WHERE GOD RESIDES

God means so many different things to so many different people 

whether you worship in a mosque, a synagogue or pray under a steeple.

 

Many struggle their whole lives looking to find a way

to understand who their God is and what he or she is trying to say.

 

For proof of a God look around you, look to all creations on this Earth…

the flowers that bloom, the rain that falls, the miracle of childbirth.

 

Look to the birds that fly, the winds that blow, look to the changing ocean tides

I think wherever you find innocence and beauty that’s where God resides.

 

I’m reminded of a story about a doctor who in a hospital one day

had a heart attack, fell to the ground, and in that same instant passed away.

 

His son, also a doctor, tried but couldn’t get his father’s heart re-beating

(How often we are reminded that life is nothing if not fleeting.)

 

The son was having a hard time coping with the sudden loss of his dad

as he tried hard to fight the bitterness that came with being sad.

 

He was doing rounds one afternoon and walked up to a young boy’s bed

“You look so sad,” the young boy observed, “is that because you’re father’s dead?”

 

The doctor bristled at the innocence of this boy who recently turned seven.

“He must have been a really good doctor.” The boy remarked, 

“For God to call him up to Heaven.”

 

The doctor looked at the boy who seemed to be enjoying their little chat.

“I hadn’t ever thought about it, Billy, tell me, what makes you think that?”

 

“Well, God must have been pretty sick that day…I imagine he was feeling pretty bad…

and even with all the doctors he has in Heaven…that day…he chose your dad.”

 

The doctor smiled as he felt himself emerging from his gloom…

Smiled…as he felt the presence of his God within that room.

 

Smiled at the beauty and the innocence of a little boy who guides…

Smiled as he was reminded where his God resides.

 
 
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With admiration owed to any

With admiration owed to any poet, may I respectfully ask from whence do you obtain your stories?  Are they fictive, anecdotal?


Januarian

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