God as Mystery

(Among my Lenten readings this year is Met. Kallistos Ware’s book, “The Orthodox Way”. I must admit that I was drawn to it because of the chapter titles. Noting that the number of chapters equaled the number of weeks of Lent + an epilogue for Easter week, I could not resist it. God willing, I will also write once a week, using the author’s chapter titles as my post titles. Although I have used Met. Ware’s reflections as a starting point, please do not blame him for what I write. Certainly he knows far more that I do and is far more faithful to God than I will ever be.)

Every time I set out to write about God it seems that I am struck by what a foolish endeavor this is.

Not only is my understanding of God minimal but any words I might craft will inevitably be inadequate. And this is an understatement.

One might ask then why I write. Sometimes I am not sure – or even sure that I should try. But I believe in God and have heard Him speak through me enough times to be convinced that I must not stand in His way.

And so I write. Sitting here at my computer tonight, first I say a short prayer. I tell God that I would like to write for Him if that is okay with Him. But I also ask Him to stop me if I am writing foolishness that is unworthy of Him.

He has stopped me a number of times in the past. On these occasions, I would start writing on what I thought was a worthy topic. However, I would have to set it aside for some reason or another, losing interest before I got back to it.

When I later view such drafts, I quickly delete them. Close call.

Clearly I was writing out of ego. May He ever protect me from falling into that trap. Stop me, Lord, if I am. Do not let me profane Your name or lead any of Your little ones astray. I too am a little one and can only listen for You to lead me.

Met. Ware reminds us that the Greek word for repentance, Metanoia, literally means to change our minds. And to approach God we must strip ourselves of all of our habitual ways of thinking.

How many and varied are the habitual ways in which each of us thinks about God! How can I strip them all away? Why should I strip them all away?

I was talking to a priest the other evening and the conversation meandered into some of the differences I have experienced in Eastern and Western approaches to God.

I noted that the one of the things I cherish about Orthodoxy is its greater sense of mystery – whereas the Western Church seems to have almost a compulsive need to try define and explain everything Divine.

The priest, a historian, pointed to The Age of Reason and Scholasticism as driving forces.

I’m not a historian but I do know that we human beings tend to like things that we can explain – and we are wary of things that we cannot. The latter often leaves us with an uncomfortable sense of not being “in control”.

Of course, we are never truly in control – but we like to think that we are. On a human level, it helps us to feel safe. Until it doesn’t.

In any event, this desire for rational explanation, while leading to much reflection and discussion about God, has some troubling side effects.

Perhaps the most obvious one is that rational explanation does not help us to know God. One can be a scholar of theology without ever experiencing the presence of God.

And another may have a very primitive understanding, riddled with theological “errors”, while daily opening his/her heart before the Lord God and knowing His love deep within.

This latter individual lives a life of love and enters the Kingdom, while the former remains at the gate, arguing with those of similar ilk.

Another problematic side effect of our desire for rational explanation is that, as we try to describe God and define His parameters, we inadvertently create a god who is too small to be credible.

Those genuinely searching for the Creator of the universe will pass over a god who can be described by mere man. Earth and its creatures are but a speck amidst the estimated 100 – 200 billion galaxies that astronomers say surround our Milky Way. If there is One who created all of this, surely human beings cannot know or describe Him.

Furthermore, in our attempts to make this One comprehensible, the ordinariness of our human words can easily deflate our sense of awe. The intellectual debates keep our minds active but too often leave our hearts dormant.

And so it is time to strip away my habitual ways of thinking about who or what God is or isn’t.

I am not suggesting discarding what may be many years of experiencing God in faith – but rather the assumptions culled over lifetimes of exposure to culture and controversy.

In other words, I must repent.

I stand before Him, the Unknowable. He is Mystery – so far beyond my intellect and senses that I hesitate to try to conceive of Him, for fear I will invent Him rather than encounter Him.

He is Other. Only He is uncreated. I am one, tiny created being.

I might attempt to praise Him – with such words such as “How holy You are! How good and loving!”

But this sounds so very foolish. Me telling God that He is holy – when I can only imagine holiness because of Him?

If I step into even greater foolishness, I might try to define how God is organized in Himself, His essence and His energies – or the route by which His Spirit proceeds – or whether His grace is created or uncreated.

Forgive me, dear theologians – I cannot be one of you. For the heresies you have prevented or halted, I thank you. I do not doubt your vocation. But I cannot enter an exchange of words about such things.

No, I must be silent before Him in the place of unknowing where the wonder of His great glory transcends all thought and word.

I must let go of Who I want God to be or even whether I want Him to be. I must be still and allow Him to speak to my heart.

But if this God created all of the billions of galaxies, is He not too “Other” for me to experience Him? Can I realistically expect that He would sing to my heart?

All of Scripture cries out to me a resounding, “Yes!” to this latter question. Not in its many words but in its one Word.

He hides from me in mystery, lest I imagine that I understand Him and diminish Him with my ramblings.

Yet He also reveals Himself in ever-present reality, lest I suppose that a chasm of unknowability exists between us.

Am I not too small and insignificant for His notice?

Yet could all of the cells in my body carry out their functions, working together to simultaneously draw in and direct raw materials, cleanse and remove waste, create thoughts and feelings and perceptions – were He not present to be Life within me?

Could I desire Him were He not near enough to be known?

And He is near.

I see clues to His presence all around and within me. Creation is not only magnificent and beautiful in its design but it is an ever-living, interacting, developing dance of unimaginable intricacy and balance, from the tiniest subatomic particle to the most immense of galaxies.

Then there is the consciousness of creatures, reaching such an incredible complexity in human beings that we seem driven to search for eternal truths. And there appears to be a built-in capacity in us, a conscience, that assesses the right or wrong of things with remarkable consistency.

And, of course, there are the experiences of love and grace arising in the depths of my own being that I know I, myself, did not cause or create. They seem to have come from outside me, from Another who is both beyond me and within me.

Still, He remains mystery. And for this I am grateful.

I celebrate my inability to comprehend Him with my mind – as my heart delights in unfolding layer after layer of a Love that it never could have anticipated or imagined.

I rejoice in the reality that I cannot prove Him, describe Him or control Him.

I can only stand before Him, empty and humbled in my nothingness, awaiting the gift He never denies.

He fills all things. And so He fills me…


A short video

My readers from the Orthodox tradition may already be familiar with Frederica Mathewes-Green – but I just encountered her tonight.

Hence, I haven’t more than scratched the surface of who she is and all that she has to say. However, I came across a video she made about her conversion to Christianity – she tells it in less than 4 minutes.

I believe you will find that it is 4 minutes well spent…watch it, share it and comment here, if you’d like.

via Frederica Mathewes-Green: Christ Spoke to Me – Beliefnet


the heavens open…


i see the empty body

requiem-vested in white;

he has left us for Another.


hidden behind wary lids,

salty mix of sorrow and joy;

a love i cannot explain.


i’ll be alone, i’d thought,

no one will understand

this hole in my heart.


church walls gather us close.

we weep, we hug, we laugh.

and share our holy hearts.


how did i not see it before –

this communion of life

that surrounds me?


praised be God

in our Lord Jesus Christ

for all His good gifts.


alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

the heavens open

and he enters the eternal Joy.


amen. amen.


On January 21, 2018, my very dear friend and pastor of 38 years left behind his ailing body to enter the presence of God. Loving us to the end, he crossed over as, we, his people, prayed for him in Eucharistic celebration. May he live forever in the fullness of our Father’s love.


I have been slow to write of it this year. That phenomenon that has been an annual occurrence now for the past 7 years.

A word has chosen me for the new year. I did not just become aware of it today or yesterday – or even on January 1st. It has been pursuing me for weeks now, not unlike the Hound of Heaven, nipping at my heels when I try to ignore it or push it away.

(For some history on the Give-me-a-word tradition, see my post from January, 2017.)

Before proceeding, allow me to recap the words that have chosen me over the years, so fruitfully challenging my soul.

The very first word was “yes”. Now that seems like a simple and innocent word – except that, at the time, I didn’t know just what it was I was saying “yes” to – I simply knew I had to say it.

I think this will help you understand (if you didn’t already) how having a word choose you for the year ahead can be a very powerful thing.

The following year, “obedience” chose me and after that came “humility”. The following year that rather curious and antiquated word, “chasten”, sunk it talons in me until I embraced it with gratitude. Then there was “mercy” and finally, in 2017, “purify”.

None of these words seem so very threatening, sitting there by themselves on the page. But let the purifying begin and it is another story.

As I anticipated last year, “purify” did not mean having a nice shower and cleaning up a bit. It was more like having my heart ripped out and scoured.

But I’m glad it happened. I’m grateful the word chose me – not because it made the events of the past year happen but because it guided me through them.

In my moments of anguish, it gave me pause to consider, “Perhaps this is God purifying me for Himself”. And while it did not lead me to enjoy the experience, it helped me endure and grow.

It helped me understand just a little bit more what it means to follow Christ.

And so why have I hesitated in writing of this year’s word?

Perhaps because it is hard to know how to write of it, despite my soul’s recognition that it is indeed the word.

The word that has chosen me this year is “nothing”.

It is not a new word in my interior life. I have long had some awareness that I am nothing. But it seems that I am being invited to learn this on ever deeper levels.

I once posted a comment at Fr. Stephen’s blog (Glory to God for All Things) in which I attested to the reality that I am nothing and some kind soul tried to rescue me from what they assumed was an experience of despair or low self-esteem.

I was offered a reminder of how gloriously God created me and how mercifully He has saved me from my sins.

This is all true – more true than any other reality I might consider.

And this perhaps is at the heart of my awareness that I am indeed nothing.

I am nothing before Him. I am nothing apart from Him.

My consciousness, my ever-present awareness of “self”, can almost be said to be a delusion in light of His glory.

I often live my life as though what I think and how I feel are of tremendous importance, not only to me but to the world around me.

Do I like this feeling? Then I must seek to perpetuate it. Do I find this unpleasant or painful? I must avoid it.

Do I agree with this teaching (or this individual or this political group)? Then I must see to promote or defeat it.

Hence, within my notion of my self, there lies a delusion that my wants and needs, my opinions and ideas, are at the center of a universe that should accommodate if not obey me.

If this remained but a distorted idea in my head, perhaps it would be harmless. However, because of its perceived importance, this delusion is the default setting within that guides far too many of my actions and decisions.

One might readily normalize this on the basis of my biological ancestry. After all, my brain is hardwired to avoid what will harm or kill me and to seek what will enable me to feel well in terms of physical survival.

And how true this is. This hardwiring is a gift from our Creator and must not be disrespected.

However, in the spiritual life, such a delusion about the value of self is utterly toxic.

I am simply not the center of the universe. Next to the grandeur of God, I am barely a speck of dust.

But this is not cause for despair. On the contrary, it cause for great joy.


We were made for union with God. Can I, a mere speck of dust, imagine such a thing?

Surely I cannot. But neither can I imagine being apart from Him.

Not so long ago, I happened upon a tract someone had written about sin. The author asserted that when we commit mortal sin (i.e. intentional serious sin), we are telling Jesus that we do not want Him in our hearts. He has no choice but to leave.

Reading this horrified me. Not that I was planning to intentionally commit serious sin, but the thought of Christ not being in my heart terrified me.

Even if I am tired, restless, doubting or otherwise not mindful of Him, I cannot bear the thought of Him not dwelling within me.

It would be like suddenly going blind, becoming deaf and having my limbs amputated all at once – only worse. How could I be anything if He were not here – here within my heart?

While I am far from experiencing the complete union with God for which I was made, this reflection heightened my awareness that I am so far in that there is no turning back.

Apart from Him I can do nothing. Apart from Him I am nothing.

Once the terror had subsided, I experienced gratitude – gratitude that I don’t ever have to be apart from Him.

Even more than that, I am grateful to be assured that a tiny speck of dust like me has the capacity to one day know full union with Him – the Trinity of Love that brings all things into being.

In the course of our lives, we often encounter experiences that provide glimmerings of union – and generally we find them very appealing.

We humans seek out sensations of union in many and varied ways, through sex, friendship, even being part of a large crowd cheering on a sports team.

We naturally gravitate toward these sorts of experiences because we were made for union.

However, the union for which our Creator designed us so far exceeds these human experiences that we cannot begin to fathom it.

How can I explain what I mean?

I am only free to live in union with God if I have been emptied of all of the delusions of the sanctity and significance of my personal selfhood.

For true union, based on divine Love, can only come about by my becoming nothing. I must be emptied of the false self, the false life I have created in which I have imagined myself god.

Then, beholding Him, the living God before me, all worldly desires and thoughts of self will be readily abandoned, that I might race toward Him and the eternal embrace of all who love Him.

It is not that I will cease to exist at that moment – no, quite the opposite.

To know my nothingness and relinquish my self will not be the end of my life. Nor will I be left without identity, assimilated into some impersonal cloud of energy.

No – it will be at that moment, in that union, that I will begin to truly experience for the first time the fullness of life.


Of course, I have made it sound as though my year with “nothing” is going to be a grand and glorious experience.

On a human level, I doubt very much that this will be the case. To enter the depths of my nothingness suggests a great deal of letting go. I cannot hold onto anything or anyone, not even control over where I am heading.

I can only hold on to God and go where He takes me.

I cannot help but think that there a plot behind these words that have searched me out me over the last 7 years. Can you not see the pattern in their progression?

However, it is not a plot against me but a plot for me. A plot to free me completely for love.

In one of his letters, St. Paul hints at what lies ahead…

I have been crucified with Christ;

it is no longer I who live,

but Christ who lives in me.

Galatians 2:20


May it be so…

Christmas morning

It has become my tradition on Christmas Eve to stay up way too late, attempting to compose an article or create some work of art to post here in celebration of the holy Nativity of our Savior.

More often than not, nothing even remotely worthy emerges from this effort and I am reminded that I could have more fruitfully spent this time in prayer.

Last night was no exception.

This Christmas morning it is evident to me that there is but one question before me: will I be humble enough to receive Him?

Our celebrations of the birth of Christ are both a foretaste and a fulfillment.

God has fulfilled our every desire and need by coming among us, allowing us to not only hear His holy Word, but to see Him and touch Him in the person of Jesus.

Yet so unready are we in our brokenness to receive Him that we can only know this feast as a foretaste of what we hope for – the fullness of life, free from our weakness and sin.

So often we fall into the corruption of Christmas, allowing the secular holiday to take precedence over the divine Gift that supersedes any other gift.

Or we become so preoccupied with how we will share the Word that we do not allow ourselves become still, to be humble and open, in order to truly allow Him to be born in us.

I suffer from the latter condition. And so I ask myself:

Will I be humble enough to receive Him? Not just to receive Him in Eucharist, in Christmas joy, but in every moment and every aspect of my life?

Will I be open enough to receive Him in the rich and the poor, in the friend, the foreigner, the foe?

Will my heart being loving enough to recognize Him in the tyrants, the abusers, the sinners of this world –  as well as in His saints?

Of myself, I am not that humble, that open or that loving. And this is why I need him. Why we all need HIm.

Today the seed of His love is planted within us again. May we cultivate it, may He send us the rain and the sun we need for it to grow. May His love and truth flower within us.

Blessed Christmas, my friends.


(I am in Minnesota as I write this and just returned from Liturgy. As the church was starting to empty, I noticed a woman with a suitcase and a large backpack, filled to the point of bursting. She was standing alone in the lobby, plugging in her cell phone to charge it. The temperature outside is -3 degrees. I stood near her for a bit and finally approached her to ask if she needed help. She held up her hand to fend me off, not allowing herself to hear what I might have to say. I suspect that she is frightened and fleeing, whether from demons seen or unseen. Please pray for her. May she find safety and know the love of God that longs to embrace her.)

Preoccupied by beauty

In recent weeks, I have not felt much call to write. Always a puzzling phenomenon when it occurs…

However, this time around, I think I see what the obstacle is.

I have been preoccupied by beauty.

Not that beauty has never caught my attention before. But recently I have been absorbed in the visual arts more intensely than I think I have been at any other point in my life.

I see beauty and I want to draw or paint it. I want to try every medium I can – all at once, of course. While this is not possible, I have found a wonderful online resource that could keep me busy for years, developing my skills with tutorials.

This situation presents something of a dilemma because I am simply not all that talented. And what little bit of talent God entrusted to me has not been trained or disciplined at all well.

Hence, I see the beauty and can imagine just how the work should be done. However, when the brush actually hits the canvas, everything goes awry. What had seemed so simple to my mind’s eye becomes all tangled in the execution.

When I see that something is off (e.g. form, color, shading), naturally I set about trying to correct it. And it becomes like an obsession. While I have always tended toward perfectionism, this feels like a holy quest.

Beauty, after all, is one of God’s names. I must not tarnish it.

What I produce will never match what He has created. I will not even come close. However, the call to art is much like the call to parenthood.

It is an invitation to be a co-creator with God. We were made to share in His life. And that includes creating – even if on a very limited basis in this lifetime.

Allow me to share with you a creative call I received recently. I was driving home from work the Friday after Thanksgiving when the thought appeared in my mind that I would like to draw Our Lady of Guadalupe. (For background on this appearance of Mary, see my previous post The Virgin.)

I do not know why this thought came to me but I must say that I questioned it. Who am I, poor artist that I am, to draw the holy Mother of God? While I did not consider creating an icon, I know enough about what that requires to be assured that I am unworthy.

I so I said a prayer. I asked the Virgin Mother whether it was all right. I did not ask for a sign but just suggested that she lead me to lose interest in the idea if I ought not pursue it.

A bit later that evening, I settled in to read the Scripture for the day. The Catholic bishops have a website where one can read or listen to these readings. They also provide very short video reflections for each day, based on the feast or the Scripture.

I used to watch those videos quite often but I hadn’t in a long time. However, on this particular evening, I was tired and my eyes were too tired to read much. I wanted some help in reflecting on what I had just read.

The reflection was offered by a woman and she talked some about Thanksgiving. I do not recall the details of what she said but something else jumped out at me immediately.

She was standing in front of a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

This Friday was not a feast of Mary nor were the woman’s remarks related to the image. That just happened to be where she was standing when her talk was being taped.

What are the odds?

I do not know. But I could not help but feel that this was a sign. Not the kind of sign where the heavens open up and visions are seen. Just an awareness that something (someone) moved me to do something so I would see what was already there.

(As a side note, I believe that we are probably given many more signs than we ever notice. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven…”. All kinds of signs and gifts and beauties await us if our hearts are open.)

As a result of this experience, I prayed and reflected – and watched a few tutorials on working with colored pencils. Interestingly, I felt drawn to use colored pencil even though I had never made a serious attempt with this medium before.

Also interesting is that for a few months I had been feeling oddly drawn to purchase some high quality colored pencils. I kept resisting, reminding myself that I really didn’t need any more art supplies.

Finally, I had broken down – the price was so incredibly good that I caved in to the yearning. And, until this moment, I felt bad for having done so. Why did I spend this money on something so unnecessary?

So that Saturday and Sunday, while busy with other things, I began making preliminary sketches. I wasn’t sure when I would have time to really get into the work but I hoped that somehow it could be finished before her feast (December 12).

Monday morning came around and my first patient of the day cancelled. Then I got a call from staff that our office had been badly flooded over the holiday weekend, a hot water heater in the office above ours having given way.

I had to cancel all of my appointments and all of my work was caught up. I had the entire day and evening free.

So I began to draw. I worked more slowly and carefully than my undisciplined self usually abides. I listened to sacred music as I drew, including an album of arias to the Mother of God.

I prayed on and off as I worked, knowing without a doubt that I was not a good enough artist to do justice to my subject.

As it got late, I could see a mistake in what I had done that seemed to ruin the piece. I tried some things to fix it but was exhausted. Nothing seemed to work. Could I have just spent an entire day on a work of art that was now only worthy of the trash?

Once again, I knew that I needed to pray and trust. Mistakes in art are like mistakes in the rest of life – humbling. And God was at work to draw me more deeply into humility.

I was reminded that this drawing was not for my glory nor was it born out of any achievement of mine. If it was meant to be, a solution would be given.

I went to bed, knowing that I would be returning to work the next day. As soon as I got out of bed, I went to my drawing area and began a renewed effort to correct the mistake. I could only spend a few minutes but I could see that it was going to work.

That evening – and a good many evenings after that, I returned to the heavenly Lady and my colored pencils.

I found that I had grown close to her. I had begun to see with the eyes of my heart how very beautiful she was – with her dark Native features and fully pregnant, adorned like a queen.

As the drawing reached fruition, I found myself listening for the words to describe her.

And they came. Simple words to bear witness to her beauty – a beauty made manifest especially to small and faithful souls who have neither worldly knowledge nor material wealth.

Behold the handmaid of the Lord…


it is the lowly who see her,

radiant with expectancy.

the humble are not afraid

when she appears.

like them, she is

utterly simple

in the truth she carries.

labor can do her no harm,

so profound

the hope within her.

neither pangs nor piercing

can hold back the love

she bears beneath her heart.

beauty, o glorious beauty –

come to us, o gentle maiden –

and deliver unto us

the holy One of God…


Please note that the portrayal I drew of the Virgin was based on the image discovered on the tilma of Juan Diego on December 12, 1531. The tilma with the image remains on display at the Basilica that was built in Mexico as the heavenly Lady requested. Thus, it is not a simply product of my imagination. The few differences, such as the detail in her face, came about as I was drawing with no clear plan on my part. I cannot explain them except that I felt called to attempt Native features as she was said to have had the appearance of an Aztec maiden and spoke in the indigenous language of Juan Diego. 

If you feel so called, you are welcome to download this image for any personal or nonprofit use. If you would like me to mail you a small laminated print, just e-mail me your name and address at marykbenton(at)outlook(dot)com (using the customary symbols in the address instead of words).

+ Let us pray for one another as we move together toward the feast of His holy Birth.

Too beautiful

A couple of years ago, around this time of year, I wrote to you about my King. Well, it is time for us to celebrate His feast again. I’m so excited!

Of course, we celebrate His feast once a week on Sundays – and really every day in between too – but this feast is special. It comes only once a year, right at the end.

As soon as we celebrate this feast, we start all over again and remember how He came to live among us so that we could get to know Him. How fun!

Anyway, in the last few years, it seems, they have been saying something different about my King when His feast day arrives.

They used to say He is King of heaven and earth. So true! But now sometimes they say is King of the universe.

I have to admit, that kind of weirds me out when they say that.

Now it’s not that I don’t believe it’s so. From what I gather, my King was right there when the whole universe was created.

In fact, they say “all things were created through Him and for Him” (Colossians 1: 16). So, of course, He’s got to be in charge of it all. Couldn’t be any other way.

And it’s not that I don’t want to share Him. Not at all. It’s so wonderful having Him live in my heart that I want Him to live in everybody’s heart.

I guess it goes back to this time years ago when I was out in the woods late at night and I looked up at the cold winter sky.

I had seen stars before, of course, but that night, that night I saw stars and stars and stars, filling the whole sky. It seemed like there was no end to them.

The science people tell us that by the time that little twinkle reached me, each star I saw that night had probably gone out of existence. Not to worry though, new ones are being born all the time to replace them.

It was just so grand, so immense.

I’ve told you before that my King lives in my heart and this is true. He lives in the hearts of all of His people (or He’s knocking on their doors) – and there are a lot of people on this earth.

But when I consider all those stars and all of the planets that could be spinning around them, it’s almost too much.

If my King is in charge of all of that, how could He have time for me?

When I’m busy discussing all of my thoughts and feelings with Him, I feel so certain that He is listening. In fact, it seems like I have His undivided attention, so deep and loving is His concern for me.

But how could this be? There are 7 billion other people on earth alone. And all of those stars and solar systems to keep track of – maybe with other people living on other planets?

How could He be listening just to me? I’m nobody in particular when it comes to all of that. I’m certainly no important person and my thoughts and feelings can’t be nearly as significant as all of those solar systems.

Sometimes, when I get weirded out by all of this, I start to doubt. Maybe there is no King living in my heart. Maybe I’ve just imagined it all…

But this doesn’t go on for long. Even though my King knows by now that He doesn’t have to knock to enter my heart, He’ll start knocking again for old times’ sake.

And when I hear that knocking, I can’t help but laugh at myself. How could I ever think I made that up? I’m not that clever!

I may like to tell a story now and then but I could never come up one like this. Not in a million years.

Anyway, when I get weirded out about this kind of stuff, I talk it over with my King’s Father. I think I told you about Him before. He lives in my heart too – and He is so wise and loving that it seems I can ask Him anything and He’ll straighten it out.

So I asked Him about this, about how the King of this immense and wonderfully complicated universe could care about – much less keep track of – all of my little thoughts and feelings every day.

And you know what? He told me. He shared the secret with me!

I’m afraid I can’t explain it very well. It made perfect sense when He explained it but now it’s hard to put into words. It goes something like this…

My King is in charge of everything – but somehow it doesn’t place a strain on Him. It’s hard for me to get this part. Everyone I’ve ever known that was in charge of a lot of stuff got pretty tired and stressed out by it all.

But that doesn’t happen to my King. Since everything comes into being through Him, He knows and understands it all perfectly.

If one of those stars dies, He knows about it. When a new one is born, He gets all excited because He knows that everything that’s born comes from Love.

Yup. Nothing comes into being without Love. He loves His Father and His Father loves Him and their Spirit is a shared loving between them. And their love creates everything.

This means nothing is a secret from Them. In every second, They know what is happening with every created thing – because each and every one is like one of their kids.

And size doesn’t matter. The big things, like solar systems, are no more important to my King than the little sparrows that hunt for seed in my backyard.

In fact, my King announced a long time ago that our Father knows every time one of those little sparrows falls to the ground. And He told us that we have much greater value than them.

(I don’t think He meant to hurt the sparrows’ feelings when He said this. He just has different plans for the sparrows than He has for us. He loves them a lot too.)

How my King can do this, how He can be this way, is beyond me. I have trouble paying attention to even two or three things at a time – so I cannot understand how He takes it all in every second of every day without getting confused.

These things that seem impossible, well, these are the things we call mysteries.

Sometimes when we call things mysteries, the people who haven’t opened their doors yet to the knocking think we just imagined it all. That we made up stories to make ourselves feel good.

I suppose I might think so too if my King was just an idea to me. If I don’t understand an idea, it’s hard for me to believe that it’s true just because somebody else said so.

But my King is so much more than an idea. He lives in my heart all the time and listens to me. I love Him so.

Sometimes He even sings to me. I bet He sings to you too, if you sit real still and listen. It may take a little while to hear it – and you may not hear it every time.

But listen carefully in the stillness. He sings…

And now, on His feast, we sing to Him, together with every living thing in the universe – you sing with your voice and I sing with mine. The sparrows chirp and the lions roar. The bees buzz and the hyenas howl. Even the stars have their own swirling songs of joyous light…

It is just too beautiful for words… Too beautiful, indeed.