I walked into the deep dark night, the crescent moon lighting my way. Tilting my head back to fill my eyes with the night sky, the Big Dipper shone straight above me, full and clear. Laughter filled my soul. God is here.
In the morning light, I headed for the river rock trail and a still small voice said, ‘Turn.’ I turned away from the path, toward the sea, and there before me was a magnificent eagle soaring in the clear blue sky. God is here.
The persistent morning wind blew through the sunlit trees. Waving. Calling. Singing. I am here. Yahweh. Spirit. God.
She built an altar out of discarded metal—a ladder representing her fears. She built an altar to a God she said she did not know—a God whose name she could not speak. He wooed. He called. He said, “I am here.”
She waited. She listened. She struggled. She railed against the hope. She slept. Peace came and washed over her through a flood of tears. She wept. She knew. She spoke the name. “God is here!!”