A Divine Message

“Wait, how did you know it was me mom?!”

“How could I not recognize my own son! You may look different, but your still my spitting image! Come inside.”

The fact your mom recognized you without having to utter a single word, and that she was taking it so well left you completely shocked. Never in one thousand years would you have expected this to go so well.

Following your mother, you entered the house and seated yourself across from her in the living room.

“Now John,” your mother said, “I’m not going to be mad. But, are you… are you a drag queen?”

Your not sure which shocked you more. The idea the your extremely wholesome and innocent mom knew what a drag queen was, or that she genuinely thought that it was completely plausible you (John, her straight male son) were a drag queen.

“What?! No mom, this isn’t makeup or surgery, this is real. I woke up last Saturday as a girl.”

“Ok darling, this is just a little hard for me to warp my head around. How about you start from the beginning.”

And so, you recited all of the events leading up to this point. What origin started out as a mere explanation, however, quickly devolved into you soaking your mother’s shoulder in tears. When you final manage to finish your story, your mother turned to you and said,

“Don’t cry darling, for it is clear to this this is nothing less than the work of God!”

This definitely wasn’t the first time your mother had tried to give some sort of Devine meaning to a strange event. Now, this wasn’t to say that she would go around loudly preaching that EVERYTHING that happed did so because God willed it. Instead it was mostly limited to brief remarks or slips of the tongue that revealed who she truly felt was responsible for major events, God. Normally you would just brush off as your mother being a little over zealous or jumping to conclusions she wanted to hear, but you felt as though a part of you agreed with her.

This was an unprecedented occurrence, and their seemingly wasn’t any logical explanation for how or why it happened. After all, what was easier to believe? That magic was real, witches lived among us, and they would occasionally intervene in random peoples lives just for a laugh? Or that the most popular religion in the world may possibly be right about the existence of God, and that that God would occasionally intervene in human affairs for seemingly incomprehensible reasons to our mortal minds? At the very least, you definitely liked thinking of yourself as a “Tool of God” rather than a “Witch’s Victim”.