I’m keeping my date waiting: God, on the other side of the door, not saying a word.
It’s true, I’m ashamed of my imperfections. I feel unworthy of this greatest of all loves. This physical body shapes my aspirations, directs my will, inspires my beliefs. What measure have I given to God?
“What do You see in me?” Begging for answers, the door still closed. A fine aspiration gracefully rises within me and takes shape. Visible now, I see, precisely, the part I play in our dance. “Do not avert your eyes from what I love,” God whispers.
With trembling hands, I open the door.