Sunday, August 5, 2012

My dearest God,

This morning you came as a gentle cool breeze in a hot, dry, barren land.  You came as a mist from one of nature's gushing waterfalls.  You came as a bright and beautiful butterfly rising from its cocoon on its first solo flight.  You came to me in worship in the front room of our home, just you and I together.

I stared at the fresh bread on my homemade altar.  I wanted the bread.  I was hungry, spiritually and emotionally hungry for you.  I read the scripture of Jesus, "I am the bread of life."  Indeed you are the bread, the finest, the freshest bread available.

I read from Psalm 25, "To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul, in you I trust, O my God."  I breathed in the words of the psalmist allowing my heartfelt devotion to rise up to you in love and faith.  I waited silently, praying my own spirit would merge with yours so that we might commune one with the other.

As I read the foreword in Henri J. M. Nouwen's book, Sabbatical Journey, I realized I would be embarking upon a journey with one of the great spiritual writers of our time.  Three hundred sixty five days with Henri as he engaged in some of the deepest questions of his life in his final journey home.  Three weeks after penning his last entry, Henri died paving the way at last to spiritual freedom and restful joy.  I read with hopeful delight and comfort as the three of us, you, Henri, and I stepped onto the spiritual path together not knowing what lay ahead except the knowledge of our union together.

I listened to the music of Cece Winans, Alone in His Presence and then sang along Great is thy Faithfulness.  I love both these songs because I too confess my willingness to be alone with you in worship and to sing the greatness of your faithfulness.  I put my palms out and upward as I prayed the prayer of Jesus, "Our father who art in heaven..."  I drank in your living presence as I acknowledged my own sinfulness and received your grace.

I wondered like Henri.  Is hardship intended to help us recognize our weakness so that we might move toward you for strength?  Does suffering open doors to the depths of your spirit that lay in wait for our arrival?  Is life meant to be one long pilgrimage of faith to the glorious eternal doors of heaven?

As I finally took the bread of heaven in my hands and broke it, I reminded myself again of the gift of your loving mercy.  As I drank the cup of the covenant, I tasted the sweetness of your grace remembering that hope is not conjured up in the human brain but rather is a well of living water that never runs dry in the human soul.  I ate and drank and was satisfied.

I rest
in your arms,
Living God,
knowing there are
no arms
like yours.
You are the
one and only God,
the source
of heavenly food
and drink.
To you
I owe everything.

Love, Andrea