Where does God live?

God’s abode

Where do you live, God?

Where can I find you abiding?

I find you in moments of awe – breathing in the odor of lavender

I find you in moments of wonder – looking across the icy waters toward the snow-covered hills

I find you in moments of anxiety—lighting the flame of a devotional candle

I find you in  moments of searching– inspired by a preacher’s words

I find you in moments of connectedness  -- walking over worn steps of an abbey

I find you in moments of delight—dancing a reel on a straw-strewn barn floor

I find you in moments of assurance – singing ancient melodies in worship

I find you in moments of seeking--sitting in prayer in the dark recesses of an ancient cathedral

I find you in moments of risk—witnessing for justice at the feet of power

I find you in moments of sorrow—words of memory flowing over me at a funeral

I find you in moments of insecurity—reciting memorized words of ancient prayers …I shall not want

Where do you live, God?

Where can I find you abiding?

Your house is my house. 

Your world is my world. 

Your being abides in me and my being abides in you.

Open my heart to find you everywhere I find myself.

Written while on retreat at the Windermere Centre of the United Reformed Church in Windermere, Cumbria

Retreat

Off the grid, out of touch, not available -- a wonderful and important place to be from time to time.  Possible by unplugging and turning off the phones, but something different happens when we go, go to the ends of the earth. I travelled four hours north by train then 20 minutes south by cab, across the causeway during low tide. Some call it a pilgrimage, but just "going" works for me.  And then once arrived, just "being."  Lots of just being.  Rugged up against the cold island winds.  Drawn to the medieval castle rising overhead on the rock mound beside the sea.  Drawn to the glistening tidal beaches, the flocks of birds, the arches of the ruined priory.  Drawn to the ancient liturgy, the holy meal shared as the sunlight washes over each morning landscape.  Drawn back by the priest, her slender frame crooked with age, her voice lilting through the chapel space. Drawn into new friendship -- sharing stories, laughter, being true.  Walks together, noticing the ripples of sand, the smoothness of stone. Retreat -- going, being, and now the returning.  Daily life takes on a slightly different hue.