Hiding in plain sight.

Tweet

Early this morning I took myself down to the shore hoping to find some trace of God among the boats and the rocks and the seaweed: or as a man with a more poetic soul than mine once put it, to find God “among the garbage and the flowers”. And God was right there at the shore, hiding in plain sight as always, and not just in the way that he’s always everywhere (although that works too) but I was able to pick up the telltale thumb prints that led me to believe that God had indeed passed that way and was still lingering in the melancholy fog of morning. Tied up along the dock was an old-style ferry not seen since the 1970s. A small tub-like vessel now replaced by functional, dreadful looking boxes that can slice through waves in a way that makes not the slightest ripple on the surface of a passenger’s pink martini – boring. I prefer to know that I’m on a boat when I’m on a boat and that involves movement. And there at the shore I knew I was looking at a boat, a real boat that had character, and in whose bar only whiskey was served, not pink martinis. The boat was not God, but anyone quiet enough could recognise God moving around the boat, having brought it through storms to a safe harbour. It wasn’t a boat that neutralised the effect of choppy waters with technology, but one that rode the waves.