I pause. Is this crazy? But before my melancholic self can settle into faint despair, an image from the drive here appears in my mind: the St. James cross. It was on the back of the car ahead of me, and I noticed it in a way that I’ve come to recognize as being a signal from my guardian angel, who occasionally lets me know, “Hey, this is really important,” by sending me a sudden jolt deep into my bones, bringing my mind into focus like little else.
“Behold this image of the St. James Cross,” I felt. “That’s for you.” (Sometimes it’s, “Behold your house keys,” as I’m about to leave without them or my favorite, “Behold the Nukkie”, as I’m pawing through my purse, “you’re really going to need that later.”)
As I’m not too familiar with the cross, I look it up online. I’m humbled when I read that it’s a symbol of God’s protection. I’m emboldened to start again. I look around McDonald’s and rub my eyes and face. I reach for my coffee but am disappointed to find that there are only ice cubes left in the cup. I can’t stall any longer. I reach again for the keyboard. Here goes, God, I think. Please use this little blog if it pleases You.