Week 4: forgetful

“I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often.”

What have I forgotten, my father?

Will I leave you, like so many others? Or will I stay with the seemingly few?

I don’t want to be a forgetful one. Often we leave you slowly, without intention, without trying, like the disciples who slept during your agony, never knowing they would desert you The seconds, minutes, in which we lose you turn to hours, days, years, even lifetimes.

Don’t number me among them.

You may count me among the wayward, but not those who forget. Those who stray do not always forget. It is the remembering, the knowing pull, that time and time again leads us back. It keeps me here.

You, keep me here.

What can I find of worth, apart from you? Anything of meaning, value, is found in you, even if we do not know it’s you.

The whole world, universe, unknowing or aware — sustained, kept, held together, given meaning, in you.

I want to be the one who knows, sees, pays attention, is astonished, and can’t help but tell about it (according to the dear Mary Oliver).

And I want others to be in this same pattern of life and living. I want you to be seen by the world, to be known and known by, this mysteriously intimate Love who is not just a force or spirit or being, but a person — the one who has always been, even when unknown or unrecognized. You live in the victory and the misery of our days. You are not “us” but one of us all the same. What other God can say the same?

The less I know, the more I love you, the unknowable knowable, the intimate mystery.

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