So here we sit, O God.
Waiting, wondering...
Where is our burning bush?
Where is our descending dove?
You've done it before.
But here we sit.
Here we sit as an ant cross on our hand,
Distracting us from our prayerful focus.
It's tiny feet tickling our flesh.
We are just about to flick that pesky insect away...
When wait...
What if, as we sit, this ant is
Our burning bush...
Our descending dove....
A trace of Your grace here and now.
What if, as we sit, this ant tickling our flesh is an invitation
To laugh
To sense that You are all around
To know that You are here.
So here we sit, O God.
With You
And an ant.
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