Small Wonders:

It’s raining as I write this. Finally. Rain.

Come to wash away the dust of summer and autumn, the echoes of dry days past.

I am warm and comfortable inside my house; no fireplace but a small heater blasting hot air under my chair. A cup of coffee, flannel shirt and Vivaldi. Listen to “The Four Seasons” while the sky unleashes its bounty and you’ll soon understand something that can’t be put into words; something that artists and musicians discover in the void between themselves and their creator.

All this reminds me of the other day when I saw God sitting on a public bench.

I was riding my bike along a city bike path, and there he was. But he was a she. And though I’ve no proof, I’m sure she has no real home. At least not one with walls and a roof. I’ve seen her several times. She carries her belongings neatly strapped to a hand cart. Scraps of clothes, jar of cookies, feather boa and a boom box. No matter the weather, she wears a heavy coat with a furry hood, keeping out the elements, prying eyes and perhaps unwanted voices.

She’s dirty. I’m sure her personal odor is strong and musky; the fragrance of suffering human: equal parts sweat, urine and time. Her appearance is Christ-like in its humility.

Among her few possessions is a set of tattered and damaged stuffed animals. Wounded beings cast off when they served no further purpose to their masters. She sets them on the bench, neat and orderly. They are attentive as she watches over them wordlessly. A teddy bear, a poodle, a tabby and sweet Piglet. They are her charge, and she cares for them with a soft hand and firm love.

When her eyes are not fixed upon her disciples they lift upward, longing for something the rest of us can’t see.

Perhaps she got herself hooked on drugs. Had several babies out of wedlock and ill-prepared. Failed out of college because she was too lazy to study. Got herself fired for incompetence, laid off because of the recession. Perhaps she made far too many selfish and irresponsible decisions in her youth.

In short, she’s probably guilty of falling victim to her own frailties, weaknesses and stupidities.

Just like you, just like me.

Does any of this mean she’s not deserving of help?

Natalie Komuro doesn’t think so.

“I think it may feel easier on an emotional level to help people who have been victimized,” she told me. “But I can’t think of anyone I know who hasn’t made a mistake or a bad choice.”