We rode through the countryside, grass as golden as the sun. I heard the hum of the car as we strode past pasturelands of dried land that had been kissed too many times by it. The rays were so bright, even through my window they’d looked blinding. Only distracted by my nephew who sat to the right of me, intermittently smiling my favorite quadri-tooth smile, I knew today would be a great day. 

Finally to our destination, we take our time scattering through a place whose selection of goodies, treats, and souvenirs, would be enough to take your breath away. We poked around aisles and beheld the likes of strawberry lemonade preserves, lemon-peppered jerky, and Dubai hot chocolate gracing shelves--snacktime wonders these eyes had never before seen and would probably never behold again until returning.

We were brought on this family trip for a very sad occasion, but left with countless moments together. 

Among a scattering of visits to an oversized grocery store encompassing anything from sushi to breakfast burritos bundled within its plentiful shelves, and family visits lingering tableside among some of the best food you’d ever taste—delights like catfish and homemade fries, or a three-generational bundt cake (tell you more later), or barbeque ribs and chicken with two kinds of cornbread, or burgers with hotlinks—was something always accompanying us in the background, like a song or ray of light that’d never leave. 

Call it appreciation, meaningful moments, gratitude, a lively feeling, a light or presence—the trip swelled with something beyond us, something I was barely aware of in the background and acknowledged only perhaps in moments alone, pulling up a chair with coffee steam wafting momentarily from morning cups laid out on a glass table, sitting on the backside of the porch staring at the view where it was obvious what lingered: it was the presence of God. He wasn’t so explicitly felt, but the awareness of Him always there, with us, in the good moments and the silence in between conversation; His sweet Spirit in the background as we talked and cried sometimes, never leaving, did something to the entire visit. It made it good.

So that when we all left, we held back more tears until next time. 

And I didn’t know He could do that. I didn’t know that God would opt to take a seat in the background. I’d think something like this is too lowly for a God like Him, the God of the Universe—who must always make Himself pronounced in the grandest of ways. Except this is the same God who showed up in a manger, and who remained nameless in the book of Esther. This is the same God whose quiet presence sometimes is enough as it accompanies me and you, and did my family, throughout our days.

This is the same One who showed me that despite what happens, He’s just as much the God of June, as He is of July, August, and every month and moment of the year before and after. 

In grand gestures and little moments scattered alike and in between, He continues to surprise me with just how much He shows up for His people as He did for us when we needed Him most, even if it was in the background.