Finding God

Thought we lost religion completely
and then learned from our five year old daughter
how to talk to God.

You just say "Hey God...
thanks for making trees
or will I find a magic rock today?"
And maybe you close your eyes
and think really hard about it,
being glad for things.

It's not a sin to use God's name
"Oh my God, did you see that stone?"
as long as it is stated with deep appreciation.

My daughters are my prayers.

Full

I see others rushing around thinking they need more in this life
more money, a new car, million dollar homes,
while I quietly watch
and know that I have enough.
A few small odd jobs, an old dented car leaking oil outside, a small apartment,
and I am wealthy in love.

I wait at the food bank for an hour and a half
and am grateful for the people in line ahead of me,
glad to listen to their stories
while I sit on a metal chair.

Enough.

Joan Didion's essay Notes From a Native Daughter describes what it must have been like to have grown up in Sacramento in the 1950's and 60's and while I can recognize some of Joan's Sacramento, it is not the Sacramento I grew up in.

We lived in a yellow house on Pershing Avenue in Orangevale, which is right next to Folsom. By the 70's and 80's, the city was so sprawled out that all of the little suburbs and small towns might have names like Fair Oaks and Del Paso Heights, but the people who lived in them thought they were a part of Sacramento. We were connected by the traffic and the heat that made its way along the concrete and past all of the new malls and buildings.