I know money. My job involves me in decisions about large sums.
I have seen wealth. I have met in conference rooms, which soar high into the New York skyline.
I understand power. I’ve sat at giant wooden tables in large granite buildings, where big decisions are made.
The spirit does not live there.
I’m young. I carry a pack on my back, and walked among the trees of Utah’s high Uinta Mountains.
I listen to birds sing in the trees. I see squirrels scamper by. Deer approach, and then run back into the trees.
Granite peaks soar high into the sky, holding an endless number of crystal clear lakes.
In the afternoon, after the rain, the sun dances and sparkles on the ripples that quietly traverse the lake.
I sit, I watch, I meditate. The spirit whispers, God is with you here.
An earthquake shatters Haiti. My twenty-one old daughter boards a plane and heads into the devastation. I am afraid. But, among the poor and broken, she finds the spirit there.
It’s Christmas, and we are at a cabin near a stream. It is a place for addicts, who have no money, no power, no wealth. We drop off a few presents. The handful of men are grateful. We find the spirit there.
I’m at the front of a long line of mostly women. We are walking into the heart of Mormon power, asking equality. The wind blows, the hail stings, and God is with us there.
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I’m with my best friend walking to a parade. People are rushing by. She stops and kneels down next to a homeless woman, who is broken and has nothing. She touches the woman, and offers hope. The spirit cried, “I am here!”
The Spirit is not with the rich, nor the powerful. We cannot buy buildings big enough or opulent enough to contain the Spirit. I have found God in quiet moments of contemplation, and most of all with those who dare to try to make this world a better place.
“. . . I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you have done it for me.” Matthew 25:40.