back in the bloggin'

So I talked to my father today (happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there!) and at the end of the conversation he said that he appreciated the prayers that he read from my blog about his heart. I was like, "I wrote something? goodness, I don't remember that!" Yes, it has been a long time.

But now it is summer! *happy dance!*

It will be good to get back in blogging, to keep friends (and fathers!)updated about what is going on here in Chicago. So, I will try. There are so many changes that have taken place within the past few weeks, let alone over the course of this whirlwind of a year. The Great Amen (see last post) is a prayer that my principal gave to me the last day of school.

What an appropriate last day prayer, in so many ways. It was the end of the year, the end of my first year teaching, the end of the school. On June 10, at 10 AM, my principal rang the bell for the last time. Children and parents said their last good-byes to friends and teachers. Soon, the school hall was empty.

What a strange, bittersweet day.

A friend asked me several days after how the year went, how I would describe it. I told him to ask me again in a month or two when I would have some perspective and be able to give more thorough of an answer than "Thank GOD it is summer!" I didn't think I had done that until I was asked that again today. Bea (yes, Bea was in Chicago! Hallelujah! and what a joy and blessing to be able to see her!) asked me how I measured progress; how did I know I was moving forward instead of backward or sideways? Before my mind had time to think, I felt the words falling out of my mouth. Stories of my children and how they had changed (and had changed me) this year just emerged. I was sort of in shock. Like, wow, I really did make progress this year. It's something I didn't actually think I would be able to recognize, let alone be able to verbalize.

What an incredible reminder of the way that God moves us in His time. What a Great Amen.

The Psalm of the Great Amen

When I finish praying apart from others,
as the final word of prayer
drifts away beyond reach of ears,
I listen for the Great Amen.

Like silent thunder
it comes rolling back.
Or it leaps across the roof tops,
racing madly through the leaves of trees,
whipping wildly over electrical wires
linking pole to pole
and with the surge of a cosmic sea wave
it crashes upon my shore:
"Amen."

From all creation comes the chorus,
from snow-swept glaciers
and ever-extending deserts,
from dark-brown jungle rivers
and majestic mountain ranges,
from vast redwood forests
and endless rolling prairies,
from flocks of flying birds
and herds of wild animals,
from swarms of monarch butterflies
and schools of fish in the ocean deep:
to each of my prayers
comes the Great Amen.

From God's great family, one and all,
rainbow-colored in skin and faith,
from those of every compass point,
from country, town, and urban slum,
it comes, it always comes.

From heaven's host in splendor wrapped,
angels and archangels,
saints and mystics all,
it slowly swells and rises;
then rushes cascading into the cave of my heart:
"AMEN, AMEN, AMEN."


Edward Hays