January 29, 2014
I dreamt of God. What does
he or she look like? I see a kaleidoscope of images, all of the people who
touch my life.
In 1991, while traveling
through small villages in the state of Minas Gerais, touring
church-after-church in Brasil, at the insistence of my exchange student, Bruno’s
mother. His best friend, Guilerme, came along, as well as a chatty friend of the
boss, Ana. We finally halted in a small, yet another quaint settlement. As I
unfolded from the back seat of the two door sedan, a little girl of roughly
five, raced up to me. Her hair, ratted and blonde, lead a streaked face,
sparkling eyes, and distinctly firm outstretched hand. In her palm rested the
biggest pale crystal I had ever seen. It was ribbed with dirt yet I could
detect the intricate detail of smaller offshoots. Before I had the chance to
say anything other than “O’brigada,”she was off, running away from me at a
canter. I turned to display the shining stone when a much smaller version of
the same energy came bolting towards me, flung another brilliant stone in my
hand, and barreled off into the large boulders. Same rats nest hair, dingy
clothes, dirt-splotched legs, and generosity. “Para
voce” was all I could grasp as the little cherub disappeared. An unmistakable
touch of grace had me understand God and her trusted kindred spirits are always
present.
How does your God appear?
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