Monday, March 29, 2010

My dearest God,

St. Francis holds prayers from a five year old. Last week I kept my granddaughter for a couple of hours while her mother went to the gym to work out in preparation for the mini marathon. As I labored in my contemplative garden, Stella wandered the area looking for worms (her favorite thing), shiny rocks (polished stones) and heartstones (rocks that have weathered to look like hearts). As she found each treasure, she cried out to me, "Grandma, Grandma, look!"

Some years ago I began purchasing polished stones from State Parks. Blue, purple, coral, yellow, black, brown, many colors of the rainbow now lay hidden in my garden for my grandchildren to find. It is one of their favorite activities to do at our home.

A few years back I started finding heartstones in Maine along the eastern sea coast. And then I stumbled into them at Christ in the Desert Monastery in New Mexico so I started collecting them. This week I found a number of these gems in my own garden. I showed them to Stella. She was wowed by them. When she found a particular one, she brought it to me. "Grandma, this is half a heart." She said. "Perhaps that's a broken heart." I replied. "Oh, yeah!" She responded.

As my red-headed granddaughter found the precious wonders, she asked if she could put them by St. Francis, a two and a half foot statue of St. Francis of Assisi, a birthday gift from my husband. When I told her each stone represented a prayer, she took her prizes and knelt by him audibly praying aloud for people and the world as she lay each stone down. He now has rocks in each hand, in his cowl, at his feet and by his side.

Looking out on the garden, I watch as this great saint holds prayers from a child. I've never moved them because they are a visible reminder of the need to pray for others, to come to you like a child, to love enough to pray, to believe that prayers make a difference, and to be calm knowing that prayers are being offered somewhere in the world all the time, 24/7.

There is a peace in my garden, a tranquility where bewildering, angelic events take place. I don't see visible figures walking through my contemplative garden but I know they are there to bring quiet, joy, hope, comfort, faith and love. Per chance Stella was aware as she knelt and prayed.

O God,
Great Source
of All Good
and Beautiful Things,
I too kneel
at your feet
giving thanks,
expressing my
own love
and devotion.
Bless, I pray,
the prayers
of my granddaughter
as she
so easily
offered them up.
Thank you,
thank you.

Love, Andrea