Sunday, May 31, 2015

Dear God,

Sundays are a natural high.  As we gather with the faith community, we welcome one another not only to your house but to you.  We greet one another with fledgling faith, knowing we meet you.  We hear your song and we join in, lifting higher and higher.

So when we fail to reach your door, we miss the joy awaiting us.  Such was this morning when I was just too sick to go.  All morning I rested yet I remembered, just as the Israelites remembered your tender mercies when they felt alone and abandoned.  I remembered worship.  I pictured the hymn sing, the faithful singing with full voices.  I smiled recalling to mind some of the songs we sang last Sunday.  I drank in the memories allowing them to fill my soul with you.

As I continued to rest in bed trying to recoup my energy, I felt the strength of your body of believers, praying, lifting up their prayers on our behalf.  I felt the power of your word as I read a story of your healing.  I felt your mercy heavy in the air as I remembered your compassion.  Before long as the church was departing from one another, I realized I too was high on you.

Loving Father,
thank you
for reaching out
to us
even when
we fail
to get
to your door.
Thank you
for your church
and their
tender love.
Thank you
for the power
of memory
that can lift us high.

Love always, Andrea