It has been two years since I began my cyber diary. Two years of mullings and musings, profundities, and perplexities. I have laid bare my soul, stripped of everything except the honest questioning and holy arguments that have wrapped me fully and engaged me in ragged pursuit of uneasy truth. And Truth does not allow itself to be found so readily. It is as if the pursuit means more than the discovery- the bloodhound search for God is in and of itself the raison d’etre. If to find Him would mean packing up our marbles and going home, then discovery could spell disaster. No need to search anymore. Finding and being found would mean the end of all things. God does not come onto centre stage in colourful, cartoon form- brazenly demanding our belief, our allegiance. He wisps through the sides of the curtains as they fall, elusive and as indescribable as the scent of crushed lavender and rose. Subtle, non-elephantine, God whispers hints of His whereabouts in the hopes that we might seek Him out of love. For He is discovered in Love. Living both in and outside of the sacred box and book, God winks from behind the eyes of the bag lady on the streets, and screams through the pain of those wrestling with loss. Tragedy and triumph embrace as Mystery infuses each with meaning greater than the sum of parts. And yet that annoyingly persistent promise “you will seek me, and you will find me, when you will search for me with all of your heart” remains. And so the whole-hearted shalom search must continue.