Where, oh where?

Where can I go from your Spirit?

    Where can I flee from your presence?

 

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

 

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

    if I settle on the far side of the sea,

 

even there your hand will guide me, 

    your right hand will hold me fast.

 

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

    and the light become night around me,”

 

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

    the night will shine like the day,

    for darkness is as light to you.

--Psalm 139:7-12

How often we try to escape, it seems-- or at least, I try to escape. Oh, it's not that I don't enjoy spending time with God-- but sometimes, every now and again (and again), I just don't want to feel God's gentle pokings.

You know. Those days when I have been just a little expedient in my dealings with others, when my agenda takes the front seat to God's agenda. When there is something I just need to get done-- now. 

Something's gotta give. And it is usually my God time that gives.

Then it hits me. 

I didn't really want to get away from God's presence. (Maybe just out from under his loving, just gaze. It can be focused like the sun through a magnifying glass at times.)

So earlier this week, I went in search of God. I didn't find God.

God found me.

Isn't that the way? Always? 

I took me bad mood, my grumpiness and my impatience and set out on a brisk walk. I wound up on a trail that led me far from the beaten path, unfrequented by people (unless they were on horseback. . . ). Lots of under-the-breath muttering, a wee bit of outright shouting, all with the hopes God would answer.

Nothing.

But after a couple of miles, when I finally settled down and slowed down and shut up, already, guess what.

Into the quiet, into the calm surroundings that smelled of springtime God came. (Of course, God had never left.) 

In the little black dog's yip-yip-yipping and the wag of its tail, in the tree trunk chapel for elves, replete with a preacher.

In the parting of the clouds, as the rays of the sun streamed through and shone on the distant treetops.

And ultimately, in my heart. The calm returned, the peace and quiet-- and even in the pokes and the mild conviction, I welcomed God's "return." Even as he had never left.

Ever-present, ever-loving God, open my stubborn, folded arms to your love. Touch my angry, puzzled, furrowed brow with your healing comfort. And always, help me be mindful that wherever I go-- there you are. Amen.