Just Beyond the Window

I have no spiritual connection to Easter. Short of coloring eggs as a child, I’ve never viewed the day as much more than one in which we ate ham. I don’t even know why we always served ham - all I know is - we did. 

I have no religious affiliations. For me, I never feel less connected with God than when I try to view this all-loving, all-knowing, omnipresent energy within the confines of religion. For some it is the only way - for others it is not. I fall into the latter category. But I have no grudges against those in the first category. To each their own, is my belief.

But as I’m feeling melancholy, not to mention a bit emotional, I want to feel God’s presence more than ever today. When I was a child, I use to pray that God would sit with me - and just talk. I had so many questions. And I knew this Presence was the only one that had the answers. More than having questions, I didn’t want to feel alone. And somehow through God I thought I would find comfort and love; a friend. But maybe like a parent, God never is our friend. Instead, this Presence is always slightly removed.

But as I sit here, about to reread a newly written manuscript, book number two in the Dainty Delaney series, I am doing so with a heavy heart. And as my words alway echo the condition of my heart, I will either need to forgo editing or change my condition.

Whether as my friend, or merely a benevolent energy that occasionally enters my life, or the puppeteer that controls the movements of fate, I am allowed a glimpse of God right now as I look out the window that sits just beyond my writing desk. Beyond the glass flies two hawks; partners. As if having danced together for decades these two graceful birds glide and dip across the field in search of dinner or in the beautiful dance that is: aerial foreplay. Hawks, I have read, mate for life; only taking on a new partner once one dies. Something about that seems divine to me. More beautiful than a stained-glass window is the love and devotion felt and displayed between these two large, yet graceful, birds. I see God in that. Like a preacher’s sermon urging me to believe, the natural, intrinsic commitment and beauty shown before me reminds me that when I am in wonder, and when I feel alone, just look around. God may never sit down with me and talk, but reminders of God’s presence are shown all throughout nature. And if I have any hope of finding peace, it is within those gentle reminders.

Sane