Jeremiah 5:1-9; Romans 2:25-3:18; John 5:30-47 

Psalm 95:7.  For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture and  the sheep of his hand. Oh, that today you would hearken to his voice.

Abba! What a mix of emotions floods through me: love, awe, joy, gratitude, security, humility, sorrow, repentance, and back to love again. Yes - you are my God. And the incredible sense of awe at the depth and breadth of your love for me keeps taking my breath away. When I let myself stop and  take it in,  it feels "too big" to hold. So I just let it wash over me. I know in my deepest parts that I am indeed beloved, and that I belong to you. Thank you.

In your love you gift me with constant presence and attention. I feel safe and cared for as one of your sheep. Sometimes I just want to 'hang out' and bask in your love and attention. More and more, though, you stoke the sense of connectedness and community. Thank you yet again.

At first glance the words "hearken to his voice" bring to mind many of the easy and often delightful ways I hear your voice: praying, hiking in the woods, meditating, watching newborn colts and calves in the pastures, sitting with a hospice patient, singing in the choir, conversations, music, books, art, poetry, and silence. I could go on. It's easy for me to hear your voice in  these things that I enjoy.

But, the hard part for me, God, is that I know you're  probably  talking to me all day long, through all kinds of people. Sometimes I choose to stick my fingers in my ears. Having already decided that Joe talks too much at meetings, I mentally disconnect when I hear him start to speak. Or, I'm in a conversation where I'm being criticized, and my inner defenses and hurt feelings take up most of the emotional space. Or, giving a young man standing at the roadside some food,

I wonder at the same time why he doesn't have a job. With tears I realize this list could also go on. Abba, it's so hard to hear your voice when I get in the way. Whether I do it intentionally, or by inattention - the result is the  same. Your voice gets lost in the cacophony of my own fears, resentments, insecurities, and willfulness. I'm so very sorry.

Please forgive me. Please turn my head! Help me to hear your voice when and where I least expect it, in spite of my resistance. Surprise me. Soften me. Tap me on the shoulder. Thank you for loving me. I'm listening Cathie Roy is a physical therapist, mother, grandmother, hospice volunteer, choir member, and Lay Eucharistic Minister who liked to hike read, travel and play cribbage. Raised Roman Catholic, she grew up in Arizona, but has lived in the Rogue Valley for eight years.

Cathie Roy our Pastoral Care Coordinator as well as a physical therapist, mother, grandmother, hospice volunteer, choir member, and Lay Eucharistic Minister who liked to hike read, travel and play cribbage.