Jesus’ Presence in our Lives

There is the hymn that says: Lose yourself in Jesus and you will find yourself. That goal should be for all Franciscans. We need to really work at falling deeper and deeper in love with Jesus right down to the core of our being; to become imbued with His presence in our lives, so that our thoughts will fly to Him from the time when we wake up in the morning and throughout the day and at night. We will encounter Him in anything and everything — in the song of a bird; in the heat of the sun; in the blue of the sky; in flowers, trees, grass, people — pretty people, ugly people, old and young — in a dog or a cat or in a cloud — something like what happened to me one evening several years ago.

    We were returning home from the Pilgrim Virgin rosary. In the west there was a narrow, dense cloud that rose up and up like a tall tower of marble — bright, silver and gray. Shooting from all sides from behind that cloud were sparks and shafts and rays of brilliant golden light. I felt the oddest sensation.

    At that moment I was absolutely certain that God is a living reality in my life. Still somewhat awed by the incident, the next day I wrote this:

 

God’s Gifts

How can we ever thank you, Lord,

For all the things you do;

For our ears and eyes that bring

Us sudden manifestations of you.

 

For that fledgling bird the other day,

A frightened little waif,

That I whisked out of the parking lot

To a place in the grass that was safe.

 

For the rosebud opening so beautifully

That I took to a friend who is ill.

For the wonderful sleep I had last night

When my mind was serene and still.

 

For my eyes, and heart,

And intellect that made me aware

That somewhere in that cloud last might

I was absolutely sure you were there.

 

    Another time I was looking out the window in the evening and I saw the moon rising. This is what I wrote:

     The moon is almost full tonight. It is shimmering beautifully over the ocean.

     The ocean has looked so flat the last few days; the moon can look right down into its own reflection. It reminds me of Jesus transfigured on Mount Tabor when His garments became whiter than snow and His father’s voice came from the clouds, “This is my Beloved Son.”[1]

     And now, the happy thought came to me, this is my Father too, and this transfigured Jesus is my brother.

     Seeing the ocean so flat and the face of the moon reflected on it, I am suddenly thinking about Jesus walking on the water — walking towards me — holding out His arms to me — inviting me. He is smiling. I reach out my hand and He takes it in His warm, strong grip.

     I step onto the water — gingerly — and we walk along together.

     Now I am stepping firmly. I am not afraid. Why should I be afraid?

     My big brother has my hand tightly clasped in His.

     I skim over the water, my feet hardly touching its surface.

     I am like a skater, swiftly gliding over ice. It is glorious.

     I wonder where we are going?

     Ah, we are heading straight across towards the moon, gliding on a carpet of moonlight — free and light as a bird; walking His way, wherever it may lead — joyfully — not caring where it leads — not needing to care; secure with Him — so very secure.