I’ve rubbed the fabric of God so often
that the threads poke out.
The words I spoke to a friend this morning
a stranger spoke to me in the afternoon.
What I long for, for another,
another longs for, for me.
And out of the shadow emerges the realization
that not only does God weave through my day, my life,
but also that I am a thread of God,
and integral to the fabric, both woven and weaver.
The thread pokes out that was always there …
of being at home
and of myself in God.