this is what it feels like.

Nobody can tell me God doesn’t care for me.

Well, I suppose they could try, but I wouldn’t believe them.

Not when I see it all around me; not when I can’t help but feel it in the way I listen to the world. And sometimes it sounds like a guy with nothing but the stars and a moon that is only halfway lit allowing us to see him as he recites a Buddy Wakefield poem. And this poem is like fire; it’s ancient like that, and it warmed me like that too. There were phrases that stood out, like how it takes a long time to make love to someone who hates them self and something about if we are made in the image of God, then at one point God squished fire ants with his finger…oh, and also how all the best songs are about Georgia…but anyway, that poem is something passionate. True. And I think a part of me recognized it.

There’s something in the Bible about deep calling to deep–and I think that’s sort of like the parts of us that you cannot touch or see of feel with your fingers getting fed by the good things in this world that you cannot touch or see or feel with your fingers.

And that happened tonight.

And then there is humor. Because there are tears and there is laughter and there is Monday and there is Friday and both are necessary and neither are to be neglected, I do believe. And life is funny, and thank God for that. Because sometimes you are running by yourself and you get hot because of the running, so you decide to take off your shirt but no, you can stop your gasping because you are not topless. You have on a very respectable sports bra and you hardly ever run into anyone on this trail anyway, and look, well now you’re not so hot anymore so it seemed like a good decision.

And then there’s a convenient clearing and you take the opportunity to work on some choreography for the jazz class you are teaching in a few hours and oh nice, out walks a whole slew of students on a nature walk. So you stop dancing, and you just walk by them and you even smile and say hi, but you cannot help but overhear one kid tell his classmate, Oh, look–she’s wearin’ a bikini! Well good, cause not only did they catch you dancing by yourself in the woods, apparently they caught you dancing by yourself in the woods while wearing a bikini.

And if life didn’t just get better, it certainly just got funnier. Which some could argue is better.

And then there are the days when you see a pretty blue envelope in the mail. And what makes this story even better is that it has your name on it. And it’s square, just like you love a good card to be, and it’s from a dear friend that you haven’t seen in a while. You open it up, you read the text, and you immediately are grateful that there are people in this world who truly get each other.

And God, but it’s good to be gotten.

Cause look at what this says:

And the text that you can’t quite decipher on the top right is:

She happily set free her heart.

Which sounds about right. And yes, it needs freeing once again very often, but that’s the good thing about a heart–it doesn’t really mind multiple freeings. In fact, it acts like it was made for it or something. Like the way you finally put a frog back into the water after he’s been out of it for some time, dry and sad and not quite acting like himself. He’s darting around like he’d never even left, and that’s the way it can be with a heart.

I hope, anyway.

And then there’s the time when a lady who has taught you one class at the gym tells you that she is a massage therapist and offers you a massage right then and there. Free of charge, because she just has a feeling you could use it. And she has no idea what’s happened, none. She doesn’t know that for a while there, you thought about taking your skin off and yes, that’s strange, but so was a lot of other stuff that was happening to you. And then you find out that skin is representative of how you perceive you’re being cared for, so oh! that makes perfect sense. There was no care for a minute–for a lot of minutes, actually–so right, the skin. Of course you felt like taking it off. Unzipping it like a raincoat that was not necessary. Not when rain is love and it hasn’t been raining for a long time. So yes, she gives you a massage and ends up working on you–touching that skin that not too long ago felt altogether unnecessary anyway–for two hours. And to say it was good would be like saying that Niagra Falls is wet.

It. Was. Magic.

And a reminder, that yes, God cares for me.

You can’t tell me that he doesn’t.

And as if all that weren’t enough, I keep finding myself surrounded by pretty yellow butterflies. Well can you say keep finding when it’s happened twice? I suppose I just did. But butterflies. And yellow. And more than once.

I am cared for.

Unbelievably so.