluia. I have witnessed your hand at work, your blessings, power and sacred presence. I have wanted to share your miraculous ways, your beautiful grace and unending compassionate mercy. I too have wanted to offer words of devoted thanksgiving to the birthing process of beauty in the developing atmosphere. I have wanted to fill creation with your goodness.

And so I did. I shared with my covenant group the collision, explosion, the coming together of hundreds of thousands of prayers, my own and many others who have prayed for me and my loved ones, how the doors opened, light flooding the space from top to bottom, side to side, and the ways in which grace spilled over me after the huge column of bitterness moved downward from my head, through my body and out my feet, dissolving into the light beneath me. I told them the truths you had revealed to me, how I was humbled, laid low and lifted to the heights all at the same time. They listened and watched me, their eyes filling to the brim, recognizing the wondrous grace I was talking about.

It was my brother Bill who remembered a declarative statement I made about family years ago when I participated in a year-long contininuing education event. He reminded me how I had committed myself to help change the course of my family history, how I wanted to break down the insidious fracturing power within our DNA tackling the generational ways of being. He told me how it had all come full circle, all those places of brokenness now mended into one fabric of unity. In recognition I allowed my tears of gratitude to flow and drip from my face just like the sweet drippings of grace poured down upon me.

I realized too how I had averted at the last moment yet one more breakdown that would continue to feed the ravenous bitterness that lived within our family, within me. Grace, my friends, I said, pure grace had been given to me.

I joined the writer of Zephaniah, the psalmists, the gospel writers, Sts. Paul and Peter, the prophets and many others who simply made their witness through the written word and oral history. I too shared the miracle ways of the Almighty, you my beloved God.

Let my praise
fly and soar
among the hopeless,
the despairing,
the lost
and frightened.
Open their eyes
to hope,
to love
and trust.
Pour out
your sweet grace
upon them,
return them home
to your bosom.
Strengthen their legs
so they can stand.
Infuse their arms
with power
to lift them
toward heaven.
Open their mouths
and fill them
with praise,
I ask,
O Lord,
that your world
may be filled
yet again
with glorious praise.

Love, Andrea