IN MY PARENT’S HOUSE
In my parent’s house
I find God every day
Not in the Name of Christ shouted from the rooftop
Nor the daily workings of miracles of wonder.
It’s in the silent, subtle things
that I see the twinkle of my Father’s eye…
The kiss of a half century love affair,
still stoked with love and passion.
Gifts culled with hands of joy,
That nourish the spirit, the flesh and soul.
It sings in the quail song and the language of the starling.
In the playful flick of the squirrel’s bushy tail
The tiny warmth of her soft eager paw
as she reaches for the favor within my hand.
It rises in the scent of rain-freshened air streaming in the windows
It’s in the knowledge that each word spoken is honest and true ,
The love enduring, without reservation,
The precious gems profound and wise.
It’s giving for the sake of giving
With no expectation but the joy of the gift
And the delight of the imparting.
In all things, both big and small
The treasure of sovereignty abides.

In my parent’s house
I find God every day