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.

 

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