When I began walking, I found myself sighing to God—the One up there, over there, there…somewhere. I dropped a note into the void, trusting that He would collect it. He did. I returned again and again with a cascade for Him to gather up and straighten out. He did. Then one day I was sufficiently empty, emptied of distractions and chaos enough to listen.
Listen to what, exactly? I mean, I knew God was out there, speaking to me in infinite ways. A leaf spiraling midair on a filament of invisible web. A crystal of snow placed exquisitely upon my gloved finger. The rustle of a small bird sifting through a dry forest bed. Creation speaks of its Creator continually and unceasingly, heartening all inclined to listen. But God isn’t satisfied to just diminish my doubts and tidy my disorder. He has made His home in me, a temple of His Holy Spirit and He hasn’t come for mere housekeeping.
God doesn’t stop at the park, with the seasons and tides. Though He calls me from glades and may whisper on the wind, it is in my very soul that His voice resides. I do not walk alone to seek. He is within me like a dove, like a stone, towing me in, steadying my sails to collect His breath. Oh, He has not nested in the bend of a tree, but in my soul!
And he said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” Exodus 33:14
Meeting God at the Park 