God is love. God is everywhere.

I can't remember a day that I did not believe in God.  I was mad as hell at Her once. Back in 1993 when Daddy died.  But for the most part, whether God was in my head as being masculine or feminine, or a little of both,  I have always walked close with my higher power.

As a child, in thunderstorms where lightning cast horrific shadows through the piney woods outside my bedroom window, I felt my God with me. In my turbulent 20's, when I was lost much more than I was found, I felt my God with me.  Not too long ago when I began to question the whole concept of Jesus Christ, I felt my God with me.

And She's always been right there in life's celebrations as well.

Since marrying my Catholic husband, I find myself praying not only to my God, but to Mary and to Mother Teresa and sometimes to specific Saints and finding great comfort in them.  I've taught my children to find God in people and in nature and have taken them many times on walks down to the Concho River on Sunday mornings to sit still, listen, pray and give thanks.

But it was in  my kindergarten Sunday School classroom at Gladewater's First United Methodist Church, where I first remember the simple yet profound words that made such a lifetime impact.  I recall carefully creating a sign cut out of yellow construction paper with my Crayola drawings of African violets (my great grandmother's favorite) and a piece of purple yarn glued to it for hanging.  On one side: "God is love." On the other: "God is everywhere."

God is love.
God is everywhere.

And these two precious sentences continue to embody my heart and my soul, some forty-two years later, as I press forth in my recovery.

God is love.
God is everywhere.