“O Lord, I know now that it is in silence, in a quiet moment, in a forgotten corner that you will meet me, call me by name and speak to me a word of peace. It is in my stillest hour that you become the risen Lord to me." Sister Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D.
Our star's firelight is angling across the blossoms of morning on my kitchen table. I am washing dishes in the porcelain of silence. My hand going around the pan through the warm suds like a spiraling mantra toward the still point of God. To be fully present to the tiny bubbles congregating, then vanishing, like this hoard of breathing is goodness. To cleanse something is charity. I have a long chain of cleansing as a mother; it shimmers and is worth more than jewels. To clean babies, children, an entire dwelling, food, dishes, the floor and the multitudes of cloth is sacred work. It is a discipline of the cell; this solitary dipping hands into waters of prayer transforming the dirt, the dark heart into something glimmering to behold. Our Lord always cleansing souls and temples of the world by descending into and rising above every darkness, making all things new, even as I remain at my station, listening for His still voice over the water in the basin of light.
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