I thought, is it true? Is God’s spirit really in me? It feels like it’s me, and just me.
I then I thought, he is quiet. Maybe sometimes his presence is felt in the ancient and universal. Like that feeling of the unshakable goodness of trees and clean water. Or the undeniable conviction of something magical in the beauty or uniqueness I sometimes feel in the face of a stranger. And the persistent drive to make something new that is the wind behind my days.
It is also the small voice, so close and focused on me. Like I am one in the dark wondering if anyone is near. I have heard no one come or go for hours, years. And then a voice speaks from right next to me. He is quiet but has been here the whole time.
And I wonder if he is wrapped in and around moments of all people, most who do not realize it. He is sitting close, watching, speaking just a few seldom words… to get up now, or give your food to that person.
Touching us… The settling after a cry.
Bathing and caressing us… Giving us the hope to try again.
Living a story of sacrifice as the backdrop to our culture… The whelming of compassion and forgiveness When all we could bring was a bitter heart.