In a Blue Room

I am back at home from my journey to the "mountains." We worked very hard and spent a lot of money to spend one night and one day.  Overall it was enjoyable but there were many triggers and I'm not sure what to do with them all—I saw a white haired but fairly young couple holding hands and leisurely resting under some trees, others slowly walking around the campground. I wanted to run up to them and tell them to hold each other, to thank God for an uninterrupted time together and to remind them that they could still touch one another and serve each other coffee and laugh together and to never never never take it for granted. Then I watched Mike take Nicole her breakfast, get her chair for her, kiss her, and it was "no big deal"—it just seemed so normal. But  for me it was a like a thunderbold in my heart. Just like my friend whose parents hosted her birthday party. Her mom was fluttering around making sure everything was ready. Suddenly she noticed that the fireplace had to be lit. She turned to her husband and said, "Can you light it?" And off he went, no questions asked, just a dutiful response to his wife's immediate need. But for me it was the only thing I heard all night, "Sure honey." I saw Hans move forward to light the fire. I don't mean to...it just happens. Like a filter that has settled over my vision and try as hard as I can, I cannot rip it off. It isn't a filter really, it's a heavy rubber film that threatens to suffocate me.

On another level I dream of church service that doesn't exist. Every morning I long for it, wishing it into existence. I don't know where this is coming from. . . but it is like a ghost that haunts me. I see a quiet room with a blue ceiling. From the ceiling one can see a thousand little lights whose rays shoot out in all directions. The benches are round and there is thick carpeting beneath our feet. There is only a Bible. The most beautiful music in the world is playing, no words. Then slowly, the Holy Spirit descends and our hearts awaken to His presence. The music changes and we begin to hear His name. The saints of Taize are singing to the Lord in French, then German then English. The Africans follow next and then the Russians. The melody is haunting but firm. My heart begins to quake, all my sorrow is coming to the surface and Jesus is taking it away. All the tears that I have shed at his feet in the work of the ministry are pouring out of my eyes, all my disappointments in people are puddling at the bottom of the floor. I am embarrassed but I know it is God and therefore continue to submit to His grooming. He is holding me and I feel His pure pleasure in my service to him over the years. But I am cut up and seemingly martyred. This is a room for his ministers. It is the sacristy and we are once again putting on Christ. And then someone comes and reads from the Bible from Malachi. A word is spoken that is firm, sure and full of love. The service ends with a song from one individual, a man wearing a black sweater. He then sprinkles us with Holy Water and with it comes light, love and hope. He cries out in a loud voice, "Go out into the world and bless the nations!" A flute plays and we leave. No one speaks.