When you pay for the coffee of the woman behind you in line, remember:
She could be me.
When you carry something heavy for a woman you’ve never met:
She could be me.
When you attend a party and offer to do the dishes at the end of the night, you could be doing it for me.
When you listen.
When you worship.
When you serve.
When you give.
You might be accidentally serving a goddess.
You see, we hide in plain sight. Vanilla jobs. Vanilla clothes. Vanilla grocery store runs. Until you learn to spot the divine, you will miss us. Even when you think you know how to spot the divine, you will still miss us.
We’re tricky like that.
Cloaked and hidden one moment, throwing electricity at you with a single glance the next.
But we’re there. We see when you serve. It gives us power, pleasure.
It gives me power. Pleasure.
It sparks attention. Intrigue. Especially when I can feel that you are doing it for no other reason but service to the divine.
Remember today that every small act of care toward the women around you is an act of worship. Even when I cannot see you, it pleases me immensely. And when I can see you, I remember.
I remember the quiet worshipers. The acts of sacrifice.
I remember you.