“You must get so angry with us human beings,” I said to God as I ate my oatmeal, watching the sun take her morning stroll into the sky. “We tend to muck up everything.” I thought of the headlines I’d recently read.
“People attempt to understand me by ascribing human emotions to me,” God answered. “But the truth is, I don’t get angry. At the heart of anger is fear, and in me, there can be no fear, for I am perfect love.”
“You love us all the time?”
“All the time,” God answered. “How are those oats that I grew for you?” He asked.
“Quite tasty, thank you.”
“If you go about your day seeing me in everything I’ve created, even your oats, you’ll see how much I love you.”
A squirrel scampered into the garden for the peanuts I’d put out by the feeder. She sat with her tail in a backward question mark as if to ask, “Do you see God in me?” I laughed. “Yes, I do.” She found a peanut and joined me for breakfast, her black eyes shining with love.
The noon hour found me sitting in my garden, sipping a cool glass of water. It had been a rather chaotic morning, so the flowers were a calming presence. I took out my phone and scrolled through recent pictures of my newest grandchild—her smile always makes me happy. Over the past few weeks, she has begun to look more and more like her father—duplicating his chubby cheeks. I smiled at the pictures of her and put the phone away—turning my attention to life humming around me.
The bees, in particular, caught my eye— coming and going in and out of the foxglove blossoms. The birds sang at the feeder, while a hungry grey squirrel darted down the length of the wooden fence to join them in eating sunflower seeds. “This is your DNA,” I said to God. sweeping my arm in a wide arc. “Every living thing carries your divinity.”
“I’m glad you see the resemblance of my heart in my creation,” God whispered, and blew the clouds across the sky, sending them tumbling over one another. I smiled at His playfulness.
“I’m hungry. Shall we have lunch together?” Iasked.
God nodded. I rose and went inside to cook some of His rice and vegetables for a nourishing meal of His love.
The petunias in the hanging baskets were in need of watering, their leaves faintly curling on the edges. I filled the watering can, humming to myself. I gave each basket a good soaking, then used what water remained to top off the birdbath. The empty can gave a hollow thud when I sat it down on the potting table. I went and busied myself with deadheading the calendulas.
The birds at the feeder in front of me grew in numbers—talking to one another in their birdsong. I listened to the chirps and warbles, happy to hear them so full of God.
“You don’t sound hollow like my watering can, God. You’re certainly not empty.”
God chuckled. “I’m never empty, even though I constantly pour myself into my creation.”
“You’ll never run dry, will you.” It was a declaration, not a question.
“I’m never-ending,” He replied.
I closed my eyes and thought of God standing over all His Earth, watering can in hand, soaking everything with His love—love that will never run dry. “I’m grateful,” I said and I returned to snipping the spent blossoms, my heart and soul quenched.
The sun reached her zenith, warming the garden like a pearl in her hands. I sat out under a blue sky and watched the garden life coming and going. Bees and butterflies. Bugs and birds. The more I observed, the closer I felt to God, for in witnessing His creatures, I knew Him better.
“You’ve written your autobiography in all living things,” I said.
“I’m glad you’ve noticed,” God said. “When you connect with my creatures, you connect with me. From there, goodness and mercy well up in you by their own accord,” God replied.
A hummingbird zoomed by me— her wings cut through the air like a little motor. “I’m going to sit out here a bit longer,” I said. “I want to know you as deeply as I am able.”
The sun began her slow slide down the slope of the sky. “I’ll sit here with you,” God answered. “I’ll sit here with you for all of time.”
Rain was forecast for the morning, but the clouds refused to give up their moisture, even though the flowers in the garden asked them nicely. A patch of blue appeared out near the ocean, Another, out over the hills to the west. I laced up my shoes, deciding to take the chance that I could walk without getting wet. The houses on the street, still sleepy from the night, looked peaceful, their drapes still drawn.
“This is your house, God,” I said as I stepped over a snail making her way across the sidewalk. “We forget that we are guests here in your house.” I sighed, thinking of the people, the animals, the land and forests, the rivers and oceans we harm. “You are in everything, and we ignore you. Help us, God, to do better. Help us to be more present to your presence—to understand that we are your invited guests.”
The sun rose high enough over the horizon to wave at me. I waved back, “Good morning.” I felt a familiar hand upon my shoulder. “Good morning, to you, too, God.” We walked the blocks together, all the way back home.
The noon hour arrived faster than I thought— so lost was I in my work that I didn’t notice the time passing. I pushed myself away from my desk and made my way to the backyard, grabbing a red apple off the kitchen counter. I sunk my teeth into its flesh—holding it in my mouth as I opened the sliding door with both hands.
I flopped down onto one of the chaise lounges and took another bite of the apple. “I’m on my lunch break God—you know, working from home.” I took off my shoes and socks, wiggling my toes in the warm sun. “Are you going to join me? I called out.
“Yes, of course. Be right there,” God shouted from the other side of the fence.
“What’s taking you so long?” I inquired.
God finally opened the gate and came in the yard, a bit out of breath. “I’m here. I’m here,” He said and got comfy in the chaise next to me.
“What’s up?” I asked. “You sound like you’ve been running.”
“Oh, It’s a lot of work taking care of a universe.”
“I bet. You want an apple? I asked. “There are some more in the kitchen.” I pointed to the screen door. “I can go get you one.”
“No, thanks, I’m good,” He answered. “Let’s just relax a little while,” He suggested.
“Sure thing. It’s always good to hang out with you, ” I said. God smiled at me— the light so bright from His eyes that I had to close mine—the fire in His heart so intense that it melted mine wide open.