Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Dearest God,

Nature is teaching me lessons of faith. As I carried rain-drenched dead logs up the hill in our woods to my burn pile, I uncovered small treasures. When I discovered a small area of forget-me-nots, I thought about the generous way in which you help me remember what I have forgotten. Tears welled in my eyes as memories of my grandmother's farm unfolded.

I remember walks with Grandma in the 80 acre woods to find wildflowers, wild strawberry plants, and black raspberry bushes. Frequently she would point out little boys britches, bleeding hearts, lily of the valley, and bluebells. They were so beautiful.

During my trek up and down the hill laden with branches, limbs, and small trees, you brought to mind faith experiences I had forgotten. I was reminded of the countless times you touched my life, turned me around, taught me a lesson, urged me to change, answered my prayer, corrected me, gave me hope, put your arms around me, challenged me to forgive, and gave me second chances. How could I forget even one of them?

As I listened to nature's call to immerse myself in the beauty all around me, I recalled the beauty of faith and the joy of my life with you. I realized once again how important it is to trust you in all things. In every case, in every memory, trust was the key element in every experience.

Like many of the neglected, forgotten wildflowers in our woods, I sometimes forget just how many times you have engaged me in matters of faith. I forget to tend to my faith, building it up, spreading my wings, taking risks and being courageous. I forget and then fail to breathe in another opportunity you desire to place just ahead of me.

Today as I walked up to the house as the rain fell from the skies, I vowed to remember your call to remember, to cherish, to be thankful, to learn, to listen, to follow, and to celebrate.

Merciful God,
you fill me
with blessings
from on high.
You whisper
your love
and challenge me
to grow.
May I remember
to listen
for your voice,
to be still,
reverent, and ready.
Let me always
remember you.

Love, Andrea