They swoop down, around, in and out.  They seem to come from nowhere, though I know, rationally, that they live in our barn.  They are, after all, barn swallows.


I have never grown tired of seeing swallows performing their acrobatics.  I first saw them in my younger years, growing up at a Christian summer camp.  I would mow for hours, and at the right time of day, at the exact moment the heat seemed to let up ever-so-slightly and the evening seemed to start, the tree swallows would appear, plunging through the air in impossible dives, rushing and zooming to get the bugs that were disturbed by my mowing.

I’m not sure they noticed me, all those years ago, zipping from one end of the field to the other on a red Yazoo mower, brown from a summer in the sun.  They noticed the bugs, though.  And I noticed them.

The barn swallows appear at the same brink of evening, with the same flourish and pizzaz I noticed in their cousins.  It’s as though they appear from thin air, though there are days that I remember this feeling and I look for them in the dark coolness of the barn or on the electrical wires stretching across our lawn from the barn.  Sometimes I see them.  Sometimes I don’t.  I think they’re there either way.

It’s that way with much in my spiritual life too.  Whether or not I feel God’s presence, He is always beside me.  I’m often surprised, astonished, and perplexed to feel the touch of His hand in what I consider the most mundane details of my life.

You can read the rest and how it all ties in with Our Lady of Knock at Catholic Exchange.

…and if you’re looking for more of me (ha!), here’s what I wrote at this week: