soft grumbles

I looked for God in my youth
searching for clues behind the words
Augustinian nuns preached.
I learned a long litany of prayers
but didn’t find Him.

I’ve visited a lot of churches,
cathedrals even and saw a man
crowned with brambles, nailed to the cross.
There were pictures of His minions
but these were not what I was looking for.
And I couldn’t find Him there.

I’ve gone beyond mountains
and over the hills thinking
He might be hiding behind the clouds.
I’ve tried diving the Tubattaha reef
for He might have sought refuge
in tiny rock crevices found underneath
but didn’t find Him there.

Then I realized

His are the hands that carved
the mountains where life abounds.
His are the fingers that dug the deepest seas
teeming with fish and white corals.
His is the brush that painted the flowers
bursting into colors in spring,
the bright sky turning magenta at dawn and dusk
when the sun sets only to rise
again the following day.

God has always been here.
God is the cool water I drink
after a long dry spell,
the food that sustains me.

I have smelled His breath
in the misty morning air.
He smiled at me when I saw
an innocent baby smile
as he welcomed a world
he had never seen before.
I have felt His touch when my mother,
with probing eyes, gently stroked my face
in her last moments.

Now I know
He lives inside my heart.