August 15, 2015


When you picture God behind sounds that disturb you, they become a lot sweeter.

Like the alarm clock for instance. I think I set that thing to snooze at least 3 times the other day, not wanting to move out of bed and simultaneously wanting to slam it with a sledgehammer. But then I pictured God behind the obnoxious beeping, and it turned into a gentle insistence that it was time to get up.

I’m always looking for ways to see things differently. Especially things that annoy me, because I always have a feeling there’s more to the story than what’s showing up for me in the present, physical world.

I try to look at the bigger picture. What does this situation mean for me? What is it trying to show me? What is there to know here?

I start to hear the God behind everything. I hear him in the birds, the sirens, and the voices of other people. One time, I heard God in the voice of one of my valet guys here at my building in Downtown LA.

It was the day, Jesus Christ fell off of a half-broken cross I had at the end of one of my rosaries. I was in the middle of wrapping the entire rosary around my wrist, and suddenly, he just plopped right off the thing.

I almost cried. Here I was, trying to get re-acquainted with God, and I couldn’t even keep the rosary together. I didn’t know what to do with my half-cross with no Jesus, and this little Jesus that had fallen from the cross onto my lap.

A few days later, I bought a beautiful new car rosary and hung it in my car. Not one to throw anything away, I kept the old rosary in the little compartment inside the driver’s side door, but I didn’t know what to do with my little Jesus that fell off the rosary, all rusted and in cross position. What does one do with a  rusted Jesus that’s fallen off the cross?

I decided to keep him in my car, on this little space on top of my dashboard. It looked funky because he would slide and fall down every once in awhile, but I didn’t feel comfortable just throwing him out or putting him in the glove compartment.

Weeks and months went by. Jesus stayed, and the new car rosary was alive and kickin.

One day, I took my car in to get serviced and washed. I knew someone would be inside my car, wiping things down, so I put little Jesus in the glove compartment.

Two days went by, and I forgot to take him out of the glove compartment. It was one of those things that had completely slipped my mind, and I went about my daily tasks and places without giving it a second thought.

On the morning of the third day, a little symbolic if you ask me, I had been listening to a powerful meditation on Hay House radio. It talked about how we were never alone, and that a powerful pilot light was always on and shining within us. And that we were loved beyond belief.

Feeling so warm and lifted on this third day, I rode down the elevator to the valet area to pick up my car to go to work. As usual, I was thinking to myself, I wonder what great gifts this day will bring?

My car was waiting for me downstairs, and I waved to one of the valet guys before climbing in. Just as I climbed in the driver’s seat however, a second valet guy came to my window, just before I was about to start my ignition.

He said, “What happened to your cross?”

English is his second language, so at first I didn’t understand him.

“What?” I asked.

“What happened to your cross?” he repeated. “Your cross.” He pointed to my dashboard so I could understand. And when I finally understood that he was asking me about my little, rusted Jesus Christ, I smiled.

“Oh!” I said. “I had to put it away because I got my car washed!”

He said, “Oh okay so YOU moved it?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling.

“Happy Friday,” he said, and then he was gone.

I couldn’t help but get goosebumps all around me. I reached into my glove compartment, pulled out my Jesus, and propped him up on the dashboard. Did God just really speak to me through another person?

I felt that it was true.

This valet guy, who drives probably dozens of cars on any given day, remembered my little Jesus cross on my dashboard. In fact he remembered it so much (this thing is REALLY small), that he noticed when it was gone. I started thinking thoughts like, why did he notice this little cross? Did it bring him comfort when he saw it? Was it something that he also believed in and had a strong feeling towards?

All I could think was wow. God found a way to reach out to me, and through this valet guy, asked me to remember Jesus.

God is so wonderfully mysterious. I heard a story about a woman on Hay House radio who had a similar but more jarring experience. She had hailed a taxi cab to take her to get more drugs, when she was an addict, and the taxi driver pulled over and told her she was better than this. He told her that if she continued down this path, it would end her life. And then he took her home.

That story is way cooler, but this one reminded me of that one. How God speaks to us all the time. It’s just a matter of whether or not you’re listening. And I love how he speaks to me, because it’s in a way only I can understand, and I feel he comes through to people in ways only they can understand too.

Monique Muro

Monique is an exceedingly happy human from LA. She runs the blog A Novel Quest, and writes. A lot.

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