The chicken boiled in the pot. Rain taps gently on the roof. Ben shifts beside me, looks at me, then goes still again. His head rests on my foot like it belongs there – which it does.
This is the life I never expected. No spotlight. No noise. Just mornings that start slow, walks that do not need to rush, prayers whispered over a cup of hot tea.
Ben doesn’t ask for much. A full bowl. A pat on the head. A place by my side. And my attention when he seeks it. He shows me – without words – how to be content.
And God? He’s here too, of course. Not in fire and thunder, not in grand gestures, but in the stillness. In the way the light filters through the windows. In the peace that settles when I stop chasing things I was never meant to hold.
There was a time I sought more – more money, more success, more answers, more dates on the pulpit, more of everything. But now? Now I see it. This is more. This quiet, sacred enough.
God, Ben, and I. A simple trio. A gentle rhythm. A life not wasted but lived.
And in that, I find joy. Real joy. The kind that doesn’t shout – just smiles.
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