When I first heard that God was everywhere,
infinitesimal as well as infinite,
I worried about stepping on Him.
Never sitting on
or bumping into Him —
it seemed He was always hiding in my shoe.
I’d give Him fair warning, respectfully, with
plenty of time to vacate
and make room for my foot.
I never knew which shoe He’d be in, though,
so I’d have to check.
Sometimes right, sometimes left,
after a while,
Not that I’d see Him, necessarily,
but I’d feel Him grinning back at me
each time I won our little game of hide-and-seek.
That’s when He changed the rules.
When I thought I knew where to expect Him,
He’d sneak into my pocket, surprising me
before I’d even picked up my shoes...
where He’d still be, of course,
the mischievous grin coming in triplicate now.
Accepting the challenge, I redoubled my own efforts,
carefully inspecting each article of clothing,
calling softly, “Ready or not....”
He was always ready,
And always there.
Eventually — once he’d found his way
into the toothpaste,
and peeped out the spout of the tea kettle —
He started following me out of the house.
A world of hiding places, there,
discovered by ones and twos
behind clouds and buildings,
in music and the rumble of traffic,
the neighbor’s dog, the overgrown ivy.
People are trickier,
supplying Him with so many different masks.
But the more I look, the more He shows me.
We work together now,
playing on the same side.
Which just goes to show that
God will always come to you,
even, if needs be,
through your shoe.
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