MOST OF THE TIME….
Most of the time in my life, and in particular since 2018, I don’t see God.
He’s there-here-everywhere, but most of the time, it’s like He’s walking around the house with socks on. He steps over the sleeping dogs, somehow moves down the hallway and through the rooms where the first steps of mine in the morning, reset the tile with my steps, their expansion and contraction causing a popping sound as they fall back into place. He, of course, moves quietly.
My plants….
My plants I try to keep alive still die from the heat. The idiot on the road committing the lane change violation in front of me, did not get hit with a bolt of lightning or my pretend machine gun in my trucks grill when I pushed the pretend fire button on my steering wheel. Friends and family still live a life of pain either from self-abuse or being victim of others who are flaking off their own issues with life and contaminating other good, loving, people. There are world leaders who have designs on my stuff. They’ve stopped making white Asics and all they have in my size is black or something with a Coast Guard orange stripe. The milk in the refrigerator should have been finished four days ago, now it’s turned, and I don’t want to waste it so, well, you know.
Still, He walks around as if He has socks on.
The world isn’t helping.
I guess….
I guess I would like a flood. Its summer in Arizona and especially in Phoenix. A nice street flooding rain. Something so much it starts to lift your car. Not much. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but something to wash the dust of the months without any rain-away. Something with lightning so I can smell the ozone. The fresh clean scent of ozone. Or is that wet asphalt? Dunno. I feel it would refresh my soul.
Still, He seems to walk around and be in, well, socks.
We have to put a face on Him.
We all try to simplify it, having to put a face on Him. He has to walk around in socks, so we can identify with Him. I know He doesn’t have a face—a face which would include ears and ear hair. He doesn’t have feet or arms. Neither will we when we make the transition from here to there, but that’s how we relate to something we only have faith in. We’ve never seen the other side of the veil. We start looking around for means of our own to deal with it all, sharpening our own stick around a dwindling campfire, the night before we are surely to get squashed, and not in a good way. Our anxiety rises, the noise gets louder, the drumbeats get closer and we need another Xanax or have to roll a fatty to make it to the end of watch.
But then, out of seemingly nowhere, four words pop into my skull. “Be still and know.” It is part of a song, written a couple thousand years ago. And then, like on que in a play, my head pops up and the notes to the song, my song, begin to play. Yeah, that’s right. I forgot those four words even existed.
I realize, He is walking in socks for a reason, at least in my mind. He does it because he wants to be quiet in my house. He knows I like the quiet and dark, and He wants that for me. But He is never NOT there. Plus, I think He likes to be in socks, metaphorically speaking. He is always comfortable around me, I never disappoint him, or piss Him off. Neither do you. We can’t. Hard to imagine after that drinking party you did last weekend and then threw up on that farmer’s goat. But it’s true. He bought it all.
I took a picture….
I took this picture of Bella yesterday as we drove. Bob is behind her on the seat, doing the same thing. I couldn’t get a shot of them both and this was the best I could do driving seventy miles an hour while steering with my knees, don’t judge me. She is so relaxed with me she is asleep. Uncomfortable as it looks, she started to snore. They both did. Imagine believing in something so much, feeling so safe in something-someone, you are that confident in their actions.
Huh.
So, just because you don’t see, don’t hear, doesn’t mean He isn’t there. It means He is, but He could just be in his favorite pair-of Gold Toes.
Have a good day.
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