For as long as I can remember, people have talked to me. Of course, I've always talked to them, too, but sometimes I'm just amazed that no matter where I am, my ear must have a blinking neon sign that says "You can tell me." How many times have I heard "I've never told anyone this before, but..." Or, "this is just between us..."
But the best time is when someone comes to my home for spiritual guidance/companionship/direction/friendship. Use whatever term you wish, the idea is someone to talk to who will listen, care, and be there for you. Sometimes we pray aloud; sometimes we sit in silence; sometimes we don't do either. Sometimes we laugh a lot; sometimes we cry. But always it is sacred.
Yesterday a person told me that when she comes here, it is "home"--peaceful, prayerful, impossible to put a finger on, but home. This, in spite of the worn out, cat-clawed couch, the noisy little dog, and a woman who often feels totally inadequate to be anyone's spiritual "helper". I was awe-struck, speechless. "Love Divine, all loves excelling..." How could I be so graced? And yet, how could I not if I believe what I say I believe?
Yes, sometimes the stories are heavy or convoluted or tiresome. And it takes a lot of energy to focus on another and set myself aside. I don't always succeed, of course. But the Grace is always there, somehow. When each one says goodbye, I pray for their well-being, and I am thoroughly grateful for the blessing of their presence!
Oh, by the way, the cat came home and we did find our great-grandparents' graves. Thanks for asking. :)
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