A burning bush spoke to me

Well, actually, a Burning Bush woofed at me.

Earlier this week, during the extreme heat, I arrived home after work and stepped up onto my porch. The Burning Bush in my front garden woofed.

I looked at it, but I couldn’t see anything. Then I followed the trail of my dog’s leash and arrived at Sasha’s doggie nose peeking out from her shady refuge in the thick foliage. My daughter had arrived home a few minutes before I did, and she had let the dog out. Sasha patrolled the neighbourhood from her Burning Bush hideout.

When a burning bush talks, I can’t help but think of the biblical story of Moses. In the story, the “angel of the Lord” tells Moses to take off his shoes, for he is standing on holy ground. For me, my home is holy ground, and, for me, Sasha qualifies as an angel. So, I took a moment to appreciate my angel and my home.

I have learned to pay attention when quirky little events pop up in my life.

When something happens that makes me gasp, or laugh, or cry, the moment always holds the essence of wonder. When I take a moment to think about it and peel back the layers, underneath I discover something worthwhile.

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