Friday, January 5, 2018

48 years on...

January 5, 2018…

Legend has it that I was born quacking like a duck; I’ve been told that I was an observant child who was easy to entertain, except for all of the questions; that I was independent, curious, and creative; that I read early and would make myself laugh by repeating lines that tickled me in some way.  Lived and remembered truth tells me that I was also extremely sensitive to what was happening around me and that my early school peers didn’t always appreciate my preferred sense of solitude.  I met “my people” in eighth grade and have been blessed with deep and abiding friendships ever since.  Friends of all sorts and stripes, friends in all corners of geography, friends that teach me about so much that is good and worthy in this world.

What I live now, forty-eight years on, has brought me so far beyond anything I dreamed for myself as a child.  What a privilege and reason for deepest gratitude that all I can remember hoping for has come to pass.  I have work that means something.  I have a place to exercise my voice and share it with the world.  I know what it is to be loved.  I have seen faraway places.   And learning something new is everyday glory for me… 


From even before I had a vocabulary for things related to God, before I had attended church, before I chose to give my life to the discovery and revelation of the love of the heart of Jesus in the Society of the Sacred Heart, God has shielded me, prompted me, strengthened me, marveled with me, challenged me, been with me, and in the large, the little, and all, has never left me alone.  God is my constant, my draw onward, my awe, and has saved me over and again in a multitude of ways.  Looking back, as a friend recently wrote in a message across a couple thousand miles, I can say beyond any suggestion of doubt, “Prayer took place, and I was there.” What Love lies within that…


To that, and for these years, I say simply and with all of the truth I know, Thanks be to God for this gift of breath and being.


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