October 31, 2012
This afternoon, I walked the labyrinth at an Episcopal church near my home. There I left at God’s feet the pain of saying goodbye this morning to a good friend. This past year I have walked more in the shadows of the valley than on the mountaintop, as I have coped with griefs, small and large. I will miss this friend and pastor who has walked beside me during this difficult time. I am grateful for the labyrinth, which provides a thin place close to home, a place where the veil between heaven and earth seems thinner than in other places, though that may because I go to such places intent on opening myself to God’s voice. I went to my favorite thin place a couple of weeks ago for a church conference and sat at the chapel on the hill, which overlooks the Guadalupe River, early on a Saturday morning. I never fail to encounter God in that place. I never know when or how it will happen, but I am always blessed by God’s presence there. This time I walked up the hill to the chapel in complete darkness and sat for some time listening for God. As I sat there, I remembered Mother Teresa’s description of prayer as listening. When she was asked how God responded, she said “he listens.” As the time approached for me to walk back down the hill and get ready for the day, I watched the light seep so slowly into the darkness that engulfed me that at first I thought my eyes were deceiving me. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light arrived, and the darkness began to fade. The promise I brought home with me is that light will come into the darkness in which I have been wandering. It will come slowly and imperceptibly at first, but it will come for I have God’s promise that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot put it out.
Grace and Peace,