Dear Pneuma,

When I started writing to you, I intended to be honest. I intended to share without withholding. I intended to trust you. Well, here goes:

God visited me this week. I'd forgotten the warmth and laughter in God's "voice;" the way in which God's presence gently warms and lifts. I sensed the wisdom and ancient surety of God, and, thinking back this morning, I feel like crying at its loss. I was reminded that God's strength flows from the assurance that God experiences the worst of our human fears and "knows" them. She has absorbed/faced/engulfed/embraced every single loss of her children since the beginning/end of time. There is no joy she has not known. There is no horror she has not forgiven. God is that wide.

What does it mean that God visited me this week? It means that I was close enough to the reality of life that I could hear. It means that the scariest of my fears is inadequate to the truth of God. It means that we are not alone, and that all of our efforts to live life fully in love with being are important. It means that the worst news can be heard/embraced/engulfed and overcome. It means that our God is with us. Our God loves us, and our God speaks when we stop focussing obsessively on our own wantings, fears, worries, goads and spurs.

I've heard God before. I'd forgotten the absoluteness. I'd forgotten the simplicity. I'd forgotten the care. I thank God, and I wish the experience for everyone: knowing God is the greatest gift I have ever received.

Love Always,
Cobalt Dreams