I run to the place we always meet, all the way crying angry tears.
In the candle light, I kneel. I cross myself. I breathe. Breathe.
In this quiet room is my refuge, the nearness of the One I love.
I know I have come close to Jesus.
I know the Eucharist is truly a beating Heart.
I know.
And I am instantly humbled.
Peace comes to me.
I always love to be humbled by You, Jesus, because You are gentle with me. You let me see for myself, and Your love holds me tenderly so that nothing You could say would hurt me. I am not afraid or offended. How impossible! When You talk to me, everything You say is love.
I am drawn into You. And I understand that Your Heart is like the sea; vast, permanent, deep, moving on the surface and in currents swirling in the depths beyond my measure. Like the ocean, Your heart is life giving, receptive to the sunlight, the pull of the moon, the movements of the earth. But you are always your own vast Self.
Whoever comes to You, and whatever echoing depths they bestow of themselves, every tear dissolves in You. You are responsive, but immovable. You receive all, yet remain Your own. Before a Heart like this, mysterious, massive, reflective, receptive, my soul is safe. Nothing can harm me in this rightful bond of adoration.
Pour Your fathomless Heart into this small eddy that is me, as only You can.
This is what I want.
And let nothing disturb this peace.
Let nothing intrude on the quiet of being as we are.
You give freedom to my heart.
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