I know there are those out there who either believe that there is no God, or that you can neither confirm or deny that there is a God, or unless you had it like Noah and walked with God, you are one who walk by faith that there truly is a God. For me, while I delve in science and its wonders, it’s pretty hard not to believe anything else other than God does exist because I believe He has been having fun plotting out my life, undoubtedly hearing even my deepest thoughts.
I have shared in the past and just with my most recent article prior to this one, I had attended six elementary schools. You also learned in Fight, Flight, or Freeze, that in fifth grade I had received a black eye. Before that friend of mine had given it to me, I would walk over to her apartment complex to pick her up so we could walk to school together. Before I’d reach her place, I would pass by this one white house that easily stood out from the rest. The reason for this was that its front pavement and steps had been painted a bright, shiny red color. Because I never had a home we called our own coming to America, this would be a home to admire that year, feeling a strong connection to its confinement.
The world is a big place with many people living in it, one home after another. I recall the time my husband, my boyfriend at that time, had wanted me to meet his grandparents for the first time. Although grateful and honored to have been introduced to his grandparents, I could tell you I probably was in an awe none could understand. My mind was somewhere else- their front pavement and steps… the very shiny, red ones I had so forgotten about because it had been so many years ago from the last time I ever walked by to admire it from outside. Of all the homes my husband drove by and finally, could have pulled up to, it was the very same white house with those very same red paved steps. I had not even been in that neighborhood for years. There it was. There it had always been. It knew it would be a part of me so long ago.
In junior high, the school I would be bused to for 45 minutes, provided me a detour to our downtown city center. Going to downtown first before heading home was always more fun than going directly back home, seeing the same immobility day in, day out in a pre-gentrified neighborhood. Channing, our kind-hearted bus driver would be just finishing up his city bus driving shift before directly using the same bus to pick us up from school. He would give us bus passes that would permit us to go two blocks down from the school to catch another bus heading downtown.
Before arriving to downtown, I took great admiration of our school’s neighborhood, clean, kept up homes with nicely cut grass- just that hope before your eyes that gave you a vision of what to be and have one day. As we would leave the neighborhood, there was this one restaurant I would find my eyes fixating upon. It was nicely sitting up on that hill, looking over the view of the city. The fanciest restaurant I had ever been to growing up was the Royal Fork Buffet where by luck, my parents took us children to only because our uncle offered to pay for all. Anything before and after that were the known colonels of fried chicken and kings of burgers, if you catch the “fancy” of such. Even those times were rare.
On this particular bus ride to downtown, two classmates of ours known to be reputably affluent from our school actually made the decision to journey to downtown as well. I heard the restaurant’s name spoken for the first time, “That’s Canlis,” as if one of the girls were reading my mind as I was trying to confirm its pronunciation inside my head. “My parents have gone there to eat. It’s very expensive,” she continued as if she was reading the famous line in the movie, Pretty Woman, aloud. She had not been speaking to me, but even if she had been, it made no difference to my heart. “I’m going to eat there one day,” is what I silently promised myself.
I had a birthday arriving and my husband, as usual, I am not afraid to say, being the more romantic between us, had plans to take me out to celebrate. To honor his efforts for the evening, I made sure to be cognizant to wear the favorite black skirt and cream blouse he had bought me. We drove up north, further from other restaurants by the water I was predicting he would take us to. All of a sudden, as he drove uphill, I felt a familiar road that I had not known for sometime. Before I could dig back up that time capsule I had long buried in my mind, there we were driving to the front entrance- my dear, Canlis. I had to sit in the car for just a moment to take it in. I never told my husband of this restaurant because I had long-gone forgotten such a childish dream.
I remember walking into it, wondering if I had dressed well enough. I took a breath. It didn’t matter anymore. I had arrived.
As if the night couldn’t be any more fine-tuned to its exquisite ambience, here come my dear, good high school friend, Todd, from the back of the restaurant. I don’t drink-ever… up until that night where I agreed to take a drink of champagne for my birthday to honor and thank my husband, relaxing my breath to explain to him the significance of the restaurant he had taken me to. So, I immediately apologized to Todd that I was not myself as he should know that I don’t drink, but because it was my birthday, and I finally got to live the dream of eating at this restaurant, and… (blame it on the alcohol…) Nodding patiently as I arrived to my rambling finale, Todd didn’t forget to acknowledge my husband, having recognized him in the past, before asking us the ultimate, Wait! There’s more! We’re not done! question, “Would you and [my husband] like a tour of the restaurant?” I may have had some chemical influence in my system, but I will tell you that my heart never stopped taking notes of the dream coming true before me with backstage passes to the dream that evening. I did not just get to see the front of Canlis, but I got to see the kitchen and all the amazing people that make the magic happen in the back alongside to a stairway that led to a small room where I learned from Todd many have made their very marriage proposal in and back down and around to every area of my dear, Canlis. I said I would. I did.
So, you see, I could tell you that God doesn’t exist. I really could. The only thing is, I’d make myself to be a great liar. It may have not been right away, but there is something about things happening His time. It’s as if I hear him laughing, maybe even giggling a bit before whispering in my ear, “I just wanted it to be perfect for you.”
