The Gladdening Light

Usually at dusk, at sunset--my favorite time, when my soul's nerve endings all seem to be lit up--during my silence, I am led to a room. a plain, wooden-paneled room. dark, but not without lightness. Warm. Regal. Plain. I come through a door to find the beloved three sitting at a plain, sturdy table. Jesus, with a full, rich, dark beard and smiling, knowing, slightly sad eyes. It's on him my eyes are fixed, but the other two are there. The Father is all light and power and brightness and bigness. Sometimes He laughs--a great, booming, thunderous thing at which I myself never know whether to laugh or to cry. He seems relaxed there. almost jolly. And the Spirit, who has ushered me in and goes with me when I leave, seems to be nothing more than a shimmer. or a disturbance of light, like the bending of heat waves on a desert oasis or those bright stars you see when you close your eyes and rub them. Mysterious, beautiful, and surprisingly constant.

These Beloved are enjoying a meal off wooden plates and cups.  They always invite me to join them. And I do. And we sit. We commune. I hear them smile and laugh at the goings-on that delight them, And I feel just a bit of their immense joy. I hear them sigh and speak together in concerned tones about what saddens them, and I feel a bit of their sadness. But in the end, they always turn their smiles, their light, and their beauty upon me, kiss my cheek, make the sign of the cross on my forehead, and tell me to go out, remembering who they've made me to be, mindful of my salvation, and sure of their love for me. And I turn toward the door, which is almost bursting from the banging, and knocking, and pushing of all that waits beyond this peace, trying to distract me, trying to turn my attention away from these beloved Three. but they don't send me alone. They will see me tomorrow, but until then, that shimmer of knowledge, that wind of conviction and assurance will walk before, beside, and behind me. Leading my steps and holding my hand, for I shall not walk alone.

Amen and Amen.