I'm comfortable for now sitting at my desk. Outside my window the roses are blooming, the birds are feeding and the squirrels are chasing one another. The books inside the cases that stand on each side of my desk have kept my mind occupied this morning. It's been a nice respite from all the changes going on in my life. My books are like faithful friends. You know the voice of a friend that brings comfort and cheer. The ones whose hugs are genuine. The ones whose love blankets you like an old quilt does. The voice that touches something inside that hasn't been touched in a long time. The voice that helps bring clarity or a surprise laugh.
One favorite book inside my bookcase is "The Reflective Life" by Ken Gire. It was these words of his that jumped off the page this morning. "Books in a way are sacraments that make the communion between an author and a reader possible. The white paper and black ink are the means through which one heart is revealed to another. But the paper and the words are merely the elements of the sacrament. What is sacred is the heart that writes the book and the heart that sits in silent communion to take and read what has been written. The words that are read are small, wafer-like things. But sometimes, on some page, God humbles Himself to come through some of those words and touch the reader's heart. It is not the words that are sacred but God who is sacred . . . and the person to whom He comes."
He goes on to tell a special memory of his mother and how she made him sugarbread as a summer treat when he was a boy. His sugarbread was a slice of white bread with a smear of margarine and a sprinkling of sugar. He tells the reader it was always given with a smile. He still makes sugarbread but its the memory of how he was looked after and loved that is special now. He says, "sacraments are ordinary things through which something extraordinary is offered. An ordinary bush ablaze with God's glory. Tablets of earthly stone engraved by a heavenly hand. The divine Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us. . . . Should we even expect Him to speak in the everyday moments of our lives? Something from heaven offered to us through earthly hands? Coming to us like a sacrament. Letting us know that we are looked after and that we are loved."
I'm spending time this morning reflecting on the times I've had Him offer something to me through sacraments that came through earthly hands. And I am thankful and ask for His help that I may always be aware of any He sends my way.
