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.