God of Small Things

I don’t meet God in thunder.

I meet Him in the small things—

the way light settles on water,

the breath before speaking,

the stillness after tears.

Faith isn’t loud anymore.

It’s steady—

a rhythm of returning,

a knowing in the dark

that even when I fall,

I don’t fall alone.

And maybe grace

was never about being good,

but about being held

when I couldn’t stand at all.

So I thank the quiet moments

for being miracles

in disguise.