I was something of a drug lord as I stuffed $140 in twenties in the small blank envelope.  Of course, drug lords don’t refer to themselves as drug lords, and I wasn’t passing it through a car window in a dodgy neighborhood, so I probably should have italicized something just then.  But the sentence has been written and I don’t believe in editing except in excess, so enough.

I stuffed it in.  And addressed the envelope Mosaic Manhattan Church P.O. Box 3485 New York, NY 10008-3485.

This is a way that I trust and test God.  Will the envelope reach the church?  Will someone steal the money?  How will I know if they received it?  How will God direct this envelope’s journey?  I don’t know, I won’t know, I don’t know.  Fuck it makes me feel good.  Toes-in-the-sand-margarita-in-my-hand good.

I hope you love the same God I do.  He created my petty but important preferences (example: no to Miracle Whip, yes to Hellman’s Real Mayonnaise). Or maybe he created me important and I created me petty.

It feels perfect.