When I was a child, I looked for God everywhere, in my sheets and the stars, in a melody and my face. But everywhere I looked, came up blank, as if there were a wall between my need and God. I ate soup, spoonful after spoonful, thinking, there He will be, at the bottom of the bowl. Nothing. There He will be at the baseball field. In the dandelion seed swirling off the stem. As hard as I searched, I was never able to find Him. Years later, I found a gathering of other people, who let me in. And when I held their hands, I found God then.