Presence of God

Words to Live By

/ Christina Chase / Leave a comment

Christian humility and charity are neither timid nor sappy – they are a radical recognition, a bold transformation of life: Metanoia.

Yesterday was the Feast Day of the patron saint of my home parish, St. John the Baptist. In his honor, I’m reflecting upon three phrases attributed to him in the Bible. This voice crying out in the wilderness gave us words to live by…

“… there is one among you whom you do not recognize…” (John 1:26)

We never know when we will have an encounter with the Divine. The truth is that wherever we go, in every moment of our lives, we are in the presence of God… God, who is always watching us… who is always loving us where we are…. If I truly become conscious of this truth in my every waking moment – how will my life change?

For the people of 1st century Israel, to whom John spoke these words, the meaning was of particular and immediate import. There was literally a person among them whom they did not recognize as being any different than anyone else. And, yet, although he was a human being just like them – he was profoundly different, because he was also God.

Christ Jesus walked among many unremarkably. The power of the Creator of the Universe was within him – but, to most, if their eyes even fell upon him, he was just some guy. Like so many strangers that we pass on the sidewalk, on the road, in the office, in the park, or in the mall, Christ seemed ordinary… dismissible. We think to ourselves now that it’s a shame, an utterly wasted opportunity, that some of the people back then went right by Christ without even knowing who he was. Yet… those strangers that we pass by every day… do we not know that they are images of God? And we pass them by without a single thought or care for them. Do we not know that Christ is within each and every one of us? Whenever we skirt around a homeless person, we are skirting around Christ. Whenever we say, Good Riddance, about a criminal who is put in prison, we are saying good riddance to Christ. Whenever we ignore the plight of the jobless or the hungry, of the lonely or the diseased, we are ignoring Christ in his sorrow. Whenever I am cruel to the person next to me, it is like I am piercing that person with a thorn… I am piercing that thorn into Christ.

I am only one person, limited, as every human is, and I cannot be everything to everybody. God knows. Being human like us, there were countless many who Christ Jesus could not help in person during his earthly life, countless many to whom he could not speak face-to-face while he walked upon the roads and through the fields, villages, and towns. His earthly mission was to open.

It’s like, by the Mystery of the Incarnation, a divine portal was created to the kingdom of God – and by his death and resurrection that portal was opened to all. Not all will pass through, because we must choose to do so – we must choose to follow Christ. In order to fully and truly encounter the Divine and enter, eternally, the kingdom of God, we must recognize God’s love for us and choose to follow Christ. My mission (say it with me) limited as I am, is to love Christ… and I do that by loving others as Christ loves me. I do that by recognizing my cruelty to another as cruelty to Christ my beloved… and I repent and ask forgiveness.

I carry out my mission of love (which is your mission, too) limited as I am, by recognizing the gifts that God has given to me, in His infinite love for me, and then giving those gifts in the service of those in need of healing, nourishment, guidance, compassion, and light, wherever I can. There will be times when I falter, times when I fail. But, I will recognize my failures as human weakness – and I will not deplore my human weakness but, rather, unite my struggles with the struggles of Christ as he carried the Cross of Salvation to Calvary. Divine and human, it was only with pain that he could place that key into the lock and grant our freedom. He dreaded, he suffered, he was tormented and ridiculed, he fell flat on his face along the way – but he persevered because of love. Christ loves divinely – infinitely and intimately. Profess my love for him as I might, I cannot recognize him in others – and therefore love him in others – unless I recognize him in me.

“He must increase; I must decrease.” (John 3:30)

Do I recognize and love Christ within me? Do I recognize and give forth the particular gifts that God has given me? This is what true Christian charity is all about – this is the heart of true Christian humility. It is not overly sentimental, it is not hanging my head down himself abasing shame. God chooses to make a home inside of me… Christ dwells in me in a personally particular way, lovingly unique – as Christ dwells in everybody. Christ is everyone… Christ is you and me and them. Christ IS. That is what we, as Christians, need to be able to see. I open my heart to God’s loving presence and let Christ live in me… through me… through the gifts that are particularly unique to me, which he knows so intimately.

This recognition of Christ is the encounter with the Divine that pulls us through the sacred portal to the fullness of truth, the fullness of life… into the kingdom of God. For, as Christ is ever present, so is the kingdom, so is the loving and saving presence of God. We encounter the Divine, not only in the life to come, but also here and now.

And that’s pretty radical.

“Metanoia, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” (Matthew 3:2)

unpublished work © 2015 Christina Chase

She at Pentecost

/ Christina Chase / 2 Comments

On creaking knees, worn with repeated hours on earthen floors making bread and coaxing coals into flame, she now knelt in the upper room in the city – and prayed.

“This is how you are to pray,” she remembered her mother telling her when she was but a little child, standing not much taller than her mother’s knees. The older woman had bent down and had put her warm, wrinkled hands on either side of her face, looking deeply and sweetly into her eyes as she had continued to speak. “You are to pray to the Lord your God with all of your heart, with all of your soul, and with all of your strength. You are to pray as you are to love – with your whole being and without ceasing. For you must remember that you are always and everywhere in the presence of God and His Infinite Love.”

Remembering, she lifted herself a little higher on her own aging knees and pressed her hands upon her heart. Lifting her eyes to the invisible heavens, she was keenly aware of Heaven’s listening. “For Love,” she prayed in her silent way, with every fiber and synapse-firing of her flesh, with the peaceful, fervent purity of her soul. Her own particular affection for the people around her, gathered closely together in the upper room, drowsy with their own prayer, radiated like the soft fragrance of a rose on a still summer day. “Oh, my God, that they may be healed, bound, and filled with Love… this is the prayer in the heart of your lowly handmaiden to whom You, Most Gracious and Good Father, gave the most precious and sublime gift, in all mercy and generosity. My Lord and my God, my Creator and my dearly beloved son, You who are Infinite and Eternal, You whom I love and adore beyond all measure, beyond imagining, may Your Holy, Perfect, Loving Will be made known brilliantly to those faithfully gathered here, those who have labored and loved with you, those faithfully awaiting the Holy Advocate to lead them out into the turbulent world and into the sure forming of Your Kingdom. This Advocate is Love, Love most holy, Love most pure, Love Divine. You are Love, Lord. You live and give Love – infuse Love into the hearts and minds of your faithful disciples here.”

The night wore on, and while some ate and others slept, all were praying. As they served, as they chewed, as they dreamed, every action, voluntary and involuntary, was an action of prayer, for all were caught up in the net of spiritual vigilance, awaiting the word of release – without even knowing exactly for what they were waiting. Though some were fearful, she knew, all had faith… faith and trust, trust and hope.

Before the cock crew his song of awakening, before the light of the sun broke the slumbering darkness, she lifted her unsleeping head again, the pain in her knees the joy of a deeply planted tree. Her heart in her chest lifted to God, her arms outstretched, she gazed sweetly and deeply with maternal love upon the men and women gathered in the dimness whose prayer, even as they slept, was for the power of illumination of mind, heart, and will. Her own tenderly loving face was radiant with her wordless prayer… “Oh, my Little One, Mighty Lord and Savior… The cavern of sorrow that hollowed so deeply at my heart has been filled to overflowing with everlasting joy! Ever sweet, ever kind, ever generous, You allow my heart to beat with yours… to beat with theirs… I suffer when you suffer and triumph when you triumph… And still I long as You long, I ache as You ache, for every heart to be restored, for every human to be healed of all division that can keep them from Your Love… I yearn for the hearts of these, your own dear friends, to be dispelled of all darkness and lack of understanding, to be filled with Light… with Truth… with Courage… with Love.”

The wonderful sparklings of her mind reach deeply into her heart, through the universe, and beyond… “Once, was I overshadowed by Your Power, oh, Most High, and always and everywhere am I embraced by You, enraptured by Your Love. My Beloved One… the more I gave wholeheartedly to You, the more You gave wholeheartedly to me. The sacrifice of the mother is the bliss of the child of God – I am she! You know my heart! Ready, willing, and able, always and everywhere, to love You, to receive You, to hold You – and to give You away when You will… and the child heart within me rejoices to serve You and to be loved so intimately and infinitely by You.”

Joyful tears welled up in her eyes from her blameless heart. “Your Spirit came personally to me once in intimate mystery, I trust and believe that You will come, now, and send forth Your Spirit again to overshadow and lift up Your disciples here. Enkindle in us the fire of Your Love, Your Word breathed in flame, that we may ceaselessly bear forth the transformative power of Your Love to the hearts of others, everywhere, for generations to come… Your will be done, my Lord. My heart is one with Yours… I hear Your Love whispering now, cooing softly in the coming wind…”

*          *          *

            So quiet was she…. So filled with Love from the moment that she was conceived in the womb of her mother…. With empty hands she had given herself wholly and completely to her Creator, had lovingly surrendered herself, body, mind, heart, and soul to God….

Above the heads of the disciples, tongues of fire burned… above the beautiful humility of her head, the fire burned with the wings of a dove, with the caress of hands, with a baby’s kiss.

Unpublished work copyright 2015 Christina Chase

 You may also like these posts, more imaginings of the life of Mary:

A Stranger Appears in the Making of the Bread

  in the cloud of glory a portal opens

 Pregnant

Where Is God in the Midst of My Misery?

/ Christina Chase / 2 Comments

There are times when I suffer real physical pain. Given the already extremely weak and crumpled state of my body every day and, then, adding another physical ailment (which I don’t wish to describe here) that causes the intense pain and severe fatigue, well… it’s just really hard to bear sometimes. At the end of last week and over the weekend, I have been going through this. These times are not very pretty and they are not very fun. Sometimes, I find that my mind gets away from me with an increase of adrenaline in my body and I have to try to focus on something else, usually television, in order to get through it. The point is not that I need to be distracted, but, rather, that the pain itself is a distraction: a detraction from normal routines, level thinking, clarity, and peace.

And I know that there are people who go through this every day. When I pray, begging for relief, I cry, feeling so sorry for not being able to handle it better.

But… maybe, pain isn’t something to be handled….

Once, when I was going through one of these temporary bouts, I decided that, if I’m serious in my quest for truth and if I truly believe that God is love, then I should be paying attention to how I, as a person of faith, deal with trials and tribulations. So, in the midst of my woe, hurting, terribly fatigued, and scared, I asked: what is God doing for me right now? Where is this God of love in the midst of my misery?

Two truths of life came to me right there and then:

#1. God creates and sustains my very existence, as God creates and sustains every living thing, the whole universe. That’s first and foremost, never to be forgotten.

#2. There are things in life that we don’t want, that we don’t choose for ourselves: ailments and diseases, weaknesses and losses, faults and failings, terrors and ordeals – sufferings. Sometimes, we can’t do anything to change them or get rid of them. They’re there and that’s that – but this fact can never change truth #1.

Later on in that day, my mind calmed a bit, although my physical pain hadn’t changed a great deal, except, perhaps, my adrenaline was running low and that could have been the reason for the light settling. Whatever the physiological happenings at the time, there came a clarity, kind of like a light, something like peace. Nothing dramatic, no fanfare. In continuing my earlier exploration, it was clear to me that, in the midst of misery, clarity can come. It’s like a gift given to us by God, not because we deserve it, but because we need it.

Clarity came, a sense of peace and that underlying kind of joy, not because pain had ceased, not because I had followed the rules and regulations, but because I was in need and was open to receive it. I was open to receive what God gives freely to me out of love for me, as God loves and gives to everyone. It’s like the joy that I wrote about in my last article: a free gift poured down like rain, and either our little bowls are turned upside-down, in on ourselves, or are right-side-up, and open. It’s the humility of knowing that I am nothing without God; it’s the recognition, acceptance, and gratitude for what only God can give; it’s the raising of a beggar’s bowl in the surrender that is trust.

The beggar’s bowl… this is the human heart, made by God to be filled by God with Divine Love.

The God of love is ever present… the question is, am I present?

Christ tells us in Sacred Scripture, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”[1] As with everything in life, we must remember God’s initiative. It is not our asking that causes the giving of the answer or even our knocking that causes the opening of the door. The answer is there, the gift is there, the treasure is there, and the door is always opened. But it is only if we ask – if we are in that state of humbly needing, lifting our begging bowls – that we are then able to receive. It is only when we open our eyes to seek that we are able to see and only when we go for the door that we are able to enter. I don’t go out and get true clarity on my own initiative or through my own devices, just as I can’t “get” true joy through my own self-centered means.

God initiates always. We are only able to love because God loves us first.[2] Mercy and peace and joy are always available, waiting for us to receive. But, sometimes, we get so distracted. Everything good and beautiful is present for us – if we haven’t blinded and deafened ourselves with the distractions of the world and of selfish pursuits. For, there are many different kinds of pain. It’s not always physical pain that is the worst.

© 2015 Christina Chase

 Similar posts that you may like:

Pain  

Getting over Yourself and Finding Yourself

Joy: Why Are So Happy?   

[1] Matthew 7:7

[2] 1 John 4:19

Making the Sign of the Cross: an Opening

/ Christina Chase / 2 Comments

Living without the use of my arms is… well, odd. Because of my genetic muscle-wasting disease, there are things that I just can’t do anymore.  This post is not about the difficult, critical inabilities, like washing or feeding myself.  It’s about my powerlessness to do one simple and seemingly unnecessary act (we could symbolically call this powerlessness, in keeping with my blog theme for September, the closing of one door) and how it awakened a deeper power and consciousness within me (the opening of a holy other).

I’m referring to the classic Catholic custom of crossing oneself. I used to be able to make the sign of the cross — right hand fingers touching forehead, then mid-torso, then the left shoulder, then over to the right shoulder — but became too physically weak to do so by my 20s.  Having been taught to cross myself at the beginning and close of every Mass, I did feel the growing lack over the years and it bothered me.  It bothered me at the time because I couldn’t do what everyone else was doing and I didn’t want to be even more conspicuous than I already was.  Going to Mass rarely, however, because I wasn’t a true believer at the time, meant that I didn’t have to worry about it much.  It wasn’t until later — after the bout with atheism and the recovery period exploring the religions of the world that brought me, finally, to choose and desire Christ — that crossing myself begin to mean something really important to me, as a prayerful ritual.  So, I would try to make the motions at Mass with my thumb, as my hand rested upon the control stick of my power wheelchair.  In a crippled way, this took care of the outward sign.  But it did nothing with inward reality.

It was in praying the Rosary that the difference was made. Lying on my bed on the couch, I could move my fingers where they rested next to my body, but, being alone and desiring deep contemplation, I began to really pray the Sign of the Cross.  What happened was, instead of the puny physical gesture, I began imagining the forming of a cross over my body while praying the words in my heart: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”  And, through my imagination, I was able to connect to the essential meaning of the act: a recollection of the first Sacrament that I received, when I was baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches us of the act’s significance: “The Christian begins his day, his prayers, and his activities with the Sign of the Cross: ‘in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’ The baptized person dedicates the day to the glory of God and calls on the Savior’s grace which lets him act in the Spirit as a child of the Father. The sign of the cross strengthens us in temptations and difficulties.” [CCC #2157.]

Sometimes, however, when people cross themselves, it can look like superstition. Even the Catholic custom of blessing ourselves with holy water in the sign of the cross when entering a church can look like (and can often be) perfunctory habit.  We Catholics might cross ourselves when passing by a church or a cemetery, or at the sight of an accident or other crisis, or whenever someone is speaking of something terrible.  It can be an instinctive reaction and may look to others like we are trying to ward off evil, like tossing spilt salt over the shoulder.  Yet, the instinct to cross oneself is a good one — as long as the outward gestures are connected to our inner reality as baptized persons, as persons given new birth, dedicated “to the glory of God”, calling upon the grace of Christ Our Savior to help us heed the Holy Spirit in every moment of our lives and truly live as children of Our Heavenly Father.

But… how often do we think of that when our hands are busy performing the conditioned gestures?

I didn’t think of it. Not until the physical ability ceased.  It’s like that old saying: you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.  Opening up my imagination, I was better able to appreciate what the making of the Sign of the Cross really is.  Because of this, I think that I do it more often than I would if I made the obvious outward gestures.  I will “cross myself” at the usual times — at the beginning and closing of formal prayers, like the Mass, as well as the Rosary, special intentions throughout the day, and morning, evening, and mealtime prayers — but I also find myself doing it throughout the day, without a formal “prayer”.

I cross myself whenever I seek to remember that I am in God’s eternal presence and that everything that I think, say, and do is known to God. 

In the name of the Holy Trinity, I envision a cross over my body and I am centered… my thoughts better focused. Whenever I am given a small opportunity to make an act of will and choose not to just go along with whatever, but to be the person that God created me to be… I pray the Sign of the Cross.   I try to do it before I make a decision, any decision — and before starting a conversation with someone that I think will be a kind of burden or trial, because I know that the momentary encounter is also an opportunity for Grace.  Also, I try to cross myself before I begin writing, because I want to be the writer that God created me to be, and this helps me to endeavor in His Name, for His Glory, by His Will, and for my eternal fulfillment.

For me, now, the Sign of the Cross is a reminder that everything that I do is in the name of God.  It’s like a summons… (or a slap upside the head)… or like a gateway.  In an imaginative and, also, a mystical way, the Sign of the Cross comes over me and I am transported to… connected to… the Divine — through, in, and with Christ… Christ on the Cross, where his Sacred Heart is opened for me and for all who want to enter into holiness, into true life.

It’s like stepping through an open portal in mind and spirit to live in the infinite grace and love of God… ultimate reality.

© 2014 Christina Chase

Grieving the Death of a Loved One: Beauty Speaks

/ Christina Chase / Leave a comment

My friend, whose husband died last December, is going through her year of firsts. The first Christmas without Dave. The first birthday without him. The first Easter… the first wedding anniversary…. Then came the first Father’s Day without the father of her children. She was washing the dishes at the kitchen sink, thinking about him and the sadness of his not being there as she gazed out of the window. A butterfly caught her eye as it flit by then returned to rest upon some flowers outside the window pane. And she wondered, “Dave, is that you?”Tiger swallowtail white flower

She does not believe in reincarnation. She believes in one life to live and eternal joy in Heaven. But, still, the wondering arose from the depths of her emotions and tickled her mind. Then, more soberly, she began to think that, perhaps, her husband had sent her this beautiful butterfly as a way of saying hello, to let her know that he is still with her, spiritually, and to make her happy.

My friend wanted to brush aside any seriousness of beliefs as she told me this story, not sure whether or not these thoughts would be considered as some kind of blasphemy in Catholic teaching. Her husband had been a deacon, as well as an engineer, and the theological world had always seemed very clear to him, while, to her, the only thing that was clear was kindness and its divine goodness. She had always said that he was a kind man. Now, with him gone, she turns to others to answer her theological questions – like our pastor, or the kindly woman who runs our parish prayer group, or even me. …And what was I to say?

I don’t know what the soul of a person can or cannot do after the body of the person has died. As a true believing Catholic, I don’t believe in reincarnation – what I do believe in is one life to live… one life to live eternally. I also truly believe, as I told my friend, that God speaks to us through beauty. This isn’t a formulized tenet of faith to which I have subscribed, but, rather, a deep conviction that I have always personally held – though I had never articulated it in words until that moment. My spoken response to my friend’s grief, joy, and wonder came from deep within my heart and opened my own mind a little more to the Mysteries of God.

Why couldn’t God send one of His tiny, winged creatures the widow’s way to cause her soul to marvel and her heart to be comforted by an awareness of everlasting love? Divine Love is ever present – my friend received it through the living body, mind, heart, and soul of her husband when he lived and breathed with us upon the earth… and the infinite depths of that personal love cannot die. The senses and the heart are touched by beauty and the soul’s memory is stirred… the gentle wing beat of a butterfly can remind us that we are intimately and infinitely loved.

© 2014 Christina Chase

Related posts that you may also like:

The Climbing Way
 When I Die

Of Your Fire

/ Christina Chase / Leave a comment

This is a poem I wrote within an hour (as part of my Bible Burst writing project) inspired by a randomly received piece of Scripture and based on my own personal experience as a fragile human being.  I have done this.  And I am still haunted by the ghosts at times, and still feel the pain of the scars – but, by the grace of God, I’m being healed…

Of Your Fire.

Where Do I Live? (Heart Question 2)

/ Christina Chase / Leave a comment

When someone asks us where we live, we think of our homes.  I’ve lived in the same house for my whole life (so far).  The reason that I still live with my parents is that my genetic defect has progressively weakened my body so that I need somebody to help me with every daily activity.  (I share this, not to elicit pity or praise – I don’t want either – but to consider these questions honestly.  I am a real person writing this, as you are a real person reading this, and we all live in different circumstances although we are all human.)  No longer can I put food in my mouth or pull the covers up at night when I’m cold – so where I live is determined by my dependency.  But this just puts a clearer focus upon everything that is important in a home – I take nothing for granted.  I know more than survival, I know living.  Where I live, I, like anyone who is grateful to have a home, am sheltered, nourished, welcomed, loved – I love this place where I live as my beautiful home.

And I don’t just mean the house.  More than an address to which snail mail can be sent (for this can change upon moving) and more than the location of my bed and refrigerator (for it’s possible to have more than one of those) home, by the most practical and deepest definition, is where I belong.  As shelter, home should never be underappreciated, for there are far too many people who live, day and night, unsheltered from the cold, rain and snow.  As a place of sleep and sustenance, home is never insignificant, because rest and nourishment are necessary to life.  Home as a place of safety and comfort is also never to be undervalued – for it’s like a sanctuary and there are far too many people for whom the place where they live is also the place where they are abused.  It is in this understanding of shelter, sustenance and sanctuary that home as “the place where I belong” takes on substance.

So… Where is the place where I belong?  Is it in this particular house?  No, because that can change.  Is it with these particular people whom I love and who love me?  Well, that can change, too, most sorrowfully, as the lives of my loved ones aren’t permanent – so, no.  In asking the ageless questions, I’m not seeking changeable answers.  I’m questing for the immutable, the changeless answers that, therefore, completely answer the question for all times – for all time….

Pliny the Elder is credited with saying that home is where the heart is.  This has generally been accepted as a good definition of home and I like it, too.  But… Where is my heart?  I’m pretty sure Pliny didn’t mean that my home is my rib cage.  Christ tells us, “Where your treasure lies, there is your heart.”  Now, that’s interesting… Where is my treasure?  I tend to treasure temporal things – beautiful objects, the kind, physical presence of people.  If I am basing my definition of home on the people and things that I love (declaring this to be where my heart is) then my definition is temporary.  To find the eternal answer, I need to think of things eternal… things divine.

I’ve often heard it said that my true home, my eternal home, is Heaven.  But, I rejected this answer because I thought that it meant I could only do my true living after I was dead.  And what kind of life would that be?  I was, after all, created by God to be here, even if temporarily.  However, I’m beginning to understand that, if Heaven is my eternal home, then, because eternity has no beginning and no end, Heaven is here, now – not just hereafter.  And that understanding changes everything.

If I spend all of my time and effort concerned about what is of the world – having physical comfort, prestige, the praise of people, the pleasure of things – then this is where I live: my home is transitory, fickle, fleeting, finite.  If, rather, I spend my time and effort concerned about what is divine – being thankful, generous, compassionate, forgiving – then this is where I live: my home is loving, strong, enduring, infinite.  As Christ tells us in the Gospels, some people build their houses on shifting sand, while others build upon solid rock.  And what is more unshifting than eternity?  What is more eternal than God?  The Catechism of the Catholic Church offers this understanding of the heart:

“The heart is the dwelling-place where I am, where I live; according to the Semitic or Biblical expression, the heart is the place ‘to which I withdraw.’”

No matter what location I am at, no matter what structure I am in, no matter, even, by what people I am surrounded, there is one place that is always and everywhere home.  This is my inner sanctuary, the hidden dwelling place where God abides with me and I abide with God.  In solitude and away from the distraction of things, I have an impenetrably deep sense of belonging.  This is where I am, for I am a child of God and my home is with Him who created and sustains me, who loves me infinitely and intimately.

There are moments in my life, moments that can’t really be marked by time or in space, when I am deeply aware that I am home.  This is when I withdraw into my heart and find the Presence of God waiting for me there, welcoming me, giving me shelter, rest, sustenance, belonging and identity – everything home should be.  As in the song of Hosea, God says, “Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.”  I come home in every act of conversion while I live and breathe upon the earth, returning to my true self as God’s child, like the prodigal son returning to his father.  Restored through my repentance and Christ’s self giving forgiveness in order to live with, for, and in God, here and now, I already dwell within the embrace of God – and I will forever dwell in God’s pure, blissful Presence, eternally loved in my eternal home.

That’s where I’m at.

 

I’ll continue exploring the ageless questions – How do I decide, What is truth, Where is God.  For now, as I take up an online course in theology, I’ll be posting other questions and answers, sharing other thoughts and wonderings…

© 2014 Christina Chase

Let’s Find A Place

/ Christina Chase / Leave a comment

I hear my Lord and my Love speaking through this poem to my heart…

Let’s Find A Place.