This morning, I read Emily Dickinson:
The only news I know
Is bulletins all day
I’m on the look out all day for heaven’s news: inklings, whispers, hints.
Here, we clean toilets and scrub dried egg from the breakfast dishes. I have nothing to report but that heaven reaches down into even the toilet, even the dried egg. Immanuel–God with us–even here. Is there a better story anywhere? That’s the only real news I know.
Do you see whispers of God in the ordinary cleaning day?