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,
Donna Sue
