No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim:
And,–glancing on my own thin, veined wrist,–
In such a little tremour of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct. Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more, from the first similitude.
from Aurora Leigh by Elzabeth Barret Browning
I wonder how many burning bushes we have walked right by because we were rushing from one thing to the next, completely unaware of the voice of God speaking to us, beckoning us into an encounter. There is nothing small. As we learn to rest, we learn to become attentive to presence of God all around us.