He's There

He's there, hidden in plain sight. In the smile of a new bride as she walks with her new husband, in the face of a little boy dressed as a surgeon holding tightly to his mother as the music plays. He's in the lifted hands of the kindly old man four rows up and in the crystal clear sound of truth being spoken in the still air of a quiet chapel. He's in the flickering of a candle and in the piece of often dry bread, dipped in wine from a box. He's there when I hope he's not. He's there when my heart is hard and when it's broken. He's there in the mundane actions of life, and he's there for all the profound experiences. He's even there when I somehow can't find him. Where can I go to escape him? He's there. He's always there.