Another brick in the wall

Every Sunday I seat at church besides a brick wall that has been there for the last 60 years. And while the priest talks about Jesus I wonder what a brick thinks about its place in the universe, holding the House of God, so important and at the same time so insignificant, just one among thousands undistinguishable one from another. On this 60 years nobody had notice it (the third one from my seat, a little bit darker than the others) and I wonder if I can take it home without collapsing the building or, more probably, I will leave it there for the next 200 years, just holding it together, waiting for the end of times or a fire that will leave it charred but firm and sound. I don’t know if God knows my brick is there, if He knows I’m there, wondering for a piece of clay, while I’m just another one, believing that He takes care of me.