The Philosophical Whims of Prepackaged Cookies

Today, something very special was supposed to happen. 

I don't know what it was, but I did everything I could to make sure that my good fortune was not interrupted. I woke up early this morning. I brushed AND flossed my teeth. I wore a nice shirt and my lucky socks. I went into the office, and called all of the people I was supposed to call. I did everything I could. You know what happened?

Nothing.

Conclusion:

Either I did something wrong, or the fortune cookie I ate on December 24th, telling me that three months from that day would be significant, was completely false. Or maybe it was just a piece of paper with something written on it. 

Not that I really believe in that sort of thing.

I think. 

It's silly, I know, but I had actually hoped, on some level, that something significant would happen today. I could really use a significant event. Something to change my perspective. I want something new.

God had promised me something new. (see my post "San Fransisco, Day One: Shorelines/Transitions" for more info).  When, though? My life seems to have taken the form of a ticking clock. Everything is about timing, and I have put my faith in someone who exists outside of time.

I think I really hoped that a fortune cookie message would tip his hand. I don't think I really thought that. I just thought it would be nice to know ahead of time when something big is going to happen, so I can have my camera ready, and plan my work schedule accordingly. 

My God, can you imagine what would have happened to my spiritual life if something important really did happen today? I would be done reading the Bible. I would be so obsessed with fortune cookies that I might actually want to eat one.

I shudder at the thought.

Back to trust. Good old fashioned trust. The type with no limitations on time, socks, ethnicity, or the philosophical whims of prepackaged cookies. One where we sit and we trust. One where we float along and we hope for the best. A world where we live so very often, and die only once. I can't imagine a stranger or more wonderful place to call home. Thank you, God, for not listening to the cookies when you came up with this place. 

I don't think I want to live in a planet that is run by cookies.

Even still...

I wonder where I'll be in three more months.