It was the end of another day.  Where did I see God in my day?  Where had he appeared?  Was He invisible again in the ingredients that made up the soup?  Those tomatoes that had come from South America?  That were hand selected?  The cream in the tomato bisque?  Machine milked from cows.  The work of human hands.  The transport that brought this to my town.  The store that sold it to me.  I was graced by all of this.  The work of those who helped create this soup, or my work that had allowed me to make the purchase?  It had all seen so mundane.   Everyday things.  Hadn’t we always had food?  What exactly was that Grace before meals supposed to mean?  There was so much here that was invisble.  A lot like the love that was always around this house, around the table.  And people felt embarased to talk about it.  Until there was a threat of loss.  When life seemed threatened, suddenly that Grace grabbed the heart.  And that was just by lunch. 

Food.   In the musical made from one of Charles Dickens’ book, the song was, “Food.  Glorious food.”  And Taste.  Invisible taste.  This week my morning started with a sweet roll from a Kosher bakery.  The ingredients were invisible.  I did not know what made the food Kosher.  And as always, I never quite knew the invisible effect this food would have on my body.  On weight.  Or on cavities, those invisible cavities.  That was the everyday mystery.  



God invisible.  And invisible in me.  Most people seemed to believe in me.  A lot more people did not believe in God.  And people, men any way, seemed embarassed to talk about it.  


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