On Retreat - Sycamore Tree

Words.

Words are coming to me as a gift of the spirit through the musings of Thomas Merton. Words come to me like the nickel sized flakes of snow falling, falling and falling down all day. The words flutter and I try to capture many but they disappear like the flakes when they touch my nose or fingers. I see them but then they are gone. Only few remain behind lying softly on my presence, working their slow descent deeper into my reality.

It is no mistake that I left the book I planned to use a focus of the weekend  home. This forced me to instead begin with his poetry and prose. In the reading words have come to me.

Place. What is the place where I am today? Where is it emotionally, spiritually and physically?

Going. Where I am going? How am I to travel?

Patience. A gift for which I cry out to the Spirit.

Humility. Something I seek but don’t know how to find.

Calling. I seek the quiet to hear his voice. I pray that my heart will be softened that I will not just hear his voice but listen.

Listen.

Obey.

Gift.

Mercy.

Jesus, a name for God that I can grasp.

Love. I want to love him as I do anyone else, more than anyone else. The way I love my wife, family, my friends but more so, so much more so I wish to empty out that I may be filled with him. Being filled with him will allow me to be so much more for those I love.