It was late one night when I was walking to temple for a class on what I think is a deserted residential street. My mind turns to God, our relationship, my mortality, earthly purpose - you get the idea, when I hear it for the first time. "Rebecca." I turn around. I circle myself on the sidewalk and return square to my starting point. I see no one, but hear it again I do. "Rebecca." I am outside his house, thinking of him, this must be God speaking to me. So I say to the voice, "Yes, God, I am here." I'm gearing up for my big burning bush moment, ready to get all Moses on his ass - when the voice subsides and disappointment falls like a light rain shower that dampers your spirits and messes up your hair. Silence. "God?" I say again followed by a "Rebecca?" I hear from the nothingness. I circle and I circle and now I look stupid to anyone who wouldn't know I'm having this moment with someone pretty important who created Earth and me and you and the sidewalk I'm turning in circles on.
When I was young, to talk to God, I'd just kneel right down next to my trundle bed, fold my hands together, close my eyes and speak. But when he's talking to you, and so unexpectedly, what do you do? Do you sit, kneel, should I continue to circle, remain standing? What is proper protocal? So I'm circling, circling, circling, croutching, looking off in to the distance, looking up, looking down, when I notice just the faintest light peering forth from my clutch. My mom calling. She'd love to hear that God is talking to me. So I answer and I say guess what mom, God is trying to speak to me. This is not such a good time. I'll call you back... - when it all starts to make sense. There was no burning bush moment, no voice from beyond, no dialogue with my creator. Just a clutch that held within it a cell phone which had accidently called my mom. She was speaking to me. Shouting at me. Shouting my name. No God. Just Mom.
Best. Blonde. Moment. Ever.
