through the fog

A low dense cloud parked itself over our city this morning. As I made the morning rounds of school drop-offs, I found myself on a road that leads straight towards a beautiful old Catholic Church. This church has a very tall, very pointy steeple with a shiny gold cross at the tippy top.

I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there.

I watched for it.

Closer, closer, and then slowly through the fog, it appeared.

I had a moment as I contemplated this as a metaphor.

Just because I can't see it, or feel it, or hear it, doesn't mean it isn't there.

Just because I can't see Him, or feel Him, or hear Him, doesn't mean He isn't here.