God and I are on a first name basis. I speak to Him every day. Especially these days. While I sew, or stir the tofu, or gaze out the window I unfurl my heart to Him. Often it is a prayer for someone who is stumbling. Other times I ask for reassurance that He has a hand on what feels like a listing ship.

 

The other day a pair of birds were hopping between branches on the bush beside my sewing room. Was it happenstance? Or were they emissaries from heaven, with the message of God's protection on their feathers? They seemed oblivious to whether I observed them or not. They were absorbed in the business of being birds. 

 

Water fell on my tomato plants. No rubber hoses were involved in the process. But it seems likely that the drenching was welcome to the incremental growth of roots I cannot see, and to fruit that is still hypothetical. I have no redness to break the monotony of black earth and green tendrils. And yet it seems hopeful that one day this summer there will be. 

 

What sustenance may arrive a few months hence from being buried inside four walls? Can there be change even if all seems dormant? The capillaries that channel life between the seen and unseen flow with our without our attention. 

 

I am brash enough to say that I know God's name. But there are so many to choose from. Wonderful. Counselor. Creator. Redeemer. Savior. Dayspring from on high. Father of Eternity. It seems there are enough to nourish our needs both visible and invisible, even in the splashing turbulence that surrounds us.