Monday, February 6, 2012

I Found Jesus

Last Monday morning was a typical Monday morning. There was a new pile of dog poop on my yard, the traffic on the 405 was still at its pre-Christmas level, and the client requested copy changes that did nothing to improve the persuasiveness of my copy.

Like I said, it was typical.

But as I was walking back to my car, having completed my lunchtime swim, I noticed something on the parking garage floor. It caught my eye and I almost walked by it, but something compelled me to bend down for a further investigation.

It was a laminated prayer card for St. Uriel. The last time I saw one of these was a long, long time ago when one of my larger-than-life high school buddies passed away. I slipped the card in my pocket and rushed back to my office to find out what San Uriel was all about.

And that's when things started to get a little weird.

If you were to Google Saint Uriel, you would discover that Uriel is one of the older angels mentioned in both the Jewish bible and the Christian bible. And though he is recognized as the Patron Saint of Poetry he also had many other responsibilities. Among them:

That's right, he checked the doors of Egypt for lamb's blood during the plague that preceded Passover.

I don't ask you, the reader, to do any work (that's what I'm here for), but if you were to check last Monday's blog posting you'd see I had illustrated my story with the following:

Let's review the facts. The day I put up a posting in which I renounce my belief in biblical fairy tales and a week after I write about my similar disinclinations towards miracles, I randomly find a prayer card from a Kabbalistic cherub on the P3 parking level at the Yahoo Center in Santa Monica, CA that just happens to coincide with daily ranting. 

It's not a burning bush. And it's not a parting of the sea. 
But you take your message of Providence any way you can get it.

1 comment:

Jeff said...

Sometimes the signs are hard to ignore. At the risk of being a little preachier than I mean to, keep watching - they're all around.