Oopsidaisi. I accidentally published this post before I finished it. EEEEK. My WORSE nightmare. Thank goodness Barbaloot commented or I wouldn't have noticed.
Bout gave me a heart attack Barb! But here is the finished post:
Last May I went to the LDS Storymakers conference in Salt Lake City. I roomed with DeNae from My Real Life Was Backordered, and we went out to dinner with Motherboard from Crazyland and stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking about serious matters and giggling like school girls.
One of the serious matters we giggled about was the scriptures. They are in love with the scriptures, those two. They can recite them front to back. They can also tell you the entire history of the church as they drive you through the Avenues in Salt Lake City. While we were talking DeNae said something really profound. She said that she thinks God knows every language, including every love language, and communicates to us in in our own particular language.
In other words, he speaks to us in ways he knows we'll understand.
DeNae and Motherboard both speak scripture. When they read the scriptures they feel like God is telling them stuff.
Me? God tells me stuff through music. He tells me to say what I need to say and that this is my temporary home and that tonight's gonna be a good night and that my eyeballs are stuck on my plate.
No lie, once he told me that he loved me during Mozart's Requiem.
If I'm not listening to music he tells me stuff through fortune cookies. Fer reals! Like this morning. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. because I heard my daughter leave to go to the temple. So I got up and started vacuuming. It's what I do when I'm distressed. Or when there is dog hair everywhere.
I've been distressed for the past few days. Plus there is dog hair everywhere.
What I've been distressed about is my daughter. She feels like she made a wrong choice.
No, she didn't get a tattoo. It's something worse. She transferred schools. Last year. And then she transferred back.
See there is a law irrevocably degreed in Utah that if you transfer schools after the 9th grade you have to sit out a year of sports. You don't have to sit out a year of band or of drama or dance team, but you have to give up a year of athletic eligibility. Even when you think you've filled out the proper paperwork.
Remember how last year she transferred to the best tennis school and I sang Waka Waka and pumped my fist until she won 2nd in the region, but then she got anonymously turned in to the proper authorities and disqualified from states and I got addicted to gangsta rap, so she immediately repented and transferred back to the proper school and is now playing for the proper team?
And remember how I've been so happy lately and how my life has been so perfect (besides the fact that the bishop dumped me for a blond YW Prez)? And how my daughter has been so happy lately because she loves her proper teammates and her proper coach (even though he told her she's going to get slaughtered)?
Well history is repeating itself and at this very moment there are committees trying to decide if she is eligible to play tennis at all. Even for the proper school. It seems she's just plain ineligible that girl. And she blames herself. And I blame myself, because what is that old saying? Disqualified once, shame on you. Disqualified twice, shame on ME!
Or something like that.
So yesterday I went to the temple and I squeezed my eyes shut hard during the entire session and I petitioned the universe. Just like in Eat, Pray, Love.
First I asked for forgiveness and mercy for being such a dummy. Then I literally wrote a petition in my head that said "LET HER PLAY (please, please, pretty please)" and I imagined all the people who would sign it. (All of you were there signing it, thank you.) (And my Papa was signing it and Jackie Robinson and John Adams and Jack Johnson were signing it, and Jean Val Jean and Martha and Hamlet were signing it.)
And then I imagined stadiums of people doing the wave and shouting:
LET! HER! PLAY! (please, please, pretty please!)
And then, just like in the movies, I panned out until I could see the entire planet shouting LET HER PLAY over and over and over.
And then I took a quick cat nap.
It's exhausting to ask the whole wide world to join in my crusade. Especially when I know she's going to get slaughtered anyway.
But I digress. I was telling you about how God talks to me through fortune cookies.
So this morning. I was vacuuming at 5 a.m. And I came across a little wadded up piece of paper. Normally I would just pick it up and toss it, but today I picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a fortune from a fortune cookie, and it was torn in half. I had never seen it before and I have no idea where it came from or how it got on my floor, but as soon as I read it, I taped it back together, and then pressed it to my heart like a band aid from God.
And then I handed the band aid to my daughter when she walked in from the temple.
She smiled. And then she told me about a random woman who walked up to her in the temple and told her that something good was going to happen to her today.
Maybe that's how God talks to my daughter, through random women.
I wonder what good thing is going to happen to her today. Who knows, maybe she'll become eligible. Or maybe she'll get asked to homecoming. Or maybe she'll just be able to breathe.
Breathing is one of the best things that can happen to us if you really think about it.
Someone should put that on a fortune cookie.