The squirrel froze mid-leap, its small black eyes meeting mine on the trail. For a heartbeat, we studied each other. Two beings, vastly different, sharing one perfect moment of recognition. Then it darted up the nearest oak, chattering what sounded like laughter into the afternoon sky.

I've stopped counting these encounters.

The mountain biker who smiled as we passed on a narrow trail, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. My parents arriving at my doorstep, their love unchanged after decades, flowing as naturally as breathing. My wife's fingers finding mine across the dinner table, her touch carrying everything words cannot.

We search the skies for proof. We demand burning bushes and parted seas. We want divine revelation delivered with cosmic fanfare.

Where is God? we cry. If it’s real, why doesn't it show itself?