Some time ago I posted an “atta girl” (for me!) on Face Book when I had made a date to see a lawyer about writing a will. I am sixty-six years old – and healthy. I have no immediate family. I have never had a will, and had named my mother as the beneficiary of my IRA. My mother died almost ten years ago… It was time. I had that appointment and had a good conversation with the attorney. And of course, I left with a homework assignment: I needed to find two people, one to serve as my Health Care Proxy and one to serve in the role of Durable Power of Attorney, should the need arise for either. Actually the initial assignment was to find backups for each position but I balked, and he said perhaps I could ask the two folks to be alternates, one for the other; good plan.
In the asking – for any of us – we are asking someone to step into the possibility of some pretty serious responsibilities. I did this for my mother, but hey, we were family. In my case I am asking friends. And I am blessed, because each one I asked said yes. So I am glad to have the first step accomplished. Next I need to meet again with the attorney to work through some details – and I will.
However, the bigger blessing for me today was that deepening of connection with the person who I had coffee with this morning. And it has occurred to me in the aftermath what a blessing it might be to invite someone every couple of weeks, to do the same, to deepen our connection. I am going to do this – regularly. Later, this afternoon I was prompted to revisit some writing I did a number of years ago, and rediscovered a poem that I wrote that is also about deepening connections. I hope you enjoy it.
Across the Porch from God ©
If I could sit across the porch from God…
I’d be rocking in my chair,
slowly at first, then faster in my nervousness.
God would be on the glider –
moving smoothly, silently,
undistracted by my nervous movements.
When I found courage to speak I’d say “Thanks for loving me…”
and God would reply, “Thanks for loving me” –
and then God would wink at me,
that wink of understanding that I’d know all too well…
I could love God more.
Then feeling braver, I’d thank God for caring for me –
when others could not,
or would not,
and God would say “That’s what I do, you know.”
Getting bolder, confident that no lightning bolts would be hurled,
I’d begin to tell God about all the times I’d failed –
all of them,
and then I’d ask forgiveness.
The glider would slow,
and come to a stop.
God would speak: “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
With that God would move to the doorway –
and slowly opening the door,
God would invite me in.
© Title, and first line, from Flavia, via Blue Mountain e-Cards