It could have gone unobserved. In fact most of the people on the road were not looking in that direction. But a friend was driving along when she saw a heart shaped cloud and felt compelled to stop. To enjoy it. To click a picture, and send it to her aunt who was recently widowed.

"I think this is your husband sending his love!"

Last week my twins sang with their choir in church. I found a seat that allowed me to watch both of them. In that moment my senses were saturated with sounds and sights that offer peace. Any frustrations that hankered for my attention were silenced.  

The other day I took Benjamin to our favorite bakery, where he got his usual. A milkshake. He plopped down in the play area and brought animation to the plastic castle. The daughter of the couple we were chatting with played near him. In a break in our conversation I realized that Ben was singing My Grandfather's Clock, which is one of his favorites. The small girl was swaying to his voice. They made a sweet duo, a man boy of nearly twenty, a curly headed pixie of not quite two. Yet music was enough of a bridge to connect them. 

Sometimes I wonder if I can almost see God peeking from behind the curtain. 

"Is this enough?" He mouths. Enough to sooth my distress. Enough to make me smile. Enough to convey that I am loved. Known. Provided for. 

The variety in His messages is astonishing. Birds calling overhead as they discuss late fall travel plans. Hard hatted men perched high on a pole with headlamps fixing a power outage in the dark. Apples smiling from the bowl on the counter ready to become pie. Maples who cannot choose between scarlet and russet, so they wear both. 

There are days when I look back at my dissatisfaction, uncomfortable with the similarity of my behavior and that of an overindulged eight year old on her birthday. Tossing aside carefully wrapped gifts in a reckless pile. 

Other times, like this morning, I am grateful for each one.