From Frederick Buechner, The Final Beast (HarperCollins, Aug 1982) p. 177-178:
Frederick Buechner describes a mini-epiphany with an anecdote from his own life in ministry. He writes of a young minister visiting his father’s farm one late May night. Yearning for some reassurance of God’s existence, the minister flings himself on the grass beside the barn, closes his eyes and prays, ‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘please come,’ and then, ‘Jesus’. He swallows hard, raises his head and slowly opens his eyes, hoping to see the sky part like a curtain and God’s splendor pouring through. But for a long time there is nothing. And then, writes Buechner, there was this: “Two apple branches struck against each other with a limber clack of wood on wood. That was all – a tick-tock rattle of branches – but then a fierce lurch of excitement at what was only daybreak, only the smell of summer coming, only starting back again for home, but oh Jesus, he thought, with a great lump in his throat and a crazy grin, it was an agony of gladness and beauty falling wild and soft like rain.”