It’s often said that God works in mysterious ways. Quite frankly, I find God’s ways downright frickin’ bizarro most of the time, but that does lend certain capriciousness to life that I think we could all use more of.
Case in point: I spent half the day last Saturday in the company of 150 of my closest Presbyterian friends at a class entitled “Dangerous Elders.” Upon arriving, I was crushed to discover that kung fu fighting was not part of the day’s agenda, but I soldiered on until we came to lunchtime.
Suddenly struck by the necessity of socializing, I donned my faux extrovert persona and scanned the crowd for familiar faces, trying not to appear pathetic. Thankfully, I found some friends from Leadville, CO who were too buzzed on all the oxygen at 5200 feet above sea level to notice if I looked pathetic. Then, a member of one of my favorite rural churches found me and we and some other folks spent the next ten minutes catching up on a perennially relevant and riveting topic to Coloradans: road construction.
At one point, another solo attendee and I bumped elbows and exchanged a few funny words and then we all got in the lunch line. I was hoping to sit with my fellow asphalt aficionados. But when the seating hostess called for two people to fill in an incomplete table, I threw caution to the wind and volunteered.
The hostess sat me next to the other solo flyer I’d run into – literally – a few minutes earlier. We started chatting (like you do), immediately hitting it off (which is altogether too rare), and the conversation, inevitably, turned to our occupations.
My companion – whom I’ll call Fiona, because that’s not her name – told me that she was in the marriage and family therapy business. Since I know exactly one marriage and family therapist, I said: “I realize there are about seven million marriage and family therapists in the world, but I don’t suppose you know Artemisia Donohue?”
She-who-shall-be-known-as-Fiona’s jaw dropped.
“How do you know Artemisia?”
“Her daughter, Electra, and I have been best friends since the fifth grade.”
Fiona started laughing.
“Artemisia and I went to graduate school together and have been best friends ever since!”
Yes, it’s a small world and God moves in mysterious ways. But the biggest mystery is why Artemisia and Electra both wound up best friends with two Presbyterians.
In any case, the encounter reminded me of God’s wacky, whimsical side. When we’re tempted – which, in my case, is often – to fixate on the sternness, unfairness, remoteness, and inscrutability of God, it’s important to remember that, for some reason that doesn’t really matter, God invented duckbill platypuses. God may also have a hand in the discovery of five-dollar bills in the pockets of thrift store purchases. I’m pretty sure God inspired whoever invented tapioca. God has got to be behind the darnedest things that kids say. And I am positive that an almighty creator God with a kick-ass sense of humor is behind wild kingdom behavior like this:
Take time to laugh this week. Spring is coming.
 Which is to say, I was sitting closer to these Presbyterians than to any others at that particular moment.
 Thankfully, I took and passed the Colorado DOC’s Pressure Point Control Tactic Training twice. The second time, one of my sparring partners was a five-foot-tall, ninety-pounds-soakin’-wet chaplain named Gillian. If you ever find yourself in any of the CDOC’s finer correctional establishments, please, take my advice. Do not fuck with this chaplain. She will take your ass down faster than you can say, “Hallelujah.”
 At 10,152 feet, Leadville, CO is the highest incorporated city and second highest municipality in the United States. I have no idea what the difference is between a city and a municipality.
 Totally also not her real name. Duh.
 Seriously, people. Not her real name. How many times do I have to tell you?
 Actually, I suspect it’s because they were unconditionally predestined to be irresistibly attracted to our total depravity.
 For those of you not up on your highly toxic South American vegetable products, tapioca is made from manioc, which has a rather high cyanide content and is only rendered edible by boiling and draining it several times. Who the heck stuck around to figure that recipe out?
 Granted, I make this last assertion as a non-parent who has derived an endless amount of entertainment from the darnedest things kids say. Non-non-parents, which is to say, parents, may have a different opinion about things that issue from the mouths of babes.
 Unless you’re completely hooked on Game of Thrones, in which case, you know what’s coming. Winter and dragons and some very ill-advised matrimonies, that’s what!
© Marian the Seminarian, 2013